Until All Bonds Are Broken

by Tim Frankovich

The ground shook again, answering her question. But it only lasted a few seconds this time and stopped again.

  “Now it’s over,” Forerunner said. He lowered his arms, and the dome dissipated into the air.

  The crowd erupted in nervous discussion. Seri looked around. About half of the pavilion’s roof had fallen. Many of the chairs and tables had been damaged or outright destroyed, especially those around the crack that still stood open before them.

  Dravid bent to examine where the crack met the dome. “It’s like it hit a wall too strong for it,” he said, pointing.

  Seri looked at it briefly, but didn’t see much. Just dirt. She looked up to find Forerunner gazing at her, a smile of contentment on his face. When he realized she saw him, his smile grew larger and he turned away.

  “My friends! We are all right! Let us spread out and check the other buildings. There may be others who did not make it here in time. Find them, if you can. And then we will begin the work of rebuilding. This will not stop us!”

  The followers offered a few nervous cheers, and then dispersed to follow his instructions. Seri and Ixchel helped Dravid get back up.

  “Maybe we should go back to looking for the lost King,” Dravid said. “If Antises is this unstable…”

  “Or maybe there’s another option,” Seri said. She strode directly up to Forerunner until he looked down at her.

  “Yes?”

  “Forerunner. You say you’re here to restore things. Can you restore stability to Antises?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  VICTOR AND MARSHAL raced across the army’s camp. A decanus yelled at them, but Marshal showed his own insignia to keep moving. Everywhere they passed conscripts getting into formation, centurions riding by shouting orders, civilians scrambling to get out of the way.

  Victor craned his neck trying to get a view of the battlefield, but he had no success. Whatever might happen remained a mystery.

  They found the curse squad at the front lines, as expected.

  “Oh, good. We have a leader,” Topleb said.

  “You shouldn’t be out here,” Marshal said.

  Topleb shrugged. “I’m able to throw my darts, so here I am.”

  Victor looked ahead. The Rasnians had already taken the field, as before, though they showed no signs of trying to build anything. Row after row of spearmen led the way. He couldn’t see them, but Victor knew archers waited behind the spears.

  “They’re going to send us into that?”

  “Time for the rest of us to die,” Gnaeus said.

  “No one is dying!” Marshal’s voice carried over them. He looked over his squad. “Do you all hear me? No one else!”

  “May Theon hear you,” Topleb said after a moment of silence.

  The order came to advance. Victor drew his sword and readied his flail. The vibration in his hands grew with each step. Whatever magic he now possessed, absorbed from Marshal or something else, it seemed to ache for battle. His breathing quickened.

  As they splashed across the Amnis, the first wave of arrows descended on them. “Shields!” Marshal yelled, along with every decanus along the front. Victor ducked under Marshal’s and Merish’s shields. He caught glimpses of conscripts falling around them, some screaming, some silent. The shallow muck of the Amnis turned red. Somehow, none of the curse squad fell.

  “Charge!” screamed a centurion on horseback.

  Victor made sure he had room on his left and began to swing his flail. The Rasnian front line knelt and held their spears at waist level. Behind them, another line aimed theirs just above. The intimidation factor caused many conscripts to falter as the charge drew close.

  Why did Volraag use these tactics? Were the lives of the conscripts so easily expendable to him? Victor gritted his teeth. He had made the right decision in rejecting the Lord’s offer, even if he died here and now. Better to die than to serve someone like that.

  As if in answer, the power exploded through his arms and legs. He picked up speed, outdistancing Marshal and everyone else. He screamed and began to swing his flail in an arc in front of him, holding his sword back. Only a few feet separated him from the spearmen now.

  One of Topleb’s spear-darts caught a kneeling spearman in the throat. As he toppled, Victor charged into the hole, sweeping away the second spear with his flail. He stabbed forward, his sword impaling the Rasnian through the stomach. For a moment, everything seemed frozen. Victor stared into the eyes of the man he killed. They were blue. And young. And dead.

  The rest of the army caught up to him and smashed against the wall of spearmen with a thunderous cacophony of screams and splintering wood. For a moment, chaos reigned over all.

  Victor pulled his sword back and the Rasnian fell. Soldiers of both nations surrounded him, leaving him no room to maneuver, no room to swing his flail. Merish appeared beside him, swinging his sword in deadly arcs that cut through enemy spears and bodies equally. Victor fought beside him, though he felt little of the battle rage from before. He fought for his own life and those around him, but he heard no whooshing, felt no desire to let loose. The vibrations seemed barely there.

  “Cavalry!” someone shouted. Victor looked up and saw mounted Rasnian soldiers bearing down on them. Another of Topleb’s spear-darts bounced off the shield of the nearest rider. And then their spears came down. Victor stared at his own death: an experienced soldier and over a thousand pounds of his steed about to trample him if the spear didn’t get him first.

  Marshal shoved past him, leveling his sword at the oncoming storm of riders. He screamed, the first time Victor had heard him do so. The ground erupted in front of them. Horses and riders cascaded back, colliding with each other in a chaotic mess. Marshal’s power blew apart an entire squad of cavalry, shattering bones in horse and rider alike. The screams of the horses drowned out the screams of men.

  The rage took over then. Victor charged through the opening Marshal created, flail swinging, bloody sword held high. The whooshing of his heart filled his ears once more. He fought with his body, but also fought to reclaim his own mind, to keep some understanding of what took place around him.

  He saw Marshal and Merish fighting side-by-side. Gnaeus, Callus and Rufus bunched up, using their spears for defense, but not pursuing any enemies who came near. A Rasnian stumbled past, impaled by one of his own comrade’s spears, yet still on his feet somehow.

  Victor felt the ground pulse beneath him, a roll of magic that upended dozens of soldiers on both sides. If he hadn’t been moving so fast, he would have fallen himself. But where did that magic come from? Not Marshal. He had been knocked down as well. In fact, he saw no one on their feet anywhere nearby. Wolf knelt in the midst of a pile of corpses, a silent scream elevated at the sky. Topleb, only a few feet away from him, scrambled up, grabbing his atlatl and one final spear.

  Desperate, Victor spun. It had to be Lord Tyrr. Or another wild mage. But he saw no sign of anyone who could have done this. The upending magic seemed to have been confined to a small area near them. The battle still raged and now began to close in on them again.

  “Get up!” he screamed and charged at the nearest enemy soldiers. A spear sliced a short gash on the side of his chest beneath his left arm. Another one, destined for his face, shattered into splinters, no doubt from Marshal helping again.

  Already this battle had lasted far longer than the last one. And he saw no end in sight. Dimly, he became aware of a much larger cavalry group battling beyond their reach, horses rearing and pawing at each other. Regular soldiers, not conscripts, also fought now, mingling with the rest of them.

  The frenzy overtook him once more and he struggled to keep track of anything else. Was that Topleb lifting a Rasnian soldier and throwing him into the spears of his oncoming friends? Was that Rufus stumbling, too late to stop a spear from reaching someone beside him? Callus? Did Marshal unleash another blast that took down half a dozen more of the enemy? Victor could not be sure of anything now.

  When he finally came to hims
elf and stopped, the battle seemed all but over. The only Rasnians he could see were running away as fast as they could. The whooshing faded. For a brief moment, he heard nothing. And then his ears filled with the moans and screams of the wounded and dying of both sides.

  Fatigue struck him like a physical force, staggering him and almost bringing him to his knees. How long had he been fighting? How much death had he given out? How much death had he avoided somehow?

  He had roamed far from his squad once again. He stumbled in the direction he thought he could find them, his steps made more difficult by the bodies and gore covering the ground everywhere. How? How had so many died? So many. For their homelands? Or for their Lords?

  He spied Merish and Topleb standing together, covered in dust and grime. Topleb saw him and lifted his atlatl in silent greeting. Then he stepped aside and Victor saw the others.

  Marshal sat on the ground, surrounded by Gnaeus, Wolf and Rufus.

  And in his arms lay Callus.

  The twins were united again.

  Volraag lowered the spyglass. The high platform had somehow withstood the earthquake, but it rocked a little beneath his feet.

  “Victory,” General Cassian said. “Well done, your Lordship. The Rasnians have been thoroughly routed.”

  Volraag nodded.

  “The cavalry on their flanks while the conscripts fought it the center proved too much for them,” Otioch said.

  “Another assault, perhaps tomorrow, will probably end this,” Cassian added.

  No doubt. He couldn’t see how Lord Tyrr could possibly stop it now, aside from direct intervention. In which case, he would have to interfere as well. But something else bothered him now.

  “Someone used magic in the fight.”

  Rathri climbed onto the platform. “Two someones, if I felt it right.”

  “Two?”

  “Someone used power in the battle several times, but then a wave went out.” Rathri gestured expansively. “The ground is broken up all over the place from it.”

  “You don’t think it was the same person?”

  Rathri shook his head. “It was… a different kind of power.”

  Volraag considered. He had felt the wave also. And it had definitely “felt” different from the power he possessed or any he encountered among the mages and other Lords.

  “Otioch! You did find a spy in the conscripts, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, your Lordship. Only too eager to tell me everything.”

  “Find him tonight. Find out everything you can about this fight. What Victor did. And anyone else in their squad.”

  “It shall be done.”

  Volraag nodded. If his half-brother were truly out there, he needed something else.

  “Rathri. Fetch Tezan. I need him by my side for the next few days.”

  “It shall be done.”

  When Rathri said it, it didn’t have the same ring.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “HE DIED IN my arms, Victor.”

  After all these weeks, Marshal’s voice had finally started sounding normal. But now, brokenness filled it with new anguish. Sobs damaged his throat. Victor winced to hear it.

  “I know.” There didn’t seem much else he could say. He went back to cleaning his sword.

  “He… he couldn’t see… at the end.”

  Victor gritted his teeth. Marshal wouldn’t stop talking about Callus. The battle ended hours ago. The rest of the curse squad now slept, exhausted. Like Victor wished he could do. Every muscle in his body ached. A large wad of an old tunic under his armpit kept his arm out away from the gash on his chest. He would need to change that dressing in the morning.

  “He asked me… to describe something beautiful. For him to think about. As he died.”

  Victor paused. “What did you say?”

  Marshal looked up. Tears made their way through his scars, glistening in the campfire’s glow. “I… I told him about the stars. In the Otherworld.”

  Victor nodded. Those stars had made quite an impact on Marshal. Victor hadn’t seen them himself.

  “Stars. Of all colors and sizes. So beautiful. So perfect.”

  Victor frowned at a dark spot on his sword. Why wouldn’t it come off? He spit on the piece of cloth and rubbed harder.

  “I told him. Callus. I told him. And then…”

  The darker stain started to come off. Victor spit on the cloth again.

  “He said… he hoped Theon would take him somewhere like that.”

  “Maybe he did.”

  “And, and then he died, Victor. He died.”

  Victor set the sword aside. “I know, Marshal. I know. It’s horrible.”

  “I couldn’t save him.”

  “You saved me. And Merish. And probably a lot of others.”

  “You told me not to hold back. I tried. I used my power.”

  “And you made a difference!”

  “No. Callus still died.”

  “But I didn’t. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “It’s not enough. It’s never enough, Victor. They keep dying. Why do they keep dying?”

  “Because we’re at war, Marshal. That’s what happens. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Tomorrow, we might fight again. And more will die. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  Marshal lowered his head again. “So it’s all worthless.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “They died for nothing.”

  “No, they—”

  “Aelia died for nothing.”

  “She did not! She lifted your curse!”

  “What good did it do? It’s hopeless. I’m hopeless.”

  Victor ran his hand through his hair. His fingers caught in tangles and blood clots. He jerked at it and couldn’t repress an “ow!” Marshal didn’t say anything for a while.

  “It’s not hopeless,” Victor said. “Nothing is ever completely hopeless.”

  “Then tell me. Tell me something about… hope.”

  “Ah, well… remember the Eldanim city? How beautiful it was? And that girl we stayed with? What was her name?”

  “Eniri.”

  “Right. Her. She was something else, wasn’t she? And that domed building? And…”

  “Why are you talking about this?”

  “You wanted hope. I’m trying to remember good things. I don’t… I’m not sure what else to say.”

  “That’s not hope.”

  “Talinir. Talinir will come back and help us.”

  “He can’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Aelia’s dead. Talinir’s gone. Nian’s dead. And my soldiers are dying. Hopeless.”

  “That’s…”

  “I can’t stop it. I’m worthless.”

  “No, you’re… you’re Marshal. You’re so much more. You…”

  Marshal got to his feet. Victor looked up at him. When Marshal had disappeared into the Otherworld, he had felt helpless, because he couldn’t do anything. This was worse. Marshal stood right here, and he didn’t have the words to help him.

  “It’s all right, Victor. You… you’re a good friend.”

  Victor blinked. Whether from the exhaustion, the smoke, or the emotion, a tear slipped out.

  “We should go to bed.”

  “I need to walk first.”

  “Do you want me to come?”

  “No.”

  Victor nodded, relieved. He wasn’t sure he could even stand back up right now, let alone take a walk.

  “Goodbye, Victor.”

  “Goodnight.”

  The sword seemed clean enough. Victor picked up the flail. What a mess. Blood and rust. He sighed. Maybe he could find a new flail somewhere around here.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  DRAVID STARED AT Seri and Forerunner. He had not considered that angle. Trust Seri to connect Forerunner’s powers with the earthquakes.

  “You’ll have to be more specific, my dear,” Forerunner said.

  “You know exactly wha
t I mean,” Seri said. “If you really know as much as you claim to know, then you know that Antises is breaking apart, because of the lost King. Without his power at The Passing, the land cannot hold together.”

  “I have heard this.”

  Dravid noticed Forerunner continued to use magic in his voice.

  “So can you do it? Can you restore the power the land needs to be stable?”

  Forerunner hesitated only briefly. “You know the King’s power is greater than that of any Lord’s.”

  “Your power is greater than that of any Lord’s,” Seri countered.

  Forerunner nodded. “And yet, as you’ve no doubt noticed, my power differs from theirs. It is not what Antises needs to heal itself.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Even if it were, I have no way of passing my power into the land, as your Lords do. It is a part of me and cannot be removed, even temporarily.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  Dravid stepped closer. “Maybe you just need a little help,” he said. “I absorbed some of your power. That proves it can leave you.” He looked at Seri. “Remember the false king and his ability?”

  “Tezan! Of course! He could pull powers from others and transfer them… maybe he could do the same with you!”

  Forerunner shook his head and exhaled. “You are not understanding me. If what you suggest were indeed possible, that this Tezan could pull my power from me and restore it to Antises… then it would kill me. I am not willing to do that at this time. Would you do that?”

  “Would I do what?”

  “Sacrifice yourself to save Antises?”

  Seri glanced at Dravid. “I… I’d like to say I would, of course. But I don’t know. Who can really know what they’d do in that kind of situation?”

  That surprised him. He would have expected her to immediately say she would, without question. Then again, her answer sounded more… mature. Seri was growing, changing. She wasn’t quite the naive acolyte any more.

  Dravid’s left hand grew warm. He glanced down, then shifted so his body kept his hand from view by Seri and Forerunner. It wouldn’t do to let them see it glowing with the same tone as the protective dome.