by Mok, DK
He stood there, darkly vivid before her, his arm perfectly steady down the length of the sword.
“Lord Haska,” said Valamon.
She hadn’t thought he had it in him to slice open someone’s throat, to take a life with his own hands. But there was something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before—a merciless resolve, cool and intense. Haska smiled bitterly.
“Like father, like son,” she said.
Valamon’s gaze remained steady and calm.
“Haska del Fey, if you truly are a different creature to my father, then disband your army. And consider your family avenged.”
The movement was swift and graceful. By the time Haska realised his grip had changed, the sword had turned. The long, bright blade plunged through Valamon, emerging from his back in a shock of gleaming red. He stood perfectly still for a moment, gripping the hilt of her sword, scarlet spatters dripping on the stone.
Haska stared in wordless horror, and Valamon gazed at her with fading eyes. His lips formed two words as he sank slowly to the floor.
Forgive them.
Then everything exploded into blue light.
Falon jolted awake and barely made it to the window in time. Some unfortunate sod would have to clean that up in the morning, but as Falon leaned on the stone sill, stomach heaving, he wasn’t particularly concerned.
He sagged to his knees, his shirt soaked in cold sweat. His body ached feverishly, and his head throbbed like a stampede of panicked bison. He wondered if he should call for the cleric, but he doubted Morle would appreciate being summoned to his chambers at one in the morning. Or at any time, for that matter. He wiped his mouth and slumped against the wall.
Falon wasn’t the sort to have nightmares, but tonight he felt… strange. Like there was some inescapable doom hovering over him, some terrible news waiting to fall. He felt like going for a swim in icy waters, or slashing at foes until he collapsed, or galloping through the woods as far as the night would take him.
He shivered, resisting the urge to pull off his shirt, set it on fire, and hurl it out the window. Gods, with Valamon gone, perhaps he was turning into the resident nutcase. No, he was fine, he just… He was just having a bad night.
Falon heard a soft knocking at his door, and his hand automatically unhooked his sword from the end of his bed. The door creaked open quietly, and Qara peered in.
“Qara?” Falon’s heart skipped a beat. “Is something wrong? Have they—Has something happened?”
“No, Your Highness. I just…I couldn’t sleep.”
Falon sagged back against the wall.
“No wonder, if you sleep in full armour,” he said dourly.
Qara looked at Falon’s dishevelled figure hunched beneath the window.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?”
“I’m fine. We’re not five anymore, Qara. You can’t just sneak in here because you can’t sleep.”
“At least I use the door these days.”
She settled on the floor by the bed, pulling her knees to her chest.
“Falon…”
“I said I’m fine,” snapped Falon. “I don’t know how many times I have to say it.”
“Just once,” said Qara. “Convincingly.”
Falon exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the wall.
“Still no word from Novis or Garlet?” said Qara.
“Nor the others. Almost all have gone silent now. The last news was talk of armies massing on the western borders. It’s a war we’d win, but the cost would be…”
He closed his eyes.
“The queen won’t see me anymore,” he said. “The cleric won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“Morle’s mute,” said Qara.
“I get her other messages loud and clear.”
He turned his face to the shadows.
“Qara, do you remember when we used to play hunter and prey, and we used to tie up Valamon and throw him into the pond?”
“And you used to make me go in and fetch him,” said Qara.
There was a silence.
“Do you suppose he still remembers?” said Falon.
“We were children, Falon.”
“Qara…” Falon turned to look at her.
There was a sharp knocking on the door.
“Your Highness,” called a deep voice.
Falon and Qara exchanged an apprehensive look as they rose to their feet.
“Yes,” said Falon.
The door swung open, and a pair of castle guards stood to attention.
“Your Highness,” said the taller guard. He glanced uncertainly at Qara. “Lord Qara. The king has returned.”
TWELVE
She hadn’t forgotten him. Seris knew he hovered on the fringes of Elhan’s attention at the best of times, but this hadn’t been an oversight. She’d tried to leave him behind.
If she hadn’t lost so much blood these past few days, she’d be far beyond his reach by now and probably still running. Instead, Seris had found her lying curled on a thatch of wildflowers, like a wounded tiger bleeding in the long yellow grass.
He had offered to heal her, now that they were clear of the Lirel Lands, but Elhan pulled farther away every time he mentioned it. She said if she wanted to see him cough up blood, she’d just punch him in the stomach.
Perhaps it was the slowly sinking sun, colouring the landscape in a depressing red hue, but Seris couldn’t help feeling that time was slipping away from him. He was always a step behind, a step too far away.
“Elhan,” he said. “That first night… You never answered my question. Do you know how to break the curse?”
Elhan loped steadily ahead, not looking back. For a moment, she reminded Seris of a kite without a string—a fragile paper rig sailing across the heather and wildflowers, following the fields as they rolled towards the horizon.
“There are heaps of theories. I only know the ones that don’t work. There was one village where they pelted me with ox hearts. Turning up at the next village covered in blood and entrails—boy, the stories that followed me after that. Made a killing selling the offal, though.”
She’ll just keep going, marvelled Seris. She’ll live her entire life like this, forever surrounded by devastation, forever a travelling epicentre of suffering.
It seemed like the antithesis of life’s purpose, a perversion of this brief existence with its ephemeral moments of love, wonder, pain, and understanding. Life was about touching others and leaving them better than you found them.
“Elhan… I think we should find Olrios.”
“I think we should find Prince Valamon,” said Elhan. “You know, Crown Prince, royal quest, brink of war? I thought you cared about those things.”
“I care about a lot of things.”
“As you pointed out before, I don’t. I just want to get the prince, get my money, maybe lord it over the nobles for a bit, and then disappear again.”
“Where to? To more of this?”
“Hey!” Elhan turned now to face Seris, her eyes darkening faster than the sky. “I’ve been through this before, with more people than you can imagine. You’re not special, Seris. You’re just the latest in a long line of forgettable sidekicks.”
Seris returned Elhan’s glare.
“People need roots,” he said. “They need a place to go home to. A place to feel safe. That’s why people get these psycho grudges when you burn down their village.”
“That wasn’t my fault!” yelled Elhan. She paused. “Oh, you weren’t talking about—Never mind.”
Seris sagged slightly, a rumpled figure against the setting sun.
“Elhan, let me—”
They both felt it at the same time. It was like standing waist-deep in a pool of water and feeling a sudden tide roll past. Seris scanned the endless fields of waving grass and fading daylight.
“Hey,” said Elhan. “How close are we to the coordinates on the tree?”
Seris glanced at the sky, then back the way they had come.
“We’re kind of on top of them.”
There was the kind of silence that was, in fact, full of lots of noise not being made. In their own different ways, both Elhan and Seris suddenly experienced the feeling you get when someone is watching you, but you can’t see them. But more than that, it was the feeling you get when someone is watching you, but you can’t see them, even though you are staring right at them.
“I have a really bad feeling about—”
That was as far as Elhan got before the landscape changed. It was as though the air before them suddenly melted, and what had moments ago been highly frolicable fields was now a seething crust of darkness across the hills.
An inconceivably massive army sprawled before them—tens of thousands of figures stood in dense military formations across acres of open field. There were rows upon rows of tents and storehouses, forges and stables, and in the centre of the camp, a partially ruined castle towered skyward.
The vision solidified for perhaps the span of a blink, long enough for a soldier near the perimeter to turn his head towards Seris and Elhan.
And then came the light.
It started as a tiny spot of brilliant blue, budding from the castle, and then, like a fire tearing across dry grass, it burst outwards over the camp. In less than the space of a breath, the entire encampment was consumed in a blinding dome of roaring light, the edges rushing out across the field.
Seris felt as though every organ, every cell, every thought were on fire. His body felt like a sheet of parchment being hurled into the sun, somehow coming out the other side minus a corporeal existence. It felt like the archery tournament, it felt like Tigrath, it felt like the Lirel village multiplied by the limits of comprehension. It lasted barely a moment, but it was a moment that could mark you for a lifetime. As abruptly as it appeared, the light vanished, sinking the countryside into a dusty twilight.
Seris fell to his knees, his throat drained of sound. His vision blurred, then resolved, and he stared blankly for a moment. The entire camp was gone.
Soldiers. Stables. Castle. Gone.
The ground upon which the soldiers had stood was scorched bare, the earth blackened to something beyond charcoal, like a massive scab across the land. There was a smell like lightning in the air, and Seris could feel a lingering numbness in his limbs. He glanced at Elhan and saw that she was standing perfectly still, like a hunting dog sighting its prey, her eyes locked on the spot where the castle had stood.
“What happened?” croaked Seris.
Elhan paused.
“You think it was me, don’t you?” she said. “You think I somehow just blew up an entire army.”
“I didn’t say that. It could have just been a remarkable coincidence—”
Elhan started jogging down the grassy slope, backtracking the way they’d come.
“If they’re travelling by sorcery, they could be halfway to Algaris by now,” said Elhan.
“There’s no sorcerer alive who could do that. And I don’t even know what that was.”
“It was a transport spell. I’ve only ever seen it used on small parcels, but we don’t know anything about Lord Haska’s sorcerer.”
“Elhan,” said Seris. “We have to find Olrios.”
Elhan stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“I thought we were looking for Prince Valamon,” she said.
“Olrios can help us find the army. He can tell us what we’re dealing with.”
“We know where the army’s headed.” Elhan half-turned towards Seris, her face in partial shadow. “Lord Haska’s taking the fight to Delmar. We have to get to Prince Valamon before their sorcerer can move them again.”
Seris’s steps were steady as he moved towards Elhan.
“Rescuing the prince doesn’t solve the problem. There’s a war on the way, and we’re facing sorcery on a scale that shouldn’t even exist. Olrios is the only one who can tell us how to stop it—”
“Are you talking about Haska’s army or are you talking about me?” said Elhan, her voice like a creature sliding through the darkness.
Seris took a step forward.
“Elhan—”
She took a step back.
“I’m not stupid, Seris. I know you’re trying to break the curse. I know what Falon told you to do.”
Seris stopped abruptly, a dozen emotions flashing through his eyes.
“I would never—”
“Just because I’m forbidden from the castle doesn’t mean I can’t find my way in. Delmar’s been trying to kill me since I was a child, and Falon’s just like his father. My earliest memory isn’t of cuddles or cakes or lullabies. It’s of pulling knives from my body. Why do you think I’ve been hiding in the wild lands all these years? I can keep running, and I will if I have to. But Delmar’s gonna die one day, and if Valamon owes me one, then maybe…”
“That’s not a solution,” said Seris. “For one thing, Valamon will never be king.”
There was an icy pause.
“What?”
“He’s going to join the Order of Fiviel, and Falon will inherit the throne.”
A breeze rustled through the long grass. When Elhan spoke, her voice was very deliberate.
“You mean the guy I’ve been trekking across the continents to rescue is going to become a cleric, and the guy I’ve been trying to piss off is going to be king? And you didn’t think this was important?”
“It’s not important. Who likes you, who doesn’t, it doesn’t change what you are. It doesn’t change what you do to the people around you.”
“You still think it’s all me. The prison melting. The fire at the ball. You think I did all those things.”
“I don’t think you meant to.”
Elhan took a step back, and it was as though she were receding across a vast gulf.
“Elhan,” said Seris. “You know you can’t keep running. You can’t keep pretending that you’re all right, ignoring what’s happening to the people around you. It has to stop. And Olrios is the only one who knows how to break the curse.”
The wind was picking up across the hillside, pulling Elhan’s hair across her face. She said nothing for a long while.
“You lasted longer than the others,” she said, her voice toneless. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Elhan turned and started running across the grass. She froze suddenly in mid-step, looking down at Seris’s hand closed tightly on her arm. Seris could feel her tingling through him, like fungal threads spreading through his flesh. As he maintained his grip, he was aware that, at this point, most people in his position had only seconds to live.
“Elhan, I want you to come with me.”
She turned slowly, her eyes inscrutable.
“Why does it even matter to you?” said Elhan, her voice hollow.
“Everyone matters,” said Seris.
A cool breeze rippled through the grass, sending loose blossoms tumbling across the fields. Seris felt a sudden trickle from his nose, and he looked down at the fresh drip of red staining his robe. When he looked up, the last thing he saw was a pale, grubby fist heading towards him.
The grand hall blazed with hanging braziers and oak chandeliers the size of cartwheels. Even so, the vaulted room seemed steeped in shadow. An imposing table stretched its length, and at its head loomed a redwood throne, occupied for the first time in several months.
Despite the rigors of his recent campaign, King Delmar appeared remarkably unchanged, as though time were little more to him than rain pattering on a leviathan. His hair was greyer, but he still radiated the quiet thunder and regal bloodline that recalled the kings of legend.
Various favoured nobles and military commanders were seated nearer to him, including Duke Rassar, one of King Delmar’s longest-serving advisors. To the king’s right sat a stony-faced Falon, and to the king’s immediate left, the seat remained empty—the queen’s place.
Lesser advisors made up the remaining seats, and people like Qara were re
legated to standing room only at the far end of the hall. Qara didn’t mind, although it did make the political hierarchy immediately—and sometimes punitively—clear.
Although Falon often said that Qara was dear to the royal family, she had the distinct impression that King Delmar wasn’t overly fond of her. Her father had been very close to the king, but since his passing, the relationship between the House of Corwen and the castle had cooled dramatically. There’d been talk amongst the nobles when King Delmar had assigned Qara to city patrol—it was hardly a position for a marquis. But Qara had said nothing. To be honest, she enjoyed being outdoors, keeping a keen eye on the streets of Algaris. Her horse seemed to like it, too.
Qara’s attention returned to the hall as the room fell silent with nervous anticipation.
“The time for decisive action has come,” said King Delmar. “For too long, we have allowed hostile forces to harass our borders, sowing lies and discontent among our people. For too long, we have rested upon past victories, without turning our eyes to the enemies who still thrive around us.”
Dutiful mutters of agreement swirled through the room, and Qara felt a little uneasy about where this was heading.
“Every city, every village I passed spoke of rising unrest, of approaching war,” said King Delmar. “Our informants report a power rising in the west, beneath the ensigns of our enemies. We live in a time of hard-won peace, after centuries of oppression, persecution, and fear at the hands of the Eruduin, the Goethos, and so many others who would have seen us snuffed from the world. Through our courage and heroism, we survived, and we flourished. We will not allow those sacrifices to be wasted. The time for waiting and watching is over. Talgaran rises to war.”
A chorus of affirmations swelled through the hall, and Qara felt her heart pounding. He hadn’t mentioned Valamon—not a word.
“As we speak, our troops are gathering at Horizon’s Gate, drawn from garrisons across the empire,” said King Delmar. “Once our forces have mustered, we ride to war with an army the size of which the continent has never seen. Lord Qara!”
The room fell to absolute silence, and Qara stepped forward at full attention.
“Your Majesty.”