by Matthew Ward
I hoped I was mistaken, that the clouds of smoke concealed survivors, but every time I glanced into the Farsight I saw no sign of life. I looked again, and this time saw clusters of smouldering and ash-stained skeletons amongst the ruins. Bile rose at the back of my throat. I pinched my eyes closed and strove for calm.
"They're dead," I confirmed after a few deep breaths. "All of them."
My anger came easily now. It was so unfair! I'd saved those people from the slaughter, only for death to claim them anyway. I wanted to set my anger loose as the serathiel had done, to demand answers that would cover up my own irrational sense of failure. A year earlier, I would have yielded to that desire, heedless of the consequences. Now, scarcely older, but wiser by far, I sought what calm I could, and forced my wrath back into the dark corner of my soul where it laired. There was enough anger in the air already, and no good could come of indulging my own.
Movement drew my eyes back to the Farsight. The ruins of Salkard were as lifeless as they had been before, but the main street had cracked apart, a jagged maw of stone and soil. In a spray of earth and ash, a giant black arm forced its way up into the light. The hand flailed blindly for a moment, then found purchase on the wall of a nearby building, and the creature below began to haul the rest of its massive body upwards.
"What in the world is that?" Koschai's eyes had clearly recovered.
The note of urgency in his voice jolted the serathi from their own concerns. As one, they stared at the Farsight. They saw, as I did, the midnight skin shift and flex as the arm heaved, revealing chinks of ruddy light beneath. I'd seen this creature before, I realised, or at least something like it. This was the Burning Lord to which Calda, Jamar and I had nearly been sacrificed.
"It's the Burning Lord. At least, that's what the cultists called it."
The creature's struggles widened the crack into a chasm. Its head and the fingers of its other hand were now in view. I made out little detail of its countenance through the Farsight's image, but nothing could disguise the magnificent mane of fire, or the fact that the creature was far taller, and far more heavily muscled, than any of the serathi.
Azyra circled the Farsight, her lip twisted in disgust. "Ignorance. If the Burning Lord were so near, we would all be dead. This is merely a balnoth, one of his servants."
The building that the balnoth used as a handhold crumbled under his weight. The creature found new purchase amidst the destruction, rubble bursting into dust in his grip. Slowly but surely, it continued to climb.
Azyra ceased pacing. "The balnoth must be destroyed, and quickly. If we let it escape, it will do untold damage." She turned to face me. "We know these beings of old. There is no accord to be made with them."
"Let me face the colossus, sister." Myrzanna spoke with a reverence wholly lacking to that moment. "This must have been the evil I sensed. By its death let me atone for my rashness."
When Azyra finally spoke, she did so not to Myrzanna, but to the graces who held her captive. "Seal this one in her chambers."
The graces nodded and hauled Myrzanna towards the gate. The Speaker of Retribution – or, I rather suspected, the ex-Speaker of Retribution – struggled for all she was worth, but the graces held her fast.
"Please, sister," Myrzanna implored. "Let me fly into battle one last time before I am caged, I beg you. Sister!"
I heard a rawness in Myrzanna's voice, a desperation that I found piteous, despite the innocents she'd so recently murdered. Upon Azyra, however, neither Myrzanna's words nor her distress found purchase. The serathiel did not so much as look at her.
No one spoke. The unmasked serathi wore carefully neutral expressions, presumably not wishing to appear sympathetic to the prisoner. The graces were as impossible to read as always. Koschai looked thoughtful. And Adanika? Adanika looked nearly as distraught as Myrzanna, though she covered it up soon enough when she caught me looking at her. Were the two close?
When Myrzanna and her escort were finally gone, Azyra sighed. "And thus was a great day soured by tragedy and malice." She spoke to herself more than anyone present, I think. "It was not supposed to be this way." She turned to address me directly. "Accept my apologies, Edric Saran. We have been shown to be less than our all, and I have neither been so accommodating, nor as gracious as I would have liked. Please accept my assurance that I will make full and unconditional apology to the Tressians, and recompense them to the best of my ability."
It was prettily said, and sounded sincere, but I wasn't yet prepare to forgive what the serathi had done. "None of which will bring back those who have died at your command."
To her credit, the serathiel attempted no evasion. "Indeed it will not. Such miracles are not within my power. Myrzanna will be punished for her part in this, and I will make amends for mine."
"Begging your pardon, sister," Elynna asked. "But if Myrzanna is not to slay the balnoth, who shall? It cannot be allowed to roam."
"It will not," said Adanika said. "I shall face it. At least, if Edric Saran will lend me his sword." She offered me a self-deprecating smile. "Truth is its own weapon, but I doubt it will serve against a balnoth."
"No!" Azyra commanded, then continued more softly. "No. This is where my penance begins. I shall face the creature. Elynna will see you to your quarters." The serathiel knelt briefly beside Myrzanna's sword. With a swoop of her wings, both she and the sword were gone.
The dismissal had been obvious, but neither I nor Koschai made move to leave.
"I will escort you back now." Elynna strove to make her words sound halfway between an instruction and a suggestion, but she lacked the force of her elders.
I glanced at the Farsight. "Actually, I'm interested to see what happens next. Aren't you, Koschai?" The older man mumbled something noncommittal in reply. Hardly the gesture of support I'd sought.
"The serathiel bade you return to your quarters," Elynna objected.
"Actually, I thought it a suggestion. Perhaps I misunderstood."
Elynna beamed, glad I wasn't going to resist any longer.
"However," I went on, "I wish to see how this plays out. The serathiel made it clear that slaying this 'balnoth' was part of her penance. As I seem to be acting as representative from both the Tressian Republic and the Hadari Empire, I should witness what occurs."
I fixed Elynna with my best inscrutable stare, which I suspected would see a lot of use in coming days, and hoped she wouldn't press the point. I doubted my stubbornness would have counted for much with Azyra, or even the now-departed Myrzanna, but I suspected Elynna's force of personality of being several magnitudes lower.
"The serathiel was quite clear in her wishes," Elynna insisted.
So much for my reading of her character. Come on, Koschai, I thought. Say something. A united front might make all the difference, and it wasn't much of a risk to take, surely? Apparently it was, for the Tressian said nothing. He looked decidedly uncomfortable with the whole situation, and I didn't suppose I could blame him for that.
In the end, my salvation came, not unexpectedly, from Adanika. "Actually, sister, it is only proper he remain."
Elynna opened her mouth, then closed it again without a word. Then, seeking to distance herself from Adanika's decision, she crossed to the other side of the Farsight, and stared pointedly away from us. Apparently, Koschai and I were now Adanika's problem.
"You were a lot of help," I whispered to Koschai.
"I'm sorry. This has all left me a little wrong-footed. You have to understand. I've been here for a decade, and I've never once borne witness to anything like any of this. It's as if the return to the mortal world has made them, well..."
"Mortal?" I interrupted.
"A little," he agreed. "And not in a good way."
I pondered that in silence, my eyes fixed on the rising balnoth. "Have you seen anything like that creature before?"
"Not once. You?"
The balnoth dragged one massive leg out of the ground. Another minute, no more, and the creature would be free. Where
was Azyra?
Adanika sensed my worry. "Patience, Edric Saran. Even for the serathi, things take time."
A thought struck me. "Why haven't the graces left with the serathiel? I thought they were her bodyguards."
"And so they are. But as the serathiel declared this an act of penance, no other is permitted to aid her. I doubt you understand."
"Actually, I do. We call them honour duels, where two combatants prove their bravery in single combat."
"Interesting. Are these 'honour duels' fought to the death?"
"Normally," I replied. "Are your acts of penance always voluntary on the part of the penitent?"
"Most are. Sometimes... encouragement... is required."
"Is that what awaits Myrzanna?"
Adanika closed her eyes, as if struck by a brief pain. "No."
"Then..."
"Koschai, do your people also have these honour duels?"
"No," he said dryly. "We have politics – a much more dangerous pastime for honourable men."
Adanika seemingly missed the humour in Koschai's tone. "Then it seems we have much in common with both mortal realms." She looked at the Farsight. "The balnoth has freed itself. Let us hope the serathiel does not tarry."
"Are you sure that she can defeat it by herself?" I asked.
Adanika considered. "It may be that her skills have atrophied with age. It is unimportant. She has declared this fight to be hers alone, and so it will play out. If she falls, another will take her place. That would be a tragedy, but one from which we would recover." The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. "Ah, I believe she has arrived."
Azyra struck from a near vertical descent. She must have issued a battle-cry or challenge of some kind – though, of course, the Farsight relayed no sound – for the balnoth craned its neck back to catch a glimpse of her as she approached. The serathiel's wings swept back, her gown streamed behind her, and she held her outstretched sword like a lance.
She smote the balnoth like a thunderbolt, slamming the giant into the scorched remains of the village's great hall. The balnoth staggered, swiping her aside with a flailing fist. Liquid fire seeped from a deep wound in giant's chest.
Azyra's tumbling form struck a charred ruin. Ash blossomed. Picking herself out of the rubble, she ran up and along one of the creature's giant legs, and onto its chest, skirting the seething fireblood as she did so. There, she took the sword in a two-handed grip, and thrust the point downward into the balnoth's throat.
Or rather, I assumed that was what she'd intended. Instead, the balnoth reached out a massive hand and swatted her. Azyra struck the rubble with crushing force, tearing a fresh furrow in a landscape that had already suffered much. One of the serathi choked back a whisper of alarm. However sanguine Adanika might have been about Azyra's fate, it seemed not all of her sisters were as relaxed.
Azyra was soon in the air once again. The balnoth too had regained its footing. The combatants circled one another warily. It seemed to me that, having taken a measure of one another's strength, both balnoth and serathi were wary about renewing the fight, but I soon realised that wasn't all.
"Are they talking to one another?" Koschai asked with surprise.
"It looks that way," I agreed. "But why?"
"Why not?" Adanika said mildly. "If the servants of the Burning Lord are awakening, the Reckoning cannot be far distant. Better that the serathiel learn what she can from the balnoth, than slay him outright. That is, if the creature has wit enough to form real words."
Scarcely had she finished speaking when the balnoth hurled itself forward anew. He was weaponless, and Azyra easily evaded his lumbering fists, or else twisted aside so that their impact merely grazed, rather than crushed.
The serathiel too had the advantage of flight. Had she been limited to fighting from the ground, as I would have been, the balnoth's greater height and reach would have been formidable. However, against a serathi, such advantages were as nothing. Azyra simply took wing, and struck the creature from whatever height he was most vulnerable. Each cut of the serathiel's blade caused a fresh wound to open up on the giant's body, and with each wound the balnoth grew slower and weaker. At last the creature finally collapsed, fire oozing from a dozen wounds. It pitched first onto its knees, then toppled full forward and shattered into chunks of inert stone.
No sooner had the balnoth fallen than the two remaining graces vanished into the skies, presumably rejoining their mistress now that it would not undermine her honour. The remaining serathi cheered Azyra's victory, all save Adanika, whose lips twitched into an almost-smile more telling for its reserve than its presence. It seemed the serathiel had begun her penance, just as she had wished.
"We should go." Adanika addressed me and Koschai in a voice too low for the other serathi to hear. "Despite my earlier words, I doubt Azyra will be pleased to find you here. You have seen what you wished to see."
"You're probably right," I replied. Koschai nodded his agreement, probably thinking that I'd provoked the serathiel enough for one morning. "I should be getting back to Calda and Jamar anyway."
Ten
I know we passed drudges and serathi as we returned to Calda’s quarters, but I barely registered their presence. Koschai, perhaps sensing I was in no mood for conversation, made little attempt to rouse me from introspection. His lack of concern perplexed me. Did he not appreciate the significance of the events that we had just witnessed, or was he simply so removed from the world that any emotional connection had withered away? Or perhaps, I conceded, I was overreacting, and Koschai was enough of a gentleman to let me come to that realisation myself, rather than force it upon me.
Nonetheless, the glories of Skyhaven seemed that little bit less wondrous. I no longer saw the enchanted splendour of the place, but the hard-edged reality beneath. However comely Skyhaven seemed, it was a fortress, and the serathi were an army marshalling for war. Whatever the nature of the Light of the Radiant, and whether or not it had indeed been Myrzanna who had ordered its use, it was a terrifying weapon, and moreover one in the possession of a people little inclined to mercy. And if Myrzanna hadn't unleashed the Light of the Radiant, then who had?
The presence of the balnoth was another troubling matter, if only because it suggested that the serathiel's story of the Reckoning might actually be true. I needed to return to the world below. If the peoples of the Tressian Republic and the Hadari Empire were to have any chance of survival, they'd need as much warning as possible. If Calda was no better, I'd have to leave her and Jamar here and carry word myself. Of course, if Calda was already dead... No, I told myself, it wouldn't come to that. Irina had implied there might yet be a way to save Calda, and I had to believe that it was possible. At least until there was no hope left.
We were crossing the street below Calda’s room when Koschai craned his neck skyward. "What the...?"
I caught the tail end of a brilliant amber flare playing around the topmost windows. Flickering energies spiralled outwards, then dissipated as if they'd never been.
I tugged on Koschai's arm, and ran towards the building's door. "Come on!"
"What?" he asked absently, his eyes gazing upward.
"That's Calda's room!”
Koschai shoved me hard. I flailed for balance, then half-turned and landed heavily on my backside.
I yelled something incoherent at Koschai, but he paid me no heed. The Tressian stood, his palms raised skyward, and his legs braced. Light radiated from his hands, waves of magic forming a hemispherical shell across his arms and torso.
A man-sized mass of stone plummeted from the sky and slammed into the barrier of light. The shell shattered under the impact, forcing Koschai to his knees. The stone split into a dozen caroming pieces. One knocked the arm off a statue, another shattered a flagstone. A chunk of rubble as large as my head ricocheted into a rosebush.
Scrambling to my feet, I ran to Koschai. He was still his knees and breathing heavily. His trembling hands were braced on the floor, and he had the
look of a man on the point of collapse.
He waved me away. "Go. I'll be fine. I'm just winded."
Taking the Tressian at his word, I crossed the short distance to the door, hauled it open, and ran for the staircase.
I took those stairs three at a time. What was going on in Calda's room? Something had clearly dislodged a chunk of stone from the outer wall and into the street. If that force could shatter the walls of Skyhaven, which were as solidly build as any I'd seen, then what would it have done to mortal flesh? What of Calda and Jamar? Especially Calda, whose hold on life had been tenuous? I had to get up there.
I skidded to a halt outside Calda's room, the heels of my boots doing irreparable damage to the hallway carpet. Without pausing to catch my breath, I snatched my sword from its scabbard and hurled myself into the room.
Irina lay face down across the bed, her limbs limp and lifeless, a corona of amber light playing about her head. My remorse at her death was counterbalanced by the altogether more heartless and pragmatic part of me that found reassurance in the fact that a serathi could perish.
"Edric! Where the drast are we?"
Calda knelt by a window – or rather the space framed by jagged metal and glass where a window should have been. A battered, but breathing, Jamar lay at her side. The vibrancy of her voice and actions stood in stark contrast to the woman I'd feared was slipping into Otherworld.
As I approached, Calda hurriedly rose, her left hand gathering the skirts of her sleeping robe, her right hand brandishing a sword – her sword – in my direction. The point of the blade was steady, but why was it aimed at me?
"What happened here?" I asked urgently.
Calda ignored my question. "I asked you where we are! Tell me! Are we dead?" Her voice was raw with anger and fear, but she was a long way from panic.
That brought me up short. "What? Why would you ask that?"
The sword jabbed in my direction. "ANSWER ME!"
"No, no of course not.” I took a hasty step back and sheathed my own sword. "You were badly hurt, but Irina..." I gestured at the dead serathi, "...was tending to your wounds. The serathi rescued us – we'd all be dead now otherwise."