by Mok, DK
“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” said Olrios, in a manner that Seris found mildly alarming. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you. Good luck and all that. If it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings, eh?”
Olrios put his hands on Seris’s shoulders.
“If what doesn’t wo—” began Seris.
Olrios suddenly shoved Seris backwards into the wall, but instead of slamming into sandstone, he was falling through it. Seris caught the briefest glimpse of a painting flashing past before he fell backwards onto…sand.
Seris found himself staring at a clear night sky, feeling as though he’d just been pushed through a fine sieve and reassembled slightly improperly on the other side. He was lying in the middle of a desert, with rolling sand dunes heaped against the far horizons. This wasn’t Tigrath. This was just…desert. Very cold desert.
Seris sat there for a few moments, expecting something else to happen. When nothing did, he rose to his feet and dusted himself off, feeling somewhat irritated. While he couldn’t be sure that Olrios had done this deliberately, he was at least grateful that his memory seemed intact.
Destiny. Loophole. Find thin part and poke finger through. Something like that. Seris looked into the sky, turning a few circles on the spot. Even if he didn’t have any idea of distance, at least he had a direction.
Hopefully, Olrios had sent him as far as he could. The rest was up to him. Seris started walking, trailing lonely footsteps in the violet dunes. He’d only been trudging for a few minutes when a very peculiar sensation stole over him, and he wondered whether he should have drunk that coconut juice after all. It felt as though things were crawling all over him, and he froze at the sudden, overwhelming sense that there was someone standing right behind him. Seris started to turn around, at which point everything went black.
FOURTEEN
It had been a hell of a long walk back.
However, she covered the ground a lot faster without Seris, and her rations lasted longer. Elhan tried not to think about how Seris was coping without her, since images of a skeleton lying in a ditch kept rising to the fore. She was sure he was fine. Seris had probably latched onto some poor adventurer who couldn’t believe their luck at finding a cleric just wandering around. Anyway, she had more pressing things to focus on.
The mood across the land was changing—people knew a storm was coming, and there were tensions between those who wanted to batten down the hatches, and those who wanted to run outside and welcome the rain. Almost every village Elhan had passed through was abuzz with rumours and speculation. She’d heard stories swelling across the empire, tales of the Half-Faced Lord who would either destroy the land or save it, depending on who you listened to.
The Half-Faced Lord was taller than an oak, stronger than a she-bear, faster than a falling star, and fiercer than King Delmar himself. She’d wrestled with giant wolves and bewitched wild men to do her bidding. She could walk on shadows and commune with beasts, and she commanded sorcery that even sorcerers could not comprehend. They even said she’d stolen away the Crown Prince to keep him in a golden cage.
Elhan rather enjoyed the fact that someone was generating more hyperbole than herself, although she felt that the Half-Faced Lord’s publicity was rather more positive than what they said about the Kali-Adelsa. Although Elhan had heard people talking about the fearsome wrath of the Half-Faced Lord. Apparently, her trademark was strangling people with her bare hands. Allegedly, she’d once squeezed a man’s neck so hard that his head popped off.
Elhan had to admit, she felt a twinge of fellowship upon hearing that one. She wondered how the Half-Faced Lord felt about the rumours, but Elhan suspected Haska was far too busy to pay them much attention. Haska was trying to rid the world of Delmar, while Elhan had spent her life running away and destroying things.
At least I’m trying to do something now, thought Elhan.
She was only days away from Algaris now, passing through the forests just outside Horizon’s Gate. Once she rescued Prince Valamon…
Elhan’s footsteps slowed, her shoulders sagging slightly.
What then? thought Elhan. Would Delmar really leave me alone?
She felt the faintest stirring that perhaps Haska had the right idea. If Elhan avoided people, she was generally fine. But Delmar hunted her. Time and time again, his assassins sought her out, and endlessly she ran. But if Delmar were gone—
Elhan heard a thrumming of hoofbeats through the forest, and she quickly slipped behind a knotted trunk. However, the noise seemed headed right for her, and just as the hoofbeats were about to thunder right past, they stopped dead. Elhan waited for a voice or a movement, but when neither was forthcoming, she peered out from the trees.
A sleek black mare stood motionless in a patch of foggy starlight, and her rider also sat perfectly still. The man in the saddle looked to be in his late twenties, tall and lean with good posture. For a wavering moment, he seemed to blend into the background, as though shifting into a blind spot, but as Elhan squinted hard at him, she could pull his shape back out from the trees.
Although he was dressed in a tattered shirt and trousers that made Elhan feel much better about her own clothes, he had a certain bearing that Elhan recognised almost instantly. His face bore a striking resemblance to Falon’s, although this man’s eyes were darker and gentler, and his mouth a little softer. Elhan smiled, stepping out of the shadows.
“Well, it must be my lucky day,” she said. “I think you’re just the man I’m looking for.”
The man’s eyes filled with horror, and Elhan resisted the urge to sigh. The man gripped the reins and moved as though to wheel the horse around, his terrified gaze still fixed on Elhan. She was poised to give chase when something strange happened. The man suddenly stopped and tilted his head slightly. And then he stared. But it wasn’t staring like “Oh, gods, what is that?” It was staring like—
It was as though his eyes were razors, shaving layer after layer of her defences away. As though he were somehow peeling away the bravado and the nonchalance and the hostility with his eyes. And he was just staring, and he wouldn’t stop—
It was as though he wasn’t even looking at the curse anymore, and he was—
He was looking at her.
Elhan took an involuntary step backwards and then felt slightly stupid.
“What are you looking at?” said Elhan.
Valamon’s eyes remained locked on her.
“Why are you looking for me?” said Valamon.
“I won a tournament. I’m supposed to rescue you. There was a cleric too, but he got lost. Incidentally, your brother’s a jerk.”
Valamon frowned slightly.
“Thank you, but I don’t need rescuing,” he said. “However, if you could please pass on a message for me—”
“I’m not a carrier pigeon. And you’re getting rescued whether you like it or not.”
The horse took a step backwards, and Elhan eyed the horse and rider suspiciously.
“I’m sorry,” said Valamon firmly. “But I’m not going back to Algaris just yet.”
Elhan rolled her eyes.
“Oh, gods. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with the Half-Faced Lord.”
“Excuse me?” said Valamon flatly.
“You know,” said Elhan. “With the ‘My face, my face!’, and the ‘Aargh!’, and the ‘By the cinders of my village, I will destroy you!’”
Elhan looked at Valamon’s stony expression.
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” said Valamon politely, “but there’s an army the size of a hundred garrisons about two days’ ride from the Talgaran capital. The empire is on the cusp of an uncontrollable war, and no matter who ends up technically winning, there’s going to be a slaughter.”
“There’s always slaughter,” said Elhan. “No matter how far you run. No matter how hard you try. Life’s messy and cruel, and you can’t do anything about it except stay alive. People will always be mindlessly afraid. Nations will always be at war. The
world will always be messed up. You can’t fix something so broken.”
“Just because something is broken doesn’t mean it isn’t still precious to someone,” said Valamon softly. “It doesn’t mean it can’t be good for something. It doesn’t mean it’s beyond repair.”
Valamon looked at Elhan, and there was something unbearably gentle in his eyes.
“We’re not talking about the world anymore, are we?” said Elhan.
“You tell me, Kali-Adelsa.”
Valamon turned his horse away, still looking at Elhan over his shoulder.
“Will you tell them the army’s coming?” he said.
Elhan’s fist clenched and unclenched, her mind still a soup of confused, conflicting thoughts.
“Will you owe me one?” said Elhan.
Valamon gave a half-smile.
“Yes. I’ll owe you one.”
Elhan watched as Valamon rode into the shadows.
“What are you going to do?” called Elhan.
Valamon threw one last look over his shoulder, cool purpose in his eyes. “I’m going to stop this war.”
The ruined hall was a din of voices, with delegates and generals gesticulating emphatically and trading increasingly unhelpful insults.
“It’s beyond a joke!” boomed a Teset general. “You can’t even subdue a single prisoner! How do you plan to defeat an entire empire?”
“If your strategy fails, we’ll be massacred,” said a one-eyed Erele captain. “We need more assurance than rousing words and a single sorcerer.”
“We’ve come this far,” said Haska, her voice slicing through the noise. “One step farther and we stand at the gates of Algaris. Look out the window and you see the lights of Horizon’s Gate—that alone is more than empty symbolism. That is more than mere words. What I give you is the opportunity to do what your predecessors could not. Thus far, I have delivered what I have promised. When I fail to do so, the alliance is dissolved. Until then, our success relies on disciplined cooperation. We’re not here for a skirmish. We’re not here to draw blood. We’re not even here for revenge. We’re here to end the Talgaran reign. Does anyone here disagree?”
Haska passed her gaze over the assembled faces.
“Lord Haska,” said Jaral, his voice cool with condescension. “Your words are inspiring, but you have to understand our…concerns. After all, only a few years ago, you were just a girl in a small, rural militia. And while we understand how difficult it must be emerging from your mother’s considerable shadow, we must express our reservations regarding your experience over large-scale military operations.”
There were murmurs of agreement.
“The Goethos States, on the other hand, have been a continental power for centuries,” continued Jaral, “with a vast reservoir of tactical expertise.”
Haska fixed Jaral with a cool gaze.
“Yet Delmar’s troops continue to encroach on the heartland of the Goethos States, while my rural militia sent the Talgaran Army running back to its capital,” she said.
There was a rather uncomfortable silence.
“In less than half an hour, it begins,” said Haska. “We must act as one, or we will fall as one. If anyone wants to withdraw—”
Haska suddenly noticed Barrat standing in the doorway, trying discreetly to get her attention.
“If anyone wants to withdraw, now is the time to speak,” said Haska.
She paused, drawing her gaze across each face in the room.
“Then we proceed,” she said.
The room broke into mutters as Haska strode into the corridor. Barrat cleared his throat.
For pity’s sake, there’s no one left to escape, thought Haska.
“Prince Valamon is back,” said Barrat.
“What do you mean, ‘he’s back’?” said Haska irritably. “Did he get bloody lost or something?”
Barrat ignored this.
“I think perhaps you had better see this.”
He rode through the camp like a roll of thunder, although this had more to do with Ciel than Valamon. It would’ve been easy for the soldiers to drag him onto their waiting swords or pin him with several dozen arrows, but they let him ride through. The soldiers recognised Haska’s warhorse, and they knew what Haska would do to the man, woman, or child who raised a weapon against the last warhorse of Fey.
A sea of eyes watched Valamon ride to the walls of the ruined castle, wheeling the horse before the camp. He stopped in front of the iron gates and stood encircled in firelight.
“Lord Haska!” called Valamon.
This is just terrible timing, thought Haska as she strode onto the roof of the eastern tower. She glared down at the figure of Valamon while Barrat stood silently beside her.
“You know what my advice would be, tactically speaking,” said Barrat.
Haska knew. An arrow through Valamon’s neck would not only amuse the troops, but it’d silence the whispers about her getting soft. It’d be gratifying in so many ways, yet as she looked at the lone figure surrounded by tens of thousands of hostile soldiers, her main thought was:
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
“Lord Haska!” called Valamon again.
Haska wanted to yell, “I can hear you, you fool!”, but the moment she dignified him with a reply, it was all over. You didn’t talk to prisoners in public, especially when they were standing in front of the castle, metaphorically pelting pebbles at your window.
“I left here a prisoner,” said Valamon. “But I return as an ally. I offer your alliance a way to end this war before it begins. Over half the soldiers who stand here tonight will not live to see the battle’s end. We know that the empire’s reign draws to a close, but how it finishes is up to you. Choose wisely, Lord Haska.”
Haska stared grimly at Valamon. He was delivering himself to the enemy because he had faith in her. He believed in honour and diplomacy and people just getting along. She supposed it was a good opportunity to teach him a lesson about reality, but she had a feeling that he was trying to teach her something, too.
And Haska couldn’t ignore the fact that Ciel trusted him, for some incomprehensible reason. Haska’s stomach turned at the thought of Talgaran blood riding the last warhorse of Fey, but her mother had trusted Ciel with her life.
Haska stepped back from the edge of the tower, heading back towards the keep.
“Get him out of sight and put him somewhere secure,” said Haska. “Sit on him if you have to.”
Barrat fell into step beside her.
“Do you think it’s a ruse?”
“In half an hour, it won’t matter,” said Haska.
The sensation was akin to being dragged underground by a thousand tiny hands, feeling the earth rising around you as the daylight drew away. Horizons smeared past, and for a moment, Seris wasn’t sure if he was upside down, or quite possibly inside out, until he realised he was no longer in the starry desert but lying on his back on a thick blue rug.
He was in a circular room, the walls covered with mirrors of assorted shapes and sizes, stretching from floor to vanishing ceiling. Misty images floated in the silvery surfaces, and a shaft of dusty light speared down to illuminate the patch of rug on which Seris lay.
As he caught his breath, he became aware of a red silk hem pooled on the floor beside him, traced in gold embroidery. His gaze followed the hem upwards, past an ivory dress draped in a crimson cloak, and into the impassive face of Kaligara.
Seris scrambled to his feet.
“Lady, uh, Lady Kaligara.” Seris dusted himself off quickly.
Kaligara glanced at the dregs of sand on her rug with an expression of sour displeasure. A starfish fell wetly from Seris’s pocket.
“To have such nerve, after twenty years of exile,” said Kaligara. “I had every right to ignore the request. But I suppose curiosity is a particular weakness of sorcerers.”
She tucked a slim golden tube into her cloak and looked at Seris with disinterest.
“Still, I was expecting something
a little more exciting,” said Kaligara.
Seris gave a slightly lopsided bow.
“My apologies for disappointing you, Lady Kaligara. I will endeavour to make our next meeting as exciting as our last.”
Kaligara suddenly tensed, as though trying to sense a presence. Her eyes flickered, the pupils seeming to blink into slits and then back again. After a pause, she relaxed slightly.
“I see you’ve parted ways with the Kali-Adelsa.”
“I have,” said Seris, deciding that now wasn’t the time to say he was actually looking for her rather urgently.
He glanced around the windowless room.
“Can I assume this is Horizon’s Gate?”
“Olrios sent you as far as he could. I brought you the rest of the way. Can you tell me, Seris of Eliantora, why I shouldn’t send you back?”
“It wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining as seeing what happens if I stay.”
Kaligara’s expression suggested that Seris’s definition of entertaining was somewhere below Kaligara’s definition of petrifyingly dull.
However, before she had a chance to verbalise this, the floor rumbled, and a muffled roar shook the walls. Seris flailed to keep his balance, while the starfish on the floor clung desperately to the carpet. Kaligara waved a hand towards the wall and an arched window squirmed into existence. A blaze of orange light flared inside and Seris gasped.
Patches of flame rose from the city, tendrils of fire coiling amidst the growing noise of yelling and screaming. Kaligara tilted her head slightly, as though listening to something.
“My gatekeeper says the resistance has taken to the streets,” she said. “It has begun.”
Seris ran towards the door.
“Can you get word to Algaris that there’s a massive army on the way, travelling by sorcery?” said Seris.
“Unfortunately, there are no sorcerers in the capital. And I’m afraid I’ve used up a lot of energy just recently on a transport spell.”
Seris started running down the stairs, then paused.
“Just one more thing,” he said. “You’d probably have a better reputation if you had a more helpful gatekeeper.”