Shadow of the Void

by Nathan Garrison

  From the frantic look in his eyes, and the scream erupting from his throat, he must have known it, too.

  Jasside stepped forward. The darkness gained on the light, now only two paces from Tior. Now one. The energies, locked together, pulled at her as much as she pushed, and she knew the same was true for her enemy. There would be no escaping for either of them. This could only end with one of their deaths.

  And it will not.

  Be.

  Mine!

  Tior lifted a fist. In anger, or frustration, she didn’t know. But his power waned in that moment. Her darkness broke through his light, slamming into him.

  The man turned to ash in an instant.

  Jasside hadn’t even the time to smile before a crack of lightning struck the ground at her side. She flew, sizzling with pain, and realized what he’d done. A last-­ditch spell, coming from a different angle that she wouldn’t see coming.

  As she tumbled along the sand, breathless and exhausted, she cringed to realize just how close he’d come to succeeding. She came to a stop and closed her eyes.

  Before Draevenus had even fully opened the lid, a black mist erupted from the box like breath on a cold day, encompassing every mierothi present. He felt virulent energy, not of his own making, coursing through every vein and cell in his body. His back arched. Limbs splayed out, stiff and out of his control. Fingers and toes tingled with pain.

  Though nearly blinded by the darkness, Draevenus looked out among his kin. All were in the exact same state as he.

  What . . . is . . . happening?

  Cold fire seemed to rage within him. His scales writhed in agony. His back churned.

  Were you right, sister? Have I killed us all?

  The pain was already as bad as he could possibly imagine. But somehow, it grew worse. He begged within his mind for release, welcoming death even, to end this torture, wondering how he could have so badly misjudged his god.

  Ruul’s gift is death.

  Then something happened.

  Draevenus . . . remembered.

  That window into his mind swung open, and his ancient memories awakened once more. His consciousness honed in on an instance that he didn’t think he ever could have forgotten, and realization struck him in the gut like a hammer.

  I’ve done this before.

  The day his tribe had first met Ruul. The day they lost their humanity.

  His god’s words came back to him. This was to be a completion of the work he’d begun almost two thousand years ago.

  They were being transformed.

  But into what?

  Draevenus didn’t know. All he could do was be patient until the pain passed. A task made more difficult by the swarm of glowing wings he glimpsed approaching through the sky.

  “Remember to breathe,” Gilshamed said.

  Tassariel let go of the air from her lungs. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it. But if anything had the right to take her breath away, the sight before her surely qualified.

  “Look at all the ­people,” she said. “A million at least. And they all came to kill each other. How is it possible for such hatred to exist?”

  Gilshamed shook his head. “I forget how young you are. That you’ve never seen war.”

  “Is it always like this?”

  “Not always to the same scale, but yes. How it’s fought—­the implements, that is—­adapt over time, but the nature of war never really changes.”

  “If that’s true, I’ve had enough of it already.”

  Gilshamed nodded. “Me too. What’s your plan for finding the queen in that mess down below?”

  “If she’s anywhere, she’ll be with that minister of hers. Tior. I caught him in communion once, it’ll only take a moment to find him again.”

  Without waiting for a response, she energized and slipped into that dark place. Once a soul had been touched, finding it once more was only a matter of thinking about the person. She conjured that wrinkled face in her mind and felt herself drifting towards one of many nearby stars.

  Just as she drew close, though, it flared, then winked out of existence. She’d never seen anything like it before.

  Tassariel popped her consciousness back into her body. “Quick. West side of the field. I think . . .”

  “What?”

  “I think he just died. If he did, Arivana could be in serious trouble.”

  Gilshamed banked down, picking up speed as he swept over the Panisian army. Reaching its edge, Tassariel pointed down to a group of figures near a charred stretch of sand. “There,” she said. “That was the last place I felt him.”

  Her uncle landed, and she leapt off at a run. Dust and smoke lay thick in the air, and she couldn’t make out who the ­people were. They seemed to be gathered around something on the ground.

  “Arivana?” she called. “Queen Arivana, is that you?”

  “Tassariel?” came the reply.

  Tassariel held a hand to her heart, relieved beyond measure. “Your majesty! I was so worried.” She drew close, and could now make out Arivana and her handmaiden, and another man she didn’t recognize. A woman in black lay in the sand, looking like she’d run through a fire.

  “As was I,” Arivana replied. “But we’ll have to catch up later. Disaster has only barely been avoided today. And it may still claim us yet.”.”

  “I only just arrived, so I’ll take your word for it.” Tassariel gestured at the strangers. “Who are they?”

  “I,” the man said, “am Prince Daye Harkun, brother to King Chase Harkun of Sceptre.” He pointed to the woman. “This is—­”

  “Jasside,” Gilshamed said, coming up on Tassariel’s side. “How the abyss did you end up here?”

  The woman—­Jasside—­turned her head but made no move to sit up. “Long story, Gilshamed. It’s . . . good to see you.”

  “You as well. I must admit, I lost track of most members of our revolution. I . . . I couldn’t face them after what I’d done.”

  “It’s all right,” Jasside said. “It all worked out in the end.” She closed her eyes. “Most of it, anyway.”

  Gilshamed hung his head.

  “What about Tior?” Tassariel asked. “Where is he?”

  Jasside pointed to a pile of ash not far away.

  Tassariel felt her jaw drop open. “You mean . . . ?”

  “He was tougher than I expected,” Jasside said. She gestured towards her ragged condition. “Hence.”

  “Good riddance,” Tassariel said.

  “As much as I agree with you,” Arivana said, “we have bigger problems to face. You two are valynkar, right? Surely you can sense what’s going on up there.”

  “They’d better,” Daye said. “What they’re doing feels . . . wrong. Even from this far away it pulls at me, as if I’m compelled to step in and break up the party.”

  Tassariel peered up towards the six great ships in the sky. She’d been sensing the goings-­on there for a while now but had dismissed the importance in her focus to find Arivana. Now, she could ignore it no longer. “What are they doing?”

  “Linking their sorcery, however that works,” the queen said. “Once they finish, no power in this world can stand against them.”

  “They will not finish harmonizing for several marks at best,” Gilshamed said. “What worries me most is that.”

  They all followed the direction of his pointed finger and saw scores of flying valynkar converging on a point across the battlefield.

  “Where are they going?” Tassariel asked.

  “Oh, gods,” Jasside said. “They’re headed for the mierothi.”

  “The mierothi are here?” Gilshamed asked. “How many of them?”

  “All of them,” Jasside said. “I can feel them as surely as you feel the casters in those floating fortresses above us. Something is
going on, though. Something . . . strange. I think they’re vulnerable.”

  She moved to sit up, as if she were in any state to help, but the prince laid a hand on her shoulder, eliciting a gasp as she nearly flopped back onto the ground.

  “Ease your mind, Jasside,” Gilshamed said. “I remember the real reason behind the revolution in the Veiled Empire. I know that not all mierothi are monsters.”

  “The monsters among them are dead,” Jasside confirmed. “All but one, at least. And I’m pretty sure I’ve got her under control.”

  Tassariel watched her uncle shiver at the words. Saying no more, he spread his wings and launched into the sky. She turned to Jasside. “Let me see what I can do about those wounds.”

  Gilshamed could not feel his brethren energizing, drowned out by the thousands doing likewise above them, but he knew it all the same by the bright glow that surrounded them. That and the rage writ clearly on all their faces.

  He did not recognize most of them. Many were young—­relatively speaking—­born after the war that saw their kind banished from a continent. They’d never faced mierothi in battle before. So he was at a loss at their motivation. Such angry passion could find no root in ancient animosity. There must be another reason.

  What he’d found at the consulate, though, might be more than sufficient cause. And between what his own eyes witnessed and Tassariel’s account, he was sure he’d only just brushed the surface of the depravity there. These valynkar before him had been driven to desperation by their own sins.

  But desperate men are ever seeking a way out. A release from the chains they’ve wrapped around themselves. Perhaps I can be the one to show them how to break those bonds.

  Glancing down, he saw why he had to try.

  His old foe had gathered in a cluster, six hundred strong. All the mierothi left in the world, according to Jasside. Her description of them, though apt, fell far short of the truth.

  Vulnerable? They’re as helpless as babes!

  Caught in the grasp of some strange summons of dark energy, he did not know if they were unaware of the danger above them or simply unable to respond. Either way, his window of opportunity to prevent their annihilation was swiftly drawing to a close. He sped forward through the air, energizing as he dove between them and his kin.

  Gilshamed cast a bright aura of light around him, capturing the attention of the hundred other valynkar. Amplifying his voice, he addressed them.

  “Consular personnel,” he said. “I am Gilshamed, a long-­standing member of our ­people’s high council. Take heed of my words!”

  All eyes were drawn to him now, yet his kin were still poised to strike with their sorcery. None appeared too happy to see him.

  “I do not claim to understand all your reasons for being here nor why you feel compelled to attack a helpless foe. I do, however, see the desperation in your eyes. The guilt and fear driving you to acts you know are unconscionable.”

  Many of them lowered hands held ready with deadly magics, and a few even hung their heads. Not all, though. Not even most.

  Not nearly enough.

  “Whatever orders you’ve been given, whatever promises you’ve been made, I free you of them all. My brethren, I beg you, please, stand down.”

  No one moved.

  “Hear me! I know about the happenings at the consulate. Do not let your own sins trap you into further misdeeds. There is no escape from that wicked spiral of lies. The only way out is through repentance.” He held out a hand. “I offer you forgiveness, freely and without restraint. All you must do . . . is take it.”

  Gilshamed let his words hang in the air as he met each set of eyes in turn. It seemed to take tolls for him to make a connection with everyone, and he feared there wasn’t enough time. That even as he got through to dozens, too many would be left unconvinced, willing to let fly their eldritch violence and succumb to the fear that drove them.

  Still, he sought them out one by one, knowing that only a true bond—­not the one they felt shackled to at the moment—­could divert this disaster. Even then, it felt like an impossible task. I’ve done so much to stay out of the affairs of my ­people, and for far too long. Will they recognize that I’m trying to change that?

  Will they even understand what I’m trying to do?

  Almost to tears, he kept up his physical communion with the valynkar before him, and slowly—­so slowly—­the defiance in every gaze withered away, replaced by a mix of sorrow, shame, and relief. Silently flapping their glowing wings, the consular personnel all discharged their gathered energy.

  Gilshamed sighed. He turned, looking down once more upon the mierothi, still writhing in the throes of an unknown ritual. He bowed his head to the man standing before them.

  For you, Draevenus. For the kindness you showed me. For leading me to my love. For helping me let go of the past and find the way back to myself. As long as you and I live, let the peace between our ­peoples stand.

  Though he couldn’t be sure, Gilshamed thought he saw the old assassin smile. He returned the gesture in kind . . .

  . . . only to have that small surge of joy wiped out as he felt a change in the massive conjoining of power in the floating towers above him.

  The casters of the first of the houses had completed their harmonization.

  The searing heat from Tassariel’s casting faded as Jasside inspected her newly healed flesh. Her fatigue had only worsened, as was usually the case, but at least the pain was gone.

  “Thank you,” Jasside said.

  “It was nothing,” Tassariel replied. “I’m happy to—­gah!”

  The valynkar woman gasped, turning her head towards the great ships above them.

  “What is it?” Jasside asked.

  “The houses. They’re . . .” Tassariel gulped, “ . . . they’re completing their links.”

  Jasside turned to Arivana. “Who’s in charge of them? What are their orders?”

  The queen shrugged. “You killed everyone who had the authority to command them. And the last thing I heard Tior say was that they were to take out all enemy casters. I suppose that means—­”

  “The mierothi,” Jasside said. Fear and frustration coursed through her, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Knowing she had to try anyway.

  Energizing, she took a step towards them.

  “Hold on,” Daye said, standing in her way. She stopped abruptly, afraid to make contact and lose the power she had just drawn in. “You’re in no condition for any kind of strain. I know you’re skilled, but against these odds? All you’ll accomplish is your own death.”

  “You think I don’t know that!”

  “Then why go? Abyss take me woman, I will not let you throw your life away for nothing!”

  “This is not the time to discuss your feelings for me,” Jasside said, almost adding, Or my feelings for you. “You do not have the right to make decisions for me. Lives are at stake. ­People I care about. Do you see anyone else able and willing to stop this?”

  “Maybe . . .” Tassariel said.

  Jasside spun to face her. “What do you mean?”

  The valynkar gestured towards the queen. “With all her advisors dead, what’s to stop Arivana from handing out new orders?”

  “Tior made it very clear to me that I have no actual authority,” the queen said. “The prime councilors were the true rulers of Panisahldron.” She looked to her handmaiden, as if for comfort or encouragement, but seemed to find neither. Instead, she shook her head. “The crown has long been nothing but a symbol.”

  “I guessed as much,” Tassariel said though she was smiling. “But who else actually knows all that?”

  “I . . .” A look of wonder came across the queen’s face. “I don’t think anyone does.”

  Jasside felt her attention pulled away. Distant, yet drawing closer ev
ery beat, something was coming. For once, this day, it was a surprise she welcomed.

  She laid a hand on the shoulder of both Tassariel and Arivana, grinning. “Do what you can. I’ll see if I can buy you some time.”

  Turning away, she raised an eyebrow at Daye. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut.

  This time, at least.

  Jasside shadow-­dashed across the battlefield. Once, twice. The mass of mierothi came into view, and she made one more leap to their position. She spared only a glance for their unusual state before sprinting behind their formation.

  She held up her hands in greeting as the daeloth arrived in force.

  “Quick!” she called, as the blurred streak of their passage came to a halt before her. “There’s no time for explanations. Your mother’s lives, and countless more, will be forfeit unless you all do exactly as I say!”

  Ten thousand daeloth stared at her in confusion, but none raised a voice in challenge. After a moment, a grizzled veteran stepped forward. “We’re here to obey, great mistress. Just tell us how we’re needed.”

  She turned, pointing up at the floating fortresses now converging in the sky over the mierothi. “Distract them!”

  Though he’d stood witness as Gilshamed managed to save the mierothi from death at the hands of the valynkar, the joy Draevenus felt at being saved in such a fashion, at seeing his reward for past faith paid in full, withered like corpses left out in the sun as chaos broke out on all sides.

  Helplessness cut like a knife.

  The transformation still raged on, and he’d felt no worse pain in almost two thousand years of existence, yet it still paled before the torment in his soul as his half-­blooded kin fought and died on his behalf.

  Dark missiles in the thousands streaked skyward, battering the underside of the hulking ships and sending chunks crashing down among the ranks of both armies, while great rays of flame struck from above like the clutch of a six-­fingered god, melting flesh and sand and bone—­ the latter, though, rebuffed by strange fields springing up to block the worst effects and protect those below by a sorceress so powerful and skilled he knew she could be none other than his sister’s mysterious protégé.