by Licia Troisi
In a terrified daze, Nihal stared at the woman’s face as if spellbound. Her eyelids began to sink.
“Nihal!” Sennar called out to her.
The sorcerer ran toward Nihal, who shook herself awake. She backed away from the light and drew her sword.
“Perhaps you’d rather give me the man? He’s not as fresh or pure as the young boy, but I’d be willing to accept even him. …”
“Don’t fool yourself! I wouldn’t abandon either one of my friends, not for any reason in the world,” she shouted.
“In that case give me yours. Your body will do,” the voice replied.
“No!” Nihal contested. “Give me the stone and let us out of here!”
The face became angry, its eyes fixed on Nihal. Then the room was suddenly flooded with light and the ray disappeared.
Nihal glanced right and left, disoriented. Sennar, too, spun his gaze around in bewilderment.
“Where in the—” the sorcerer blurted. Then he saw Laio. “Nihal …” he murmured in horror.
Nihal looked at her squire. As Laio’s eyelids slowly rose, Nihal was gripped by a cold terror. The boy’s two eyes were gold—no iris, no pupil. His lips curled into a strange smile, and when he spoke, he spoke with the voice they’d heard echoing through the hall until shortly before.
“You didn’t want to make a deal? You didn’t want to help me? Fine, now I’ve taken what I wanted anyway and I’m going to punish you for your cruelty, too.”
Nihal stumbled backward. “Leave Laio alone—”
“All I asked was one favor, nothing else, and you wouldn’t help me,” Laio said, striding toward her.
Nihal continued backing away in terror, unable to react.
Laio stretched his hand toward the half-elf. When he opened his palm, a surge of light flooded Nihal, blinding her.
Laio ran toward the back of the room and the sealed exit reopened, even larger than before.
“May you remain here forever, in misery and solitude, to suffer the same cold I suffered for so long!” the feminine voice hollered from Laio’s lips.
The guardian was one step from the door when Sennar planted himself in front of Laio. A second ray of light surged from Laio’s hand, this time crashing into a silver force field Sennar had managed to conjure.
“Wait just a second, before you go,” said Sennar. He looked past Laio to Nihal, and saw her still splayed out on the ground. He couldn’t go to her side, or they’d be trapped here for eternity.
“I see what you mean, I really do,” Sennar began. “All those years alone. It must have been so difficult.”
Laio warily returned his gaze.
“I know what it’s like—the solitude, the cold … I understand.” Sennar noticed one of Nihal’s hands moving.
“Who are you? A sorcerer?” asked Laio.
“There’s no need to take this young boy,” Sennar went on. “And besides, isn’t the stone the reason you’re here?”
Laio continued to stare at him, silent.
“For as long as you can remember, it’s been your duty to guard this stone, or am I wrong? That was what you were created for.”
“You’re right, I know. But I’m lonely. …” A shadow of sadness clouded Laio’s golden eyes. Meanwhile, Nihal was regaining her senses and getting back on her feet.
“You’re harming an innocent boy. I don’t imagine that’s what you were put in this sanctuary to do.”
“No, but I’m cold, I’m so cold. …”
“Your sole duty here is to determine who’s worthy of possessing the stone and who isn’t, am I wrong? This boy you’re stealing has done no harm. You’re not allowed to take him. You’re committing a grave offense, and you know it.”
Laio let his hands fall to his sides and cast a dejected look at the floor. Nihal drew her sword, but Sennar signaled for her to hold off.
“Do you know Ael?” Sennar asked.
Laio snapped to attention. “The Supreme Lady of Water, guardian of the stone in the Land of Water … Of course I know her.”
Sennar turned toward Nihal. “Sheireen, show her where Ael is now.” Nihal, however, merely stared back at him blank-faced.
“The talisman,” Sennar urged.
She rummaged for it in her cloak. Carefully, calmly, she made her way over to Laio, who shot her a scathing glance. When the half-elf displayed the talisman, the boy’s eyes clouded over.
“Do you recognize this amulet?” asked Sennar.
Laio nodded.
“Well, then you certainly know about the stones, as well. That one there is Ael. Her essence is now contained within the stone.”
Laio leaned in to peer at the object.
“Ael is no longer alone. She left her sanctuary. She now guards over this stone we carry. In this way, you too can leave your sanctuary. If you truly hate it here so much, then come with us. You’ll no longer be alone. You’ll travel with us from land to land in search of peace. You’ll see wonder upon wonder. This is your one chance of getting out of here.”
“No, I don’t want to! This young boy’s flesh is so warm. …” Laio protested.
“Leave him!” Sennar commanded. “He is not yours to possess. His life is not your life. You’re committing a serious offense.” He snatched the talisman from Nihal and dangled it before Laio’s eyes. “This is the answer. This is where you belong. Here is where you’ll find the heat you crave. Do you want to go on harming this pure-hearted boy? Is that what you want?”
Nihal, in the meantime, had crept up behind Laio and was waiting, sword in hand.
“Leave him,” Sennar repeated. “Free him and do your duty.”
The talisman wavered before Laio’s eyes, and he followed its motion as if hypnotized. Right, left, right, left. At last, the squire closed his eyes, and all was dark again. Then a blinding light split the darkness and beamed straight into the stone, which had fallen to the ground. In the pitch black came the thud of a body collapsing to the floor.
“Laio!” Nihal shouted. She groped along the floor until she found him. “Are you okay?” she asked, cradling his head in her hands.
“Let’s get out of here, now!” Sennar shouted.
Nihal searched for the stone in the dark. Then she threw Laio over her shoulders and ran toward the exit. It seemed to take forever. At last, they stepped outside into the light.
Nihal set Laio down on the ground and began calling his name. After a few moments, the squire opened his eyes and brought a hand to his chest.
“Is … is everything okay?” the boy asked in a strange voice.
Nihal let out a sigh of relief. “Yes. Everything’s just fine,” she answered with a smile. Without wasting a second, she recited the sacred spell and set the stone into its niche.
8
Ido’s Obsession
Ido was alone for the evening. And he didn’t feel like sleeping. Seated on the hilltop just outside his tent, he cast a vacant gaze over the landscape. He was seized with melancholy, and the view before him did nothing to lift his spirits. The entire panorama of the plain, awash with moonlight and traversed by the silver ribbon of a river, seemed to him heartrendingly beautiful had it not been for the dark hazy strip still visible along the horizon, just where the sky met the earth: the enemy encampment.
Ido wasn’t the sort to get discouraged, but on this particular evening he felt old and tired.
He pulled on his long beard and took a puff of his pipe.
You old fool, this is no time to give in. The truth is you miss Nihal. …
The truth, indeed. Nearly two months had passed since Nihal’s departure.
Ido hardly ever waxed emotional, but at the sight of his student lifting into the air on Oarf to embark on her mission, he’d felt his heart tighten. Once again, he was on his own.
He’d told himself that the sadness
would pass, that he’d be drawn back into the war and all its mechanisms, that he’d be his strong and cocksure self once again. But that wasn’t the way it turned out. The days crawled by, one after the next. He’d transferred to an encampment in the Land of Water, closer to the front, and offered his services there. By launching himself heart and soul into battle, he’d hoped to chase away this spell of melancholy. As winter advanced, along with the enemy troops, Ido refused to waste a single minute. He planned out attacks, commanded soldiers in the field, and battled with every ounce of his strength, consumed by the need to fight.
He spent his evenings, however, in solitude, alone in his tent, puffing agitatedly on his pipe. He’d lost all desire to speak with his comrades, and so he spent his days in silence. In all those years, he realized, he hadn’t formed a single lasting friendship among the troops.
It felt as if he’d traveled back in time, to when he’d first joined the Army of the Free Lands, when his days were spent within the strict confines of a rigorous routine of training, battle, and rest, each day identical to the last. Every now and then he set off on Vesa, his scarlet dragon, sometimes wandering off for an entire day. Every time he rose up in flight, however, he received another sad confirmation that they hadn’t gained a single inch of ground. On the contrary, they were racking up one defeat after another.
Snap out of it!
He tore his gaze from the plain and, after one final puff, knocked the spent tobacco from his pipe. Tomorrow, there’d be a new attack to lead, one more occasion to numb his pathetic melancholy in battle. He went back into his tent.
The next morning, the air was bitter cold. His breath came out in dense, little clouds.
Ido sat on back of Vesa, prepared to do battle for the umpteenth time. Mavern was beside him, astride his own dragon.
“You look a bit tired, Ido,” said the general.
“Just getting old,” Ido chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
“Dwarves don’t age as fast as we humans.”
“No, but even we dwarves get old, General.”
Mavern smiled. Ido let out a sigh and scanned his surroundings. He could make out the enemy troops clearly in the distance, immersed in a glacial silence, the peculiar silence of an army of ghosts. He knew the scene well by now, though he still hadn’t grown accustomed to it. Rather than focus his attention on the spectral gray line of troops, he looked to the following rows of Fammin—monstrous beings with thick fangs and tough, dark red fur. Not exactly a pleasant sight, but at least they didn’t fill his bones with a deathly chill.
The command to charge caught him by surprise, but he took to the air on Vesa in an instant, letting loose a loud war cry.
He launched into battle, storming the enemy troops from above on his dragon. Now and then, the fire-breathing birds swooped in to pester him, but he disposed of them with ease. A battle like any other, really.
That is, until he arrived. Ido felt the air ripple and realized a Dragon Knight had drawn near. Only a dragon’s wings could produce such a grim and heavy sound. Something roused inside of Ido.
Finally, a worthy opponent.
He increased his altitude, hoping to get a better look at his enemy. The color red invaded his vision, awakening an image in his memory.
There had been a red-clothed Dragon Knight that fateful day when the Tyrant’s army at last penetrated the force field of the nymphs. There was no way Ido could forget it. He’d been the one to force Nihal to battle Fen. In that instant, hovering there before the Scarlet Knight and his black dragon, it all came flooding back to Ido.
Nihal was paralyzed before Fen and the ghost assaulted her mercilessly. Ido came to her aid just in time to overhear crude, mocking laughter.
“Kill or be killed, knight!” The scarlet warrior looped above her, riding his black dragon.
“Nihal! Fight back, damn it!” Ido shouted.
Propelled by an unspeakable rage, Ido had charged the Scarlet Knight, engaging just long enough to cross swords once or twice. He hadn’t gotten a look at his face or his armor. He’d struck him once, and then they were drawn apart in the heat of battle. Nelgar arrived at Ido’s side, and from that moment, the dwarf lost sight of the scarlet figure.
Once again, Ido felt the anger welling up inside him. This time, there’d be no one to stand in his way. At last, that worm would pay for the suffering he’d caused Nihal. Ido could feel something stirring in his stomach, a renewed vigor. He spurred Vesa, launching himself at the black dragon. In a violent clash, the two crossed swords. Then Ido drew back a short distance.
Between gritted teeth, Ido muttered: “You’ve met your match.”
The knight turned slowly toward him. He was enormous, and not a single inch of skin was left visible beneath his red armor. Even his face was shielded. A blood-red demon. His sword, too, gleamed with the same rich red as his armor, the very same scarlet as Vesa. Ido couldn’t even see his eyes. He was pitted against a soulless warrior.
The Scarlet Knight gestured with his sword, as if greeting Ido, then threw himself upon him. A dogged battle ensued. The red warrior’s fighting style was similar to Ido’s. He too kept his movements to a minimum, relying on the strength of his wrist, which might have made for a more interesting battle had Ido not been so taken with blind fury.
The dwarf felt his opponent’s blade strike his hand. Vesa backed away.
Calm down. Keep calm, dammit!
He heard the muffled sound of derisive laughter from beneath his opponent’s helmet.
“Getting under your skin, am I?”
Ido launched into a frenzied attack. In all his years of battle, he had never burned with such violent passion, never felt such hatred for an opponent, never lost his head.
He swept in as close to their opponent as possible, forcing Vesa to assault the black beast with tooth and claw. The rhythm of the duel increased, but the Black Dragon Knight seemed unperturbed, parrying every attack without fail.
His opponent was a fine swordsman, Ido had to admit. Vigorous, powerful, but sly and agile as well. An uncommon enemy. How long had it been since he’d gone up against such a worthy adversary?
One instant of distraction, one rash movement, one tiny miscalculation and that would be it. The enemy’s sword struck its target and Ido’s helmet went flying. Ido lost his balance, gripping Vesa’s back to keep from tumbling into the air. By the time he had righted himself, the knight’s sword was at his throat. Ido had just enough time to curse under his breath.
It’s all over.
“It looks like it’s all over,” the knight uttered, his sword slashing through the air.
Out of instinct, Ido pressed his eyes shut and felt the blade strip the flesh from his torso.
Breathless, he felt himself being carried off. When he reopened his eyes, he was on back of a different dragon. Seated in front of him was Mavern. Vesa, meanwhile, was behind them, fending off the Scarlet Knight’s dragon.
“This isn’t over, you coward!” his enemy called out.
Ido reluctantly submitted to treatment for his wound. He was furious, as Mavern was the first to learn.
“What the hell were you thinking, butting in where you don’t belong?” Ido muttered just after the battle, gasping for air between words.
“In case you didn’t notice, I saved your life,” the general reminded him.
“I was doing perfectly well on my own.”
“I find it hard to agree, judging from the gash on your chest.”
“You shouldn’t have gotten involved. It’s that simple!”
Mavern was less than keen to carry on with this argument. “You obviously have no idea what you’re talking about.”
With that, he left Ido with the sorcerer tending his wound. An ugly gash ran the length of his chest, but fortunately the cut wasn’t deep.
The dwarf was enraged. He’d acted like
a complete idiot. Forty years on the battlefield and never had he behaved so shamefully in a duel. He’d buckled like an amateur and run off. Never once had he forfeited a fight.
Great. I taught Nihal how to keep her head and here I go losing mine like a new recruit.
It was the defeat that cut Ido, far deeper than the wound, along with his opponent’s final word, which had fallen so casually from his lips: “Coward.”
For several days, Ido was confined to his bed. The wound had become infected, and the sorcerer in charge of Ido’s treatment left strict orders. Ido was not to leave the tent. Even smoking his pipe, his only consolation, was forbidden.
There was nothing left for the dwarf to do but dwell endlessly on his defeat and on his opponent. Soon enough, he became obsessed.
The rage and intensity of emotion he’d felt during the battle now seemed to him disgraceful. They reminded him of the dark times when he’d fought for the Tyrant. Added to that was the shame of his defeat and the sharp memory of his enemy’s insult, which still rang in his ears. And beneath that were his recollections of their very first meeting on the battlefield and of the extreme cruelty the man had shown to Nihal. The images mixed together in his mind with the delirium produced by his fever. Alone in his tent, Ido was tormented by his past. Though he remembered well the choice he’d made and the reasons for which he now fought, he was unable to shake the scarlet warrior from his mind. In the empty space left by Nihal’s absence, the war had taken on a whole new meaning.
By the time Ido was fully healed, most of the ghosts haunting his memory had faded, though his desire to take on the Dragon Knight remained. Before all else, the dwarf decided, it was time to do what he could to improve his swordsmanship. He was tired of spending half of his time on the battlefield driving his sword through shadows. Even with the enchantment applied by the sorcerers before battle, it still took six or seven blows to down a single member of the Tyrant’s living dead.