The Three Swords (The Ways of Mages)

by Catherine Beery

  Turning so its body was behind the angled sword, it plunged the two and a half feet of obsidian blade to the hilt through Merrendi’s heart. The dethroned Winged Dagger gasped. The last of his life flashed in his eyes then faded like a spent sun.

  Kaishan let the corpse’s weight pull it from the sword. He became aware of the sky’s tears washing Viersha Merrendi’s blood from his hand and blade. The new born Winged Dagger, still covered in his birth fluids of blood and rain, lifted his head to the now roiling clouds and screamed his triumph. And in its core was his pain and guilt.

  He opened his eyes to see the gray light of false dawn weeping around the thick curtains he had drawn across the window. The dream dimly echoed in his mind. Feeling tingled along his throat in memory of that victorious cry. It echoed from the past along the long strings of Time.

  Knowing, despite the earlier then early hour that there was no chance of him regaining sleep, Kaishan stood. He pulled on some pants and boots. His hand snatched up his sheathed sword. Following the path his feet knew so well he left his rooms. Out into the training courts he walked. No one else occupied the circular court.

  Smiling slightly, Kaishan slipped off his boots and savored the feel of the faintly damp soil. The hiss of steel leaving its sheath whispered, starting the beat he would soon dance to. He brought the sword up in a two handed grip. After stretching out his neck he began.

  Intricate movements focused around the wrist were done slowly; a prologue to the Blade Dance only he knew. No one living knew the supple movements. A pause only long enough to center himself, then he moved. His obsidian blade lost its definite shape as it whirled through the quick, subtle, deadly patterns.

  Kaishan’s mind settled like the calm eye of a storm. Nothing was to enter his mind. Entranced by the smoky veil before him, Kaishan saw a small speck. It grew gradually into a window before him. Kaishan’s eyes widened. Beyond the smoke of his sword was a world of unbelievable beauty. No land he knew of could compare to it. Only Marlhema could chance it, but still fell far short. Vibrant forests and rolling hills gleamed with lush green. Majestic mountains watched all possessively. It was a land the any would want to possess.

  Faintly he felt something pull in his chest. Something that longed for that lush land. That somehow, it was his. Home.

  Something else stirred as well, something stronger and much colder. It is gone now. The Coldness whispered. If you insist on thinking, think of the war. Of the prize land of Marlhema.

  Kaishan agreed. The war plans needed his attention, not some nonexistent land. With that thought, the beautiful landscape vanished. Planning war was much like a game of chess. Move this piece and what will the other side do? Do they have any tricks that could equal check or checkmate? What can I do to force them to help me? Personally, that was the question Kaishan most enjoyed answering. Then, of course, the Sheyestivan question; how can I move to vanquish them so completely that they never rise again?

  Kaishan blinked and the training courts vanished. Instead there was a hall.

  The hall was dark. The windows were the only source of light, but they had none to give. It was a dark moon night. Distance was traveled, a corner turned. Yellow light flickered from the present torches. A hand waved before Kaishan’s eyes. The flames vanished as if they had never been. More distance covered; up stairs, around corners, and down halls; all leading to a single ornate door.

  Again, the hand rose, but this time it was to knock. After the second tap the door swung inward. The room on the other side was circular in construction with ivory walls, mahogany crown and floor molding. The floor was also of the dark wood. Burgundy rugs sheltered under the great desk that looked similar to the one Kaishan’s father had. It only lacked the blood stains. Rugs also supported the round table under a great mirror and decorated the clear floor in the middle of the room.

  Staring out of the window behind the desk was a tall, well-built man. Long chestnut hair trailed down to the middle of his back. A plaited silver and onyx cornet rested upon the man’s brow. “Varcress.” The man said without turning.

  Kaishan’s perspective moved toward the man. It was strange, not feeling one’s body, yet having it move. Kaishan did not like this feeling of nothing. He did not tell his body to move, but it did just that. His body bowed to the man.

  “Sire.” Kaishan heard another voice say. He assumed it was his for there was no one else in the room. Kaishan railed against this nothingness. He felt nothing, could do nothing. This experience was much like merging with another’s mind, but it was always him wanting to merge. He could feel things then. He could do things then.

  And who was this man he was calling ‘sire’? Shantév was not the other man. Who was he? He wasn’t Plarrean, the old king of Marlhema. Kaishan wondered, frustrated, as his view returned to an upright position. Out of the corner of his eye, Kaishan saw the refection in the mirror. Kaishan would have blinked if he could, but he did stare. The man who stood where he assumed he was looked amazingly similar to him, like a family member. They were of like height, but the man’s hair was black with golden highlights. It was cut short like Kishan’s own, but instead of free, it was slicked back. This man also differed from Kaishan in that he looked more like a state’s man than a warrior. Even so, Kaishan recognized the prideful stance of a man who could hold his own in a sword fight. There was also the recognizable look of someone who knew what he wanted and would be willing to do whatever he could to get it. It wasn’t obvious, but Kaishan had spent a long time learning to read people.

  “Tell me, Varcress, Did you put out the torches in the Hall of Light? Again?” Kaishan saw the reflection smile and bow slightly. The ‘sire’ turned then and Kaishan saw that Time had etched recent years on the man’s otherwise timeless face. Time also had fun painting some of the man’s beard white. “Why do you do that Varcress?”

  “Why, my Nirami, to announce myself to you.” An old childhood memory pulled at Kaishan. He had heard that title before…

  The man called Nirami sighed and shook his head. “You know perfectly well that no one passes through these halls without my knowledge.”

  Varcress inclined his head in acknowledgement. “It is tradition. I doubt I will be able to change.”

  The Nirami chuckled and waved a hand to indicate the table under the mirror. The two men sat. “You wanted to talk to me. What about?”

  “About the future, my lord.”

  The Nirami raised an eyebrow. “I am listening.”

  “I am concerned about your daughter. She is your only heir and my House will not bow to a woman alone.”

  The Nirami’s eyes, which to Kaishan’s shocked recognition were black and silver veined blue, flashed. Kaishan had seen eyes like those before, but where? “Arité is the royal heir of the Versilrom. Your House will bow to her.” The Nirami’s voice was full of authority and just a little threat.

  “My lord, I acknowledge your daughter’s right. But my House is too patriarchal to accept it. That is why I am concerned. My lord, she must marry.”

  “Is that why you told Airshév that Arité was to marry you? Varcress, you know she is too young.”

  “No, your majesty. I was thinking of Mirév.”

  The Nirami shook his head. “She is still too young.”

  “At least betrothed her, my Nirami. My house would not riot as much if there is the promise of a king…” Varcress stopped talking when the other man raised his hand.

  “Tévdova Varcress, she will marry someone she loves and whoever she loves will abide by her rule.” There was silence as the two men stared at each other. Kaishan studied the man whose body he shared with awe. He knew this man, this Tévdova Varcress. Tévdova was the founder of Sheyestiva. He had been a beloved and strong leader adored by his House. He had been ambitious enough to take what he wanted and wise enough to set up an empire that was greater than any other including the ‘Nation of Kings’.

  But Tévdova had called the other man ‘sire’. Kaishan rolled his eyes as th
e missing piece to the puzzle of his predicament fell into place. This was a vision of the past. It was carved in stone. That was why Kaishan couldn’t change a thing. Not that he wanted to. This had to be before Sheyestiva became a nation. Kaishan wanted to know how his nation was started and he had the distinct feeling that this conversation was the start.

  Silence resounded between the two men of power. The black and silver in the Nirami’s eyes swirled and twined. The black thickened and the silver heated. Tévdova was the one who looked away first. Which made sense. He wasn’t in power yet. He had to bide his time and not draw too much attention to himself.

  “Forgive me, my lord.” Tévdova rose from his chair and bowed. Tévdova stayed in the position until the Nirami gestured for him to rise. “May I have the honor of getting you something to drink? And perhaps then we can speak of other things?” He asked, taking a servant’s role to sooth the hackles of the other. The Nirami nodded.

  Tévdova turned to a table near the door. On its surface was a tray with a pitcher of red wine and two goblets. Tévdova poured the blood red liquid. He was staring at it with such attention… Kaishan saw the ripple in the liquid of a goblet that Tévdova had his finger over. Kaishan focused on it, but to his frustration, he could sense nothing. Tevdova returned to the table under the mirror and handed the goblet to the Nirami.

  “Kaishan!” A familiar voice shattered the memory. Kaishan blinked and froze in his movements. Breathing deeply he focused on pulling himself into the present. Where had the memory come from? Obviously it was not his own. This concerned him. His mindwalls were up. How did someone get past them? Briefly the memory of black and silver veined blue eyes flickered.

  An old woman… The Nirami’s Grave. Kaishan’s brow furrowed. The man in the memory had been called the Nirami. Nirami meant ‘king’ in the Old Tongue. Was he really buried in the Grave Mountains? And the woman, who was she? The old woman’s eyes had been the same as the Nirami’s. He remembered looking into them. He also remembered pain. So much pain and a void. Kaishan mentally shivered. If he hadn’t imagined the old woman, then she was the only one, other than himself, with access to his mind.

  He didn’t much like the idea.

  Other than the memory, though, it didn’t seem as if she had done anything with the link. And now, as he searched, he couldn’t find the link between them. Which concerned him even more. If she was real, she was the strongest telecer alive. If she was real. He hadn’t seen her after he woken up. The cave he had been in was bare, not the well lived in space of his fevered dreams. Even so, he would be a fool to write the old woman off as imagined. If she could hide a link from him now, she could have very easily caste an illusion over the cave.

  But why would she? Why would she hide?

  And then there was the other. A young woman with copper hair and sea blue eyes… The one, to his great frustration, who kept eluding him. He had tried to link with her mind, but had been unable to reach her. He knew her to be a dragon. How then, could a dragon reach his mind when he could not reach hers? The old woman?

  “Kaishan?” The voice called again. Nearer.

  “I heard you the first time, Reshan.” Kaishan turned his head toward his youngest brother. Reshan always reminded Kaishan of a Predian Molosin pirate. His dark brown hair was long enough to be tied back in a queue at his neck. An easy smile always had a place on Reshan’s face. Mischievousness lit Reshan’s Sheyestivan blue eyes.

  Reshan was an anomaly in Sheyestivan culture. Reshan was happy where he was in the hierarchy. He had told Kaishan from time to time that his life was good where it was. He was important as a prince, he had respect and power enough to live with absolutely no worries. Reshan was also not high enough on the totem pole to make him a target for every assassination attempt. He had also pointed out that he had friends in high places. Because his brother and ‘friend’ was the High Prince and the Winged Dagger none tried to assassinate him. They couldn’t afford to draw the attention of the Winged Dagger.

  “I love my life. I live the high, sophisticated life of a prince without any of the princely obligations.” Or so Reshan had often enjoyed pointing out to Kaishan.

  “Well, if you heard me, why did you ignore me?” Reshan asked now.

  Kaishan raised an eyebrow. “Why are you even here, Reshan? This is earlier then you tend to want to get up.”

  Reshan shrugged. “What can I say? I wanted to change my ways a little.” Reshan came to the edge of the circle Kaishan was in. “What were you thinking about?” He asked his voice softer.

  Kaishan flipped the blade he was still holding before him so the blade pointed down. Casually, he let it spear into the ground. “The war.” He replied. And the young dragon. He added silently. The inner predator stirred unhappily. He had tried to grab her mind, know what she knew, know where and who she was. But she had slipped through his fingers. It was a frustrating point that annoyed and angered the inner predator. And him. How had she done that? Again he wondered if it was the old woman’s fault. A tease, really. Like a cruel child she had dangled the woman before him before shattering the dream. And the only thing he could learn about the lass was the first part of her name.

  Ter, the Marlheman morpheme for Terelle: star. Knowing the first part of her name (or was it her whole name?) whetted his desire to know more.

  The short of it was this: he wanted to find her. Would find her. His pride wouldn’t let him do otherwise.

  “Ah, the war. Fun.” Reshan’s voice dragged him once again out of his musings. “I found that sorceress you wanted me to find.”

  “Viya and?” Kaishan asked raising a blond brow.

  Reshan smiled. “I rather came upon her at an… interesting moment. There was a talking Cursed with her. He seemed to have a little problem.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, viya.” Reshan nodded solemnly. “Somehow, he kept changing from Cursed to man. I don’t know how he did it, but he did. Though,” Reshan tapped his lower lip with his index finger thoughtfully. “He didn’t seem to have that much control over his changes. Looked quite painful, actually.”

  “Your mission was successful then?” Kaishan asked. If he let Reshan continue in the vein that he was in, he wouldn’t get to the point anytime soon. Reshan just liked to tell stories.

  Reshan sighed. “Ruin a good time, why don’t you? Viya,” he answered in the affirmative. “I have roots in both of them.”

  “Good. Anything else?”

  “Viya actually. I haven’t had a chance to practice my blade skills recently… could I spar with you?”

  Kaishan shook his head slightly at Reshan’s manner. He often wondered what would happen to Reshan if he wasn’t around. He was quite sure that someone out there would do the young man in. “Viya. I’ll spar with you.” He answered gesturing Reshan to enter the circle.

  Reshan smiled and drew his own blade. Kaishan retrieved his from the earth’s hold. And thus they danced the casual dance of sparing. Kaishan soon found his mind separating itself from the fight, letting his body act on its own.

  Ancient memory caught him up again. He stood in an opulent circular room. It was formed out of white marble. There were seven balconies in circular tiers about the room. The lowest tier was the smallest, the seventh the largest. The ceiling was a diamond dome. Kaishan didn’t know where that fact came from. He just knew it.

  Each balcony was full of seats and each one was occupied. Three in the first, five in the second, and fifteen in the third. Thirty-five graced the next one. Then there was a hall balcony, empty of seats. It was here that Kaishan stood. The ring above that held fifty-five. And the seventh ring seated a hundred-twenty-five. And every single one of those seats was full.

  “Not all.” An aged feminine voice corrected. It was then that Kaishan realized his error. The most ornate of the three was empty.

  Voices rang through the hall. Kaishan could feel the tension in the air. Why was the one chair empty? Kaishan’s eyes skimmed over those in the room. Every si
ngle one was dressed richly in either silver and other colors or in black and earth tones. In the innermost ring stood two men. One was unmistakably Tévdova. His gold highlighted hair was hard to mistake. Folds of night trimmed with earth brown robed him. Kaishan was surprised to see that his eyes were also silver and black veined blue. Kaishan glanced at all the other eyes he could see and all were the same. Each silver and black veined blue. The silver was heated and the black was thickening and eclipsing the blue in many of those eyes, however. Magic was threatening. Kaishan turned his attention back to the innermost ring.

  The man facing Tévdova, dressed in silver, was pointing an accusing finger at Tévdova. Tévdova bared his teeth. “How dare you accuse me of killing the Nirami!” His voice was full of threat. The people behind him echoed his call.

  A woman on the other side raised her voice. “How dare you stand in this Hall! How dare any Varcress enter this place!” Shouts and accusations were a storm of arrows flying across the room. A divide made itself known as the people showed where their loyalties lay. Kaishan stood neatly between, part of neither, against neither. It was a vulnerable position even though they couldn’t see him.

  “In a house of two families of equal power… the death of the one who kept them balanced led them to tear each other apart.” The voice became softer. “I was too young to stop them.” Kaishan looked around for the source of the voice, but he was alone. The volume of accusation became thunder...

  The hall faded slightly. Kaishan saw Reshan’s face was furrowed with concentration. Sweat glimmered on his brow. Kaishan blinked. The clang of two blades grew before fading again. The smoke that was the two black swords eclipsed his sight.

  …The lush world Kaishan had glimpsed earlier burned. Kaishan, who had seen war, was stunned at the magnitude of waste. Black, sickly brown clouds roiled above. Magic, wild beyond imagining, licked over his skin. A dangerous lover. Kaishan shivered. He had felt this before in the Nirami’s Grave. Screams rent through the wind. Purple lightning flashed, blinding him temporarily to this wasteland…