by R. K. Thorne
He peered further around the camp. A dozen men—a dozen armed Akarians—stood guard around a group of figures seated on the ground, and peering closer, he caught sight of Dyon’s scowl. His heart leapt—at least the old curmudgeon was alive. And apparently not in on the betrayal, thank the gods, because he looked more prisoner than bargainer. Another form sat on the ground behind him, and there was a flash of red—Siliana? Although how could a creature mage be bound? Perhaps she was simply waiting to try to escape when there weren’t so many guards to sneak past. Even a fly could be swatted, he supposed.
Well, that told him everything he needed to know. He was headed to that damn camp. But first, he’d look at one more thing.
He slid the farseeing window up and higher into the sky now, racing along the road north that they should have been traveling, and then slightly west, until he found the southern stronghold.
His stomach dropped like a slab of ice in his core. What he saw was worse than he’d have ever guessed. The entire hold was on fire, wooden fortifications blazing orange fury into the night. Men and women had spilled from the open keep doors, but none of them were moving. They’d tried to get away, but failed.
Almost without meaning to, he dropped the spell, his hands falling weakly in his lap.
He took a ragged breath. This shouldn’t faze him. He’d known the southern hold was likely a lost cause, not something he could count on, that something terrible had happened. He’d been going more out of duty than out of optimism that they’d find any reinforcements.
But with the loss of so many at once tonight—so many dead, and how many others injured or lost or taken prisoner—it was hard not to simply fall back on the pine-needle-strewn ground, stare at the sky, and despair. He’d left Panar with a thousand allies and then some.
And within the span of a few hours, he was now completely alone.
He did have one thing they didn’t, though. He staggered out of the spruce and stared up at the sky. The stars.
He had the stars. He just had to figure out how to use them.
What are you waiting for? The words drifted back into his mind. What, indeed.
Eventually, Aven stalked back up the north road until he reached the chaos. Apparently he had ended up south of the devastation, which was lucky, as the enemy camp had set up farther north. Perhaps they meant to meet up with the Anonil forces. With only twelve mages, it shouldn’t have mattered, but of course, the chaos around him proved it did.
Time was of the essence, but he did need to warm up at least a little before charging in like a mad bull, or at least not turn to ice before then. So he lit a small fire on the edge of the road. He checked a few bodies for anyone alive and found none. He considered burning the dead, finishing the job they’d started. It would be the best death rites he could manage at the moment, but he quickly realized it would take him hours—and probably more energy than it was wise to spend.
If he was alive after going after Dyon and Siliana—and confronting Jenec—he’d come back here and help them.
He gathered up some of the horses instead and removed their tack. If he survived, he could take many of the surviving horses back, but if he didn’t, at least getting their bits out of the way would help those horses survive the winter by themselves. They might wander to a town or be found by whatever unlucky travelers next happened upon this mess.
His boots and such were never going to dry before morning, even with the fire that burned with the zealous rage that stirred in Aven’s own chest. So, he settled for less frozen and studied the star map. He kept waiting for some clear advantage to reveal itself, some method that would guarantee him the win, because he was on the side of justice, the side of right. And how could the world be Balanced if the side of justice got massacred by the side of the road? There had to be a way.
Nothing screamed out to him. He settled on Erepha. Calm. Wind. Perhaps he could somehow force a civil discussion with her energy. He certainly wasn’t jumping in trying to enslave anyone, nor was he sure how he’d combine that with “fire” for such a large group. And Casel wasn’t helping in this battle, that was for sure. Perhaps all these spells could only be cast on one person at a time? He was about to find out.
He gathered the reins of three horses and led them north.
NIAT HAD FOLLOWED Thel down from the cliffs, and they’d skirted their way along the south road. A network of caves had been tempting them to seek shelter, little alcoves appearing rather frequently. Their darkness would normally have frightened her, but she’d become more acquainted with earthen hollows on this journey than she cared to admit. Now, they looked positively inviting. But distance between them and Anonil sounded appealing to her too, so they’d trudged on.
Eventually, though, they’d tired enough to pick a larger cave and head inside. A complex latticework of interconnected caves stretched out beneath their feet, and they began searching for one that was relatively cut off from the others.
She stopped still. Had she heard something? Thel had frozen too. She listened harder.
Voices echoed in the caverns around them. They were coming from the road that ran alongside the caves, the one they’d just left.
“This way,” said Thel, gesturing in the direction of the voices.
“No, c’mon. Let’s hide.” She pointed in the opposite direction, further inside the caves.
“I want to see who it is. Maybe they have Kae.”
She pressed her lips together. “Fine.” She didn’t want to abandon Kae. But she didn’t see what good they’d do him that he couldn’t do himself.
Thel did an admirable job of creeping quietly up a sharp ledge and out onto an overhang. She was less quiet but further back, and when she lay down beside him, she could see more mages, including another dressed in a blue tunic and cloak like the leader of the last group.
“Let’s take him back! Easiest. Then we can interrogate him.”
They were arguing. Over a prisoner. Apparently these people needed better orders as to what to do with prisoners once they found them.
“Let’s just kill him and be done with it,” said another.
“But they might want to know—” Voices broke out, talking over each other, none of them making any sense or listening.
Thel rose to his knees and took the bow from the pack.
“What are you doing?” she hissed even as he pulled an arrow from the quiver.
“Trying to help him, what’s it look like?” he whispered as he inched forward, raised the bow, and lined up an arrow.
“Stop it, Thel. They’ll notice us.”
He dropped the bow slightly, easing the tension in the string, and turned to glare at her over his shoulder. “You would rather cower back here and watch him die, then?”
She glared right back. “Your foolhardy bravery will be the death of you.”
“Sounds look a good death. I could do worse.”
“We don’t know that that’s Kae. We can’t see anything.”
“And we don’t know that it’s not Kae.”
“And I don’t want to die trying to save some stranger. Please, Thel.”
“No. Go hide from danger. I can’t take that path.”
“Thel—” She wanted to say more, but the words caught in her throat. “Thel, stop—” Still they hovered there on the tip of her tongue. I don’t want you to die either. Whoever had raised him had either given him an extra helping of courage or a very strong aversion to injustice. Possibly both. But beautiful as it was, she couldn’t thank them now if it got them both caught by these mages.
She reached up and put a hand on his upper arm, the rough linen warm, as though she could feel his heat just below. His gaze caught on her fingers, staring for a moment.
Then he shook her off and gestured with his chin. “Go on. Head back a few outcroppings, and if they come, they’ll find me and not you. You can head back to Anonil, and you’ll be all right. Take the pack but leave the arrows.”
He turned away and focused
on his target again. She didn’t move.
“Well? Are you going or not?”
She sighed. “No. Go ahead and shoot.”
“What?”
“I’m not leaving.”
He squinted at her. “Fine. Think of a way to help. Or hide quickly when they come in here. Hold the pack and be ready to run.”
He pulled back the bowstring again, much more easily than she had and further too. He let the arrow fly. Something in a tree far on the other side of the men thunked to the ground.
“What was that?” she whispered, as the men’s cries of alarm went up.
“Bee hive,” he said. “Sorry, bees.”
“Someone’s coming—just do it!”
“No, by the goddess—”
A gurgling sound made her clutch Thel’s arm, and he hung his head. The men surged forward toward where the hive had fallen.
“They killed him anyway,” he whispered. “Faster because of me. Maybe they would have decided not to if I’d—”
“Stop. Just stop. You tried.” She couldn’t stand for him to regret doing the right thing when she’d urged him not to. “C’mon. Let’s get further inside. This is as good a place to camp as any, right?”
He said nothing, just turned and led the way inside, head hanging.
AVEN CROUCHED behind a large thicket on the edge of the mage camp. Muffled voices drifted toward him, the smoke of their fire on the wind. It blew toward him, the wrong direction for the spell he was about to undertake. Fortunately he could take care of that.
The thicket provided some cover, but he still needed to be able to see those in the camp and their reactions—if this worked at all—so it wasn’t a complete block. He also needed somewhere with a clear sky above, which limited his options further. He studied the traitors and Kavanarian mages and prisoners for a few more moments and then took a deep breath.
He turned his eyes to the sky. Casel winked at him, and he caught sight of Erepha’s sparkle just above the tree line. It was lucky these trees weren’t taller, or he might not have been able to see the star.
Miara might hate him for what he was about to do. Might never forgive him. Much as his chest ached at the thought, he swallowed and steeled himself. He was one man against two dozen, maybe more, and he was going to have to use this magic if he was going to win this war. Or even get out of these woods alive.
If he could win this war and she never forgave him, at least she’d be alive. And free.
It was a risk he’d have to take. Gods forgive him. Balance protect him.
He reached out to Erepha. Similar to Casel, a cold, delicate energy wormed into him, twists of white smoke swirling down. He pulled it down, urging it beyond its initial wisps into its true form.
The energy pouring into him expanded, multiplied, like a river overflowing a dam. Except where Casel flowed like a stream of water, Erepha was more like a gale off the ocean. Which figured, he supposed.
He needed to direct this energy somewhere before he drowned in it. No time for analysis now.
He twisted to peer at the camp and pulled the energy along with him, trying to force it into the air around him, into the wind. The wind blew, but the energy in him stayed the same, filling dangerously fast.
He gritted his teeth. Think, Aven, think. Casel had been marked with a salve, a healing icon. But he hadn’t had to literally find a salve and imbue the freeing energy into it. He’d simply reached out with his mind.
Maybe he didn’t need to put the energy into the real wind, but to simply move it like he moved the wind.
A breeze blew against his face, back in its natural direction, and he smiled, feeling as if the air itself was agreeing with him. He closed his eyes now, simply willing the energy out and over the encampment, spreading it like that same gentle breeze, a fog drifting in to hopefully calm those before him and give him some way to negotiate, to talk, to rescue Dyon and Siliana.
The frigid, powerful wind blew out of him, leaving him empty. He opened his eyes.
The camp at first was so still he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. All of them had utterly frozen, and he blinked and rubbed his eyes.
The first sign of movement beyond the blazing of the central fire was a man who sat on a log near the fire; he tipped over and fell to the ground. Aven stared, unsure what to make of that. A loud snort and then a string of snores rang out.
The man had fallen asleep?
Indeed, another few fell over as the next few heartbeats passed. Cautiously, Aven scooted around the thicket, moving closer to get a better look. The silence of the camp made his twig-cracking footsteps seem even louder. He couldn’t avoid one or two in the darkness, no matter how carefully he trod. Still, no one glanced his way.
As he neared the edge of the clearing, they all came into view. Jenec and one of the mage leaders, in a blue tunic and brown cloak, had been talking in front of the one tent that had been erected, and even they stood silent, as if paused in thought but facing each other.
Aven crept closer, and then, at the edge of the clearing, he risked standing up.
No one moved.
He took a step forward, then another. The whole scene was entirely frozen. More like dolls than real people. Except they were real people.
He glanced around nervously. He hadn’t exactly expected this. What did he do now? The most important thing should be getting Dyon and Siliana and anyone else held prisoner freed. That would give him allies, no matter what these people had planned. They could execute their prisoners at any time, though thankfully they hadn’t yet.
At that thought, though, he stopped cold. These people were either traitors or outright enemies. Plenty of laws justified the deaths of every one of them, and as their king, he had every right to make that decision.
A knot of dread twisted in his gut. Their own Dark Days indeed. He swallowed, trying to imagine himself slaughtering these people while they sat here like docile lambs.
The sight of the smoking dead strewn across the road came back instead. Good men and women, butchered like cattle going to market. He found Jenec in the crowd and glared. Maybe he could slaughter one of them.
These mages, these soldiers, and Jenec would fight against him and against all of Akaria if he let them live.
He had no choice but to end this, here and now.
Not the mages; they were slaves. It wasn’t their choice to fight this battle, just like it hadn’t been Miara’s. He should be freeing them, not enslaving them. The thought was even tempting, but alone he was too at risk of an imbalance and passing out. The spell was too difficult. Erepha’s calming had been easier, really.
Panar flashed through his mind, its subjects sitting sullen and comatose in the streets like these people. Ripe for slaughter, abuse. He shook his head. Miara was right. This was a truly horrifying spell. A single air mage could murder dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands if they so chose.
On the other hand, he was right too. It was a powerful weapon, and he’d have no hope of freeing the prisoners without it.
He shook off his thoughts and strode toward the group of prisoners, eying the people around him warily. Eight traitors guarded perhaps twenty prisoners. So few had survived. And less than a dozen traitors had taken down a thousand men—with the help of mages, at least. He shuddered.
His footsteps sounded loud as felled trees falling, but none of them moved. He found Siliana first. She was bound at the wrists to his surprise, and a rock hung from a thin chain around her neck. But she looked up and met his eyes.
“Aven!” she whispered. “What’s going on?”
He quickly stepped past one soldier standing guard and untied her wrists. She rubbed them, glaring down at where the rope had been. “I could ask you the same thing. Can’t you just shift out of that?”
“This rock,” she said, pointing at the stone before she pulled it off over her head. “It suppresses magic, so I couldn’t. But what by the gods is going on?” She gestured at the prisoners, all also still and really,
really, excessively calm.
“It’s a long story,” Aven said. “I tried another kind of star magic we found in our research. It seems to have worked… surprisingly well. Here, help me with Dyon.”
Together they untied Dyon and pulled him to his feet. At the physical movement, his eyes cleared slightly, but not all the way. He looked around himself in a daze. “Aven? Is that you, my boy?” He reached out as if to tousle Aven’s hair, like he had when Aven was little, barely hip-height, but Dyon faltered and ended up resting his hand on Aven’s shoulder and squinting hard into his face. Some unseen film clouded his vision.
Siliana let go of his arm to let Dyon stand on his own, but the lord immediately stumbled, almost into the wall of soldiers around them. They both caught him and straightened him, but he was clearly going to need help, at least until the spell wore off.
Great. Aven glanced at the other prisoners. No way they were getting them all out of here if they couldn’t walk. “Untie them,” he told Siliana. At least it would give them a better chance. “While I figure out what to do next.”
Glancing around the frozen encampment, he struggled to think. He could tie them up, but what would he do with them all? Leave them here to starve or freeze? Even if there were more loyalists than just Dyon and Siliana, they would still be vastly outnumbered.
He guided Dyon out of the prisoner area, then stepped away from him. The man stayed put, waiting patiently for direction. Gods. This was a dangerous spell indeed. He guided Dyon the rest of the way to the edge of the clearing, then returned.
Siliana was nearly done untying all of them. He walked up to one of the Kavanarian soldiers and gripped the man’s sword hilt. No reaction flickered in his eyes. Slowly, Aven drew the sword free. Aven still had his own sword, but the escapees would need ways to defend themselves. Eventually.