The Aether of Night

by Sanderson, Brandon

  Darro closed his eyes, shuddering slightly. When they were growing up, Raeth had always been so protective of Darro. It should have been the other way around—Darro was the strong one, the one who had gained girth like a man when he was still mostly a boy. Yet, Hern had known how to get passed strength, to strike right at the heart. Raeth had been Darro’s shield.

  All through their lives, Darro had earned disapproval for nearly everything he did. The court didn’t like him; his father hadn’t approved of him. But, through it all, Raeth had been understanding. No condemnations had ever passed his lips.

  And now I’ve betrayed him, Darro thought. What else would I do when the drink has me? What other atrocities would I commit? The locket had been created from the prayers for Darro to be wed, but what right did he have marrying? How quickly would he forget himself to the drink an betray his wife as well?

  I am worth nothing, Darro thought. What have I done in this life? Drink, play games? The one time I had a chance to do something responsible, I passed the throne on to another as quickly as I could. Ironically, that dodging of duty had probably been the most respectful accomplishment of his life. It had put a true leader on the throne.

  He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes, looking down. Raeth stood with an obviously forced smile. “They’ll do it,” he said.

  “I knew they would,” Darro said. “You’re a hard man to refuse.”

  “Especially when I’ve already given the orders behind their backs,” Raeth said wryly. He turned, looking down the lines of soldiers.

  So small, Darro thought in regards to his brother. Raeth was a full head shorter than Darro, and not nearly as broad. Yet, somehow he managed to carry weights Darro couldn’t hope to lift.

  “It doesn’t look good, does it?” Raeth asked quietly.

  Darro shook his head. Up ahead, streaks of light began to fall to the ground. The archers, arriving. The Forgotten wouldn’t be far behind.

  “We’ll do it, Darro,” Raeth said firmly. “The Ancestors willing, we will not fail in our duty.”

  It always comes back to duty with you, doesn’t it Raeth? “The Ancestors. . . .” Darro said quietly. “Do you really think they’re watching over us?”

  Raeth paused, turning and studying Darro with quiet eyes. “Yes,” he finally said. “I never was completely sure, even when I was living in the Irae. I believed, but a part of me wondered.”

  “But not now?” Darro asked. “Now, when we’re about to be destroyed?”

  A dark line appeared in the distance, approaching like the shadow thrown by a cloud moving in front of the sun.

  “I must believe,” Raeth said. “Darro, if things like that can exist, then the Ancestors must as well. The only other option is to admit that the world is a horrible place, and I will not do that.”

  Darro nodded slowly, taking a deep breath, drawing strength from Raeth’s conviction. If we survive this, I will be a better brother, he promised himself. I will be a better High Aedin.

  No, not if he survived. He would begin being a better High Aedin at that moment; he would perform the only duty he had left. Protecting Raeth, no matter what happened. His life meant nothing compared to that of his brother.

  Darro reached out, growing his armor and hammer, Amberite crackling. Beside him, Raeth did the same, his strange dusty Amberite forming around him. There weren’t enough Verdant Bonds left to go around—Raeth and Darro would be on their own during this battle, the two of them together, Raeth doing his best to keep swords away from his brother. Protecting Darro, as he always had.

  Ahead, the Forgotten line approached like a dark plague.

  “Forward!” Raeth yelled, raising his Amberite sword, spurring the Imperium troops into motion. Though they moved much more slowly than the Forgotten, the men did as commanded. They marched forward, slowly gaining momentum, yells of defiance rising from their lips. This time they would not stand and wait.

  #

  “He’s mounting an offensive, my lord!” the messenger explained, falling in beside Ala’D. They were only a few minutes outside of Dareen, which was why they had been surprised to see another messenger coming toward them. D’Naa rode directly behind the king, sitting in angered silence.

  “Hern’s an idiot,” Kaaln noted, “but he does have guts.”

  “An offensive?” Ala’D said speculatively. “Can he possibly hope to win?”

  Kaaln scratched his beard, then shrugged. “Honestly, my lord, I have no idea. I haven’t seen the troops, I don’t know the terrain, and frankly I don’t have the experience. I’ve spent my life fighting off Harrmen raids, not waging huge campaigns.”

  “Most of the city thinks the offensive is a waste of lives, my lord,” the messenger said. “The creatures have won every battle so far. Attacking them head-on is considered a foolish tactic.”

  “Or a desperate one,” Ala’D noted.

  “He needs us,” D’Naa said quietly.

  Ala’D and Kaaln turned, amused expressions on their faces. D’Naa scowled darkly. Is this how you’ve always regarded me, Ala’D? Your foolish cousin? Fine, then, enough diplomacy.

  “I’m going to him,” D’Naa announced, pulling her horse out of line.

  Ala’D blinked in shock. “D’Naa?” he asked, his voice growing concerned as she continued moving. “D’Naa, I am your king. You will come back.”

  “You may be my king, Ala’D,” she said. “But he’s my Emperor. He’s yours too, if you haven’t forgotten.” With that, she kicked her horse into motion, galloping across the cold road toward the city ahead.

  #

  Ala’D cursed quietly. “Has she always been this way and I just never noticed?”

  Kaaln smiled. “She saw you as a brother, my lord. It appears she’s finally found someone more important to her than a brother.”

  Ala’D paused, frowning slightly. “You don’t suppose…D’Naa and the Emperor?”

  “Stranger things have happened beneath D’Lum’s eyes,” the aging warrior admitted.

  Ala’D turned his eyes forward, watching D’Naa’s riding form approach the city. She’d always tried so hard to be the perfect, practical Kavir woman, but the two of them were too close for her to hide much from him. There had always been a bit of a rebel inside D’Naa, a sense that enjoyed edginess and danger. Even as a child she’d begged to be allowed to Bond the Aether, even though most of Ala’D’s counselors had scoffed at the idea. And, even as a child, Ala’D had always had trouble denying her wishes.

  “We would look like quite the heroes, showing up now to help the Emperor, wouldn’t we?” Ala’D said speculatively.

  “Probably,” Kaaln agreed. “Though it would mean revealing that we have Aethers.”

  “They were going to find out anyway,” Ala’D said. “At least this way they wouldn’t have much ground for complaint—our Aethers would have saved them.”

  “Assuming we win the battle,” Kaaln noted. “Odds seem to be implying that wouldn’t be the case.”

  Ala’D frowned, turning back the messenger. “Hopeless, you say?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the messenger agreed. “The Imperium forces are grossly outnumbered, and their men are tired from constant fighting.”

  “Sounds like us,” Ala’D mumbled, “after fifty years of fighting the barbarians.”

  Do we fight as one country, or do we wait and hope that the creatures will ignore us? The wind howled through the cliffs above.

  “Go to the city,” Ala’D ordered the messenger. “Tell that Aedin priest to send for as many of his comrades as he can get. We have to move quickly.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Forgotten were ready for the offensive, but it didn’t make much difference. There was little subtlety about a head-on assault, and the creatures didn’t have the equipment to prepare to defend against a charge. Raeth and Darro joined in with the foot troops, the few remaining Mahallen cavalry members rushing both sides, and Corpate walkers filled with archers follow
ed along behind.

  Raeth noticed something almost immediately. The creatures were weaker—much weaker. The arrows had done their job. The two lines crashed into one another, and then all was chaos. It was worse than it had been before—there was little attempt at holding the creatures back, no attempt at defensiveness. Each team worked independently, trying to kill as many creatures as possible, trying to push forward and break their line.

  Dark smoke hissed from Forgotten wounds, a cloud of it hanging above the battlefield like a smoky fog. Raeth slashed and cut, blasting Forgotten away with each strike of his sword. Darro fought at his side, swinging heedlessly, as if manifesting the Imperium’s reckless assault in his own actions, attacking without any regard for his own life. Raeth worked to keep blades away from his brother, but many got through anyway, scarring Darro’s Amberite with long gashes. Darro didn’t even bother to regrow the armor, he just continued swinging, his hammer smashing Forgotten bodies, sometimes blasting them completely to smoke, other times tossing them dozens of feet through the air.

  And yet, the creatures continued coming. Their ranks were endless. Even though they moved more slowly from the arrow wounds, even though their arms were weaker and their skins less resistant, they were still formidable opponents. Men screamed and fell around Raeth, entire teams crushed beneath the overwhelming flood of Forgotten.

  Raeth swung again and again, almost feeling guilty for the ease of his own conflict. He need only touch the Forgotten to destroy them—that was why he’d decided not to bring anyone in his own team except for Darro. The men would be better spent elsewhere. Even still, he noted that Taenen’s team, along with several others, remained a discreet distance from Raeth and Darro, ready to help in case of an emergency.

  Soon, however, his guilt began to get squeezed away by exhaustion and fatigue. As the hours passed, Raeth’s arm grew tired from the repeated swinging, his motions sluggish from the constant dodging and parrying. He kept his Shadow-Amberite armor up, but the creatures came closer and closer to tripping him or piling on top of him, or—worst—getting through to Darro. Raeth could see blood seeping from gashes in Darro’s armor. Still, both kept fighting.

  And, as the time progressed, Raeth realized they weren’t going to succeed. The chance had been a small one in the first place. Though his men had started strong, the creatures were more endurant. If Raeth—whose hidden Aether made him nearly invincible to the Forgotten—could end up fighting defensively, then the others would surely do so.

  And this time, they won’t let us retreat. Somehow, Raeth knew that the Forgotten wouldn’t let them escape. The creatures had reached their goal. Now the slaughter would begin. One half of the Aedin population. Genocide. And he still didn’t even know the reason why.

  “Why?” Raeth yelled, swinging at another dark form, blasting it into nothingness. It grew a little more difficult to destroy them each time—the Aether was growing tired. It was far stronger than his Amberite, but it still had limitations. Even he would fall eventually.

  “Why? Do you hate us so?” Raeth demanded, pausing and staring into the sea of dark forms, a wave of blackness broken by clusters of disparate human soldiers.

  There was no hate in the Forgotten’s dark eyes; there was no emotion at all. Somehow that was even worse.

  “My lord!” a frantic voice called. “My lord Hern!”

  Raeth turned, and was amazed to see a determined Shorriken messenger moving through the battlefield. Dressed in Shorriken robes and even a floppy hat, he managed to wiggle past clumps of Forgotten, dodging blows, running directly for Raeth.

  Raeth stepped back and immediately, Taenen’s squad appeared almost out of nowhere to take up the slack in the Forgotten line, giving Raeth a bit of room to breathe. The messenger reached Raeth in just a few moments.

  “My lord,” the man said, puffing. “Our advance has stopped—all flanks are being pushed back. The western line is buckling—the creatures are on the verge of dividing us.”

  Raeth nodded solemnly. Though he couldn’t see the battlefield, somehow he had sensed how the conflict was going, as if he could feel the movement of troops and men through the surgings of the battle.

  “The War Counsel is providing the tactics,” Raeth said simply. “Go to them.”

  “They sent me to you, my lord,” the messenger explained.

  Raeth paused. The battlefield was oddly quiet—though men grunted and foot fell, there were few metallic clangs. The Forgotten swords weren’t really metal—they were made from whatever substance it was that Raeth could sense pooling within the shadows.

  There is nothing that can be done, he knew. We have committed all. Still, he spoke. “The cavalry?”

  “Overrun,” the messenger said. “The creatures move too quickly—they could get out of the way, then surround the horsemen when the horses tired.”

  “Reserves?”

  “Both sets are committed,” the messenger explained. “Hours ago, actually.”

  “The archers?” Raeth asked.

  “Already joined the foot ranks,” the messenger said. There was an expectant look on his face.

  What does he want from me? Raeth thought.

  “The War Counsel, my lord,” the messenger said. “They said you might have a plan.

  They turn to me. Their emperor. How do I tell them that our cause is lost? Raeth must have let some of his despair show, for the messenger’s face fell, and Raeth saw a gleam of understanding in his eyes. They would not win this battle—few of them would likely even survive.

  And then, Raeth saw something. It fell like luminescent rain from the cloudless sky—dozens, even hundreds, of light trails dropping to the battlefield. Reinforcements? But who? Where?

  “Rall Hannin,” Raeth whispered, hope lighting within him. “I was right—the Mahallens were holding back on us. Go! Get those troops to the western line. Then, as soon as they’ve all arrived, round up the Vo Dari.”

  “Retreat?” the messenger asked.

  “No,” Raeth said firmly. “I want everyone left in the city to start collecting large animals. Cows, horses, pigs, even dogs…anything that can be Sent.”

  The messenger paused, frowning. “Send farm animals?” the messenger asked with confusion.

  “Yes,” Raeth said. “A hundred feet or so above the Forgotten ranks should do.”

  The messenger smiled, suddenly understanding.

  “If that doesn’t work,” Raeth continued, “if the ranks get too intermingled or if the Forgotten can dodge the animals, bring any willing Vo Dari to the battlefield. Have them begin Sending the Forgotten themselves.”

  “Where, my lord?”

  “Anywhere,” Raeth said. “Into the sky, to the ocean, back to Saeris Va—any Forgotten we don’t have to fight today is one we probably won’t have to worry about.”

  “Yes, sir!” the messenger said.

  “Taenen!” Raeth snapped, turning. “Make certain this messenger gets back to the Counsel Room alive!”

  “Yes, my lord,” the owl-eyed general said, motioning for his group to disengage and surround their diminutive charge.

  Raeth turned to Darro. His brother stood slumped in his armor, leaning tiredly against his massive battlehammer. Raeth couldn’t see Darro’s face inside, but he could hear the rough breathing.

  “Go with them,” Raeth said.

  Darro stood, the ground shaking slightly as his crystalline suit righted itself. “No,” Darro said firmly.

  Raeth opened his mouth to object, but paused. There had been something in Darro’s voice, a passionate determination Raeth had rarely heard from the man. Raeth shut his mouth, raised his sword, and turned back to fill the place Taenen’s men vacated, Darro at his side.

  #

  “Farm animals?” General Gaedin asked with a frown.

  Laene sat with the other senators, watching the battle. For once, he didn’t mind the horribly uncomfortable seats—he had a vested stake in the outcome of the day’s battle. There was a good chance he�
��d end up as emperor before too long—though, the way things were going, he wouldn’t have much of an army left to command.

  “It is an interesting strategy,” said one of the other generals—a weasel-faced man Laene didn’t recognize.

  Gaedin shook his head wryly. “Well, we asked, didn’t we? Every little bit helps. Send the extra messengers to start rounding up what livestock we can find. Have those Kavir finished arriving yet?”

  “Nearly, sir,” a messenger piped up.

  Laene frowned. He wasn’t very good with strategy or tactics, but even he had been able to tell that the battle was going poorly. Now a moderately large group of green blocks had been placed on the map beside the Imperium forces. How many men had his aid said were in a block? A hundred? A thousand?

  It won’t matter, Laene told himself. They can’t win. After today, this will all finally be over. Then all the confusion and the dying can stop. I’ll be emperor, and everything can start getting back to normal.

  Still, he couldn’t help worrying. What if the dark creatures betrayed him? What if his subterfuge was discovered? He hadn’t really done anything wrong, had he? Talking with the enemy wasn’t the same thing as being a traitor. Senators undermined political opponents all the time.

  Still, he sweated. The tension of the moment, the threat to everything he knew, was great. Only years of politics kept his stomach in check—that, and the knowledge that he had chosen the right side. The dark voice had visited him the night before, and had scoffed at his worries. The creatures knew what they were doing.

  “Falling cows and shepherding Kavir with Aethers,” Gaedin mumbled. “This is a day the Imperium will never forget, that much is certain.”

  #

  Even the fortuitous arrival of reinforcements wasn’t enough. Raeth could barely feel his arm, his body was so slick with sweat that he felt as if he’d been drenched in a storm, and despite his armor he’d found ways to take wounds, mostly in the form of bruises and twisted muscles.