Until All Bonds Are Broken

by Tim Frankovich

  His similarity to Curasir made Seri swallow in nervousness. The sharp features, the strange eye, the white hair… and the always-there feeling he was somehow taller than he actually appeared. Unnerving.

  “And who are you that they send to question me?” he asked. His voice even had the same commanding tone like Curasir’s.

  “I am Seri-Belit, mage of Arazu,” she answered, then winced. Why had she used her full name? Ugh.

  “A mage?” The Eldani laughed. “You are one of those who camps on Zes Sivas and plays with things you can never understand.”

  “And what is your name?”

  He watched her face with a condescending smile on his own. “Hanirel. I tell you only for the sake of conversation. I wish to see how your tiny mind handles anything you hear from me, so why let names get in the way?” The mockery in his voice grated on her, but she ignored it.

  “Hanirel. All right, Hanirel.” Seri looked around and found a stool. She pulled it over near the bed and sat. The stool wobbled, and she shifted her position.

  “My first question is…” She hesitated, because she actually hadn’t decided until then what she to ask. But Marshal had suggested a couple of ideas, so she went with one. “Who are the Durunim?”

  She might have imagined it, but it looked like a flicker of surprise crossed Hanirel’s normal eye. “The Durunim? It is the name of one of the factions of our people in the Starlit Realm.”

  “Are you Durunim?”

  “I might be. What difference does that make to you?”

  “Do you know the name Calu?”

  Again that flicker. These were definitely not the questions he had been expecting. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “I think you’re lying, but I’ll let that one go for now.” She smiled. By starting with those questions, she had established that she knew more than he expected. It might make things go smoother with the questions she really wanted answered.

  “Why have you been kidnapping people from this village?”

  “We needed some slaves. They were available.”

  “Why this village in particular?”

  He shrugged. “It’s an isolated spot. It’s not the only one. Our people are numerous. We can always use more slaves.”

  “So you’re doing this in other parts of Antises?”

  He gave a non-committal grunt.

  Seri intwined her fingers together. She flipped her thumbs back and forth without thinking about it. “You crossed over here using that sword of yours. Is that how your people have been able to come in and kidnap humans?”

  “The barriers are weakened. A warpsteel blade can pierce them now, if you know how.”

  “I crossed the barrier myself, without a sword of any kind,” Seri said.

  He snorted. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether you believe it or not. It happened. I traveled into your world from Zes Sivas. I watched Curasir battle Marshal and changed the outcome. And I never needed a sword.”

  “What fanciful tales you weave.”

  Seri frowned. It really wasn’t important whether he believed her or not. She just wanted to see how he reacted. The fact he thought she lied confirmed the uniqueness of what she had done that day.

  “What about Forerunner?” she asked, the idea just then popping into her head.

  “Who?”

  “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t know that name, either. He’s from your world too. Uses a strange magic that involves a kind of golden light.”

  Hanirel’s face took on a strange look for such a brief moment she thought she might have imagined it. What was that? Fear? Confusion? Whatever it might be, she had made a connection. With a quick wave of her hand, she released a tiny burst of magic at the door.

  A moment later, the door swung open and Dravid entered.

  “Now you bring in a cripple?” the Eldani asked.

  “Dravid,” Seri said, without looking up from the prisoner, “this is Hanirel. Please show him what you learned from Forerunner.”

  For a moment, she didn’t think Dravid understood her. Then she heard him take in a few deep breaths. She did not turn to watch, but knew he was creating something like one of his discs again. Hanirel’s expression told her as much.

  “That is impossible!”

  Seri leaned forward, putting her hands on her knees. “Why is it impossible?”

  “A human cannot channel that power! What is this?” He shifted in agitation, and Seri noticed the bandage on his hip turning red.

  “Why not?” Seri asked. “He clearly does have that power. Your eyes don’t lie. Or eye, I suppose.”

  He glared at her. “That power is reserved.”

  “For who?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Do you serve the golden people?”

  He continued to glare.

  “Are Calu and Forerunner part of those golden people?”

  Nothing.

  “Since you won’t tell me, let me put it together on my own. You are Durunim. The Durunim serve the golden people. I call them that because that’s how they looked when I saw them. I don’t know what else to call them now. I know the Durunim are also at war with the Eldanim. What I don’t know is what all this has to do with our world.”

  Hanirel did not answer at first, his face down. When he lifted it up and looked at Seri, she resisted a shiver. A new coldness seemed to have come over him. When he spoke again, his voice had lost the mocking sneer. “Your world destroyed ours. It is only just that we return the favor.”

  A chill ran down Seri’s back and she glanced around the room without thinking. Death threats were one thing, but hearing a threat to an entire world…

  “I don’t like your tone,” Dravid said, stepping closer. “You need to show more respect.”

  “Do you show respect for the beetle you grind beneath your shoe?”

  Dravid flipped his disc forward, lodging it in the wall a few inches away from the prisoner. “I can always throw one lower—” he began.

  In one fluid motion, Hanirel brought his tied hands up to the disc, used its edge to slice through the rope, and pushed off at Seri. He knocked her off the stool and rolled onto the floor. Seri tried to push him off, but he rolled one more time and landed on top of her. He whipped a dagger out of a hidden sheath in his bracer and held it to her throat.

  “Now, cripple,” he said, his voice still low and cold. “Bring me my sword. Or you will find yourself without one mage of Arazu.”

  “All right,” Dravid said, backing up. “I’ll see what I can do. Seri, are you all right?”

  “Do not answer,” Hanirel said, “or I will make sure you never speak again.”

  Seri’s eyes widened, but she did not attempt to speak.

  “Go, cripple!”

  Dravid hurried out of the door with one last desperate glance at Seri.

  Seri looked up at her captor. Hanirel smiled, a cruel thing that did not reach his eyes. He held the dagger steady against her neck, but his labored breathing pointed to his pain. Seri tried to look down to his wounded hip, but couldn’t see it from her trapped position.

  “Marshal will not give you the sword,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

  “Of course he will. He’s already shown an inclination to protect those in danger. And you’re someone he knows. If he was willing to fight for these simple peasants, what will he be willing to do for his ‘mage of Arazu’?”

  “He might just give you the sword through your heart!”

  “He’s welcome to try.” Hanirel bent over, his white hair hanging down on either side of both their faces. “But will he be faster than my dagger? Are you that eager to test it?”

  Seri blinked, activating her star-sight. She saw the magic of the Eldanim glowing throughout Hanirel’s body. He didn’t possess the same power as Curasir, but it still looked impressive. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for any other magic she could channel. One dim beam of
green light flickered near the doorway, then faded. Nothing else appeared.

  “You have a star in your eye,” Hanirel said, apparently just noticing it. “Fascinating. No wonder you’re so interested in people like Calu.”

  “You do know him!”

  “I know enough. Tell me: what have they told you about your eye?”

  Despite her perilous position, Seri’s curiosity overtook her. “Do you know Curasir?”

  “Curasir? I know him, but we’ve never met. What does he have to do with this?”

  “He told me it was wild magic.”

  “Did he now?”

  “Are you saying it’s not?”

  “Curasir loves to mislead humans.”

  That much Seri knew to be true.

  Hanirel shifted and winced. Seri stared at him. His glow, his magic, seemed to be fading, ever so slightly. Or was that wishful thinking?

  “If it’s not wild magic, then what is it?” she asked. She really wanted to know, but also figured keeping him talking would drain his energy faster.

  “You might call it your heritage.”

  Heritage. Forerunner had used that word, but in reference to the golden people. Was she connected to them somehow?

  “No more talking,” Hanirel said. “We’ll wait now.”

  “All right, but you should—” Seri stopped as the dagger blade pressed against her neck. For now, she would stop talking.

  Forerunner looked down at Victor. “How did he obtain these injuries?”

  Marshal tried to be patient, but his thoughts were with Seri and the prisoner. “Eidolon. Durunim. Whatever you call them. They attacked the village, and Victor defended the people.”

  Forerunner nodded. He knelt and touched Victor’s left arm. “Not long ago, I assume?”

  “Not very long. Does that matter?”

  Forerunner stood back up. “These should heal on their own, within a day or so,” he said. “Rest is all that he needs.”

  “I can do that,” Victor murmured, his eyes half-closed.

  Marshal frowned. “I guess we can wait a day or two. We can help the villagers in the meantime. Topleb, you stay with Victor and Ixchel. I’ll take Rufus with me this time. We’ll see what needs to be done to get them back on their feet.”

  “What about the prisoner?”

  Forerunner, about to depart, turned back. “What prisoner?”

  “We’ll deal with him,” Marshal said, ignoring Forerunner.

  Despite Marshal’s attempts to put him off, Forerunner insisted on accompanying them back to the village. Marshal couldn’t quite figure out where Wolf had gone, but he found Rufus. The three of them took the now-familiar path back toward the village.

  They were getting close when Dravid came toward them, moving as fast as his crutch allowed. Marshal immediately tensed. What now?

  “Marshal!” Dravid gasped as he came to a stop. “He got loose. He has a knife to Seri’s throat. He’s demanding his sword back.”

  Marshal drew the sword and broke into a run. Surprisingly, Forerunner kept pace with him all the way to the house.

  “You aren’t really going to surrender that sword, are you?” Forerunner asked. “Do you know what it’s worth?”

  “I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect Seri,” Marshal said.

  Forerunner nodded. “Then might I make a suggestion?”

  Marshal listened to what Forerunner had to say. It made sense. And it might work.

  Rufus and Dravid caught up to them as Marshal reached for the door. He nodded and smiled to reassure them, then opened the door and stepped inside.

  Hanirel straddled Seri on the floor. He held a small dagger against her neck. But his left thigh looked soaked in blood from his hip. He couldn’t keep losing that much blood for long.

  “Where is the sword?” the Eldani demanded.

  Marshal held up the warpsteel blade. “It’s right here. You may have it if you let her go.”

  “Do you think me a fool? Give me the sword, and then she goes free.”

  “How do I know you won’t kill her?”

  “I am not the one who has demonstrated a lack of honor today. If I say I will release her, I will.”

  Marshal nodded. He also noted what Hanirel had not said: what would happen after he released Seri. “Here’s what I will do.” He moved to the other side of the room. “I will place the sword here on this table.” He set it down and moved back to his starting point, hands held open. “Now you can release her and get the sword. I won’t stop you.” The sword vibrated, but Hanirel couldn’t see that from his position.

  “Then get on your knees!”

  Marshal complied. Hanirel eyed him for a moment. Marshal looked to Seri. Her eyes were wide. Maybe she understood.

  Hanirel stood, fighting back a grunt of pain. He kept the dagger aimed down at Seri. He watched Marshal for another moment, then lunged across the room. He grabbed the sword and whirled to face them.

  “Marshal, what are—” Seri began, pulling up on her elbows.

  “Get down!” He dove on top of her, pushing her back against the floor. He closed his eyes and triggered his power, hoping it would be enough.

  A tsunami of magic erupted from the sword itself. Hanirel’s scream could not be heard over the sound of the house exploding around them. Marshal closes his eyes and continued letting his power flow outward, shielding him and Seri from the cataclysm.

  When the force pounding against him faded away, he stopped pushing back. He lifted up on his hands and opened his eyes. He found himself looking down into Seri’s face.

  “Are you—” he started.

  “That was amazing!” Seri exclaimed. “You charged the sword up with power before giving it to him, didn’t you? How did you trigger it to release, though?”

  “It was Forerunner’s idea,” Marshal said. “He told me how to do it, and that if I charged it enough, it would explode once Hanirel picked it up and his own magic interacted with it.”

  “I could see it glowing so bright the moment you entered! I couldn’t believe he couldn’t tell! Maybe the Eldanim can’t detect magic as well as we can?”

  Marshal laughed. Even in this situation, she had to keep talking.

  “I think you can let her up now!” Dravid called.

  Marshal blinked. He hadn’t even thought about their position. Seri realized it at the same time, face flushing in embarrassment. He scrambled off and looked around.

  Everything in the house, its walls and roof, had all been obliterated by the explosion. A few chunks of debris fell here and there. The ground around them, except where he and Seri had been laying, had been torn apart. No sign of Hanirel could be seen anywhere.

  Forerunner, Rufus, and Dravid had kept everyone back when it happened, but now they and a crowd of villagers rushed forward. Marshal found himself surrounded, congratulated, and hugged repeatedly, while others helped Seri to her feet and made sure she wasn’t hurt. Out of the corner of his eye, Marshal saw Forerunner bend over and pick something up.

  “I’ll take that!” he called. He pushed away from the villagers, with a little help from Rufus, and strode to Forerunner. He held out his hand.

  Forerunner nodded with a smile and placed the warpsteel sword into his hand. “The spoils of war.”

  Marshal looked over the sword. He had to admit surprise it still looked the same. He looked over it to Forerunner. “Thank you for your help.”

  “Of course. That is why I am here, is it not?”

  Marshal looked him in the eyes, considering. Forerunner’s private words to him at their first meeting still resonated within him. He doubted he would ever forget that. But he still couldn’t tell how much of it had been true. Did he trust Forerunner’s private words or his public words? And why must they be different?

  For now, Forerunner’s suggestion had saved Seri. Nothing else mattered. He reached out his hand, offering. Forerunner took it. Marshal nodded. “Stronger together,” he said. Forerunner’s eyes sparkled with their four s
tars, and he nodded in return.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  JAMANA ENTERED MASTER Korda’s chamber and found him poring over the book they had found in the hidden room. He waited for a moment before clearing his throat.

  “You sent for me, Master?”

  “This changes so many things,” Master Korda said without looking up form the book. His thick voice rumbled in the small room. “We thought we knew everything that happened at the Lords’ Betrayal. We were so blind. For Theon’s sake, we didn’t even know Aharu was a woman!” He paused. “Or that she was the first High Master Mage.”

  “High Master Mage?”

  “Of course. Just as the Lords had a King, the mages had a High Master Mage. Aharu’s son, Nehesy, followed in her footsteps as the second of that title.”

  “Then… why don’t we have one now?”

  Master Korda sighed and leaned back from the book. “Sometime after the death of the third or fourth High Master Mage, there was an extreme argument among the Masters. They could not agree on a new High Master, so there hasn’t been one since. Again, so much of this information is lost because of poor record-keeping.”

  Jamana opened his mouth, but stopped himself. He had almost said something about how precise the Masters were about copying the names of the dead, compared to their actual history. At the same time, he realized: Seri would have said it out loud. He smiled to himself.

  Master Korda reached out and turned another page. “So much has been lost,” he said in a low tone. “So much.”

  Jamana waited. This would not be the first time he had been summoned to listen to Master Korda share his thoughts at length. Sometimes, he seemed surprised to discover Jamana still there at the end of a soliloquy.

  “Do you know why the magic beneath Zes Sivas never runs out?” Master Korda punched one enormous hand into the palm of the other. “The first Masters drew all of the magic of Antises through Zes Sivas itself before binding it into the bloodlines of the Lords and King. If I am right, their action has never stopped. The magic is still being drawn here, from the very edges of Antises, perhaps even beyond.”

  “From the Otherworld?”