Chains of Mist

by T. C. Metivier

  For a few moments, Makree did not reply. “No,” he said finally. “These manifestations are random, sporadic. It is impossible to predict when or where they will appear.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “The labyrinth of tunnels within this mountain is vast, and the power of G’Char does not manifest frequently. It is unlikely that we will have another such encounter…but I cannot be sure.”

  Drogni grimaced. Not the answer I would’ve liked, but an unpleasant truth is better than a pleasant lie. “What was that thing?”

  “A guardian—no, that is the wrong word. It is a physical manifestation of the power of G’Char. The magic that resides here is so powerful, so overwhelming, that it cannot always be contained; sometimes, it…leaks. You have felt it already; a thickening in the air, a constant pressure as you walk, growing ever stronger? That is G’Char. It is all around us. When the concentration passes a certain threshold, the power manifests.” Makree looked suddenly troubled. “But it should not have attacked us. The Planets of G’Char are not inherently good or evil—their magic is the magic of neutrality, of chaos. They need no defenders; the safeguard of G’Char is that any insufficiently powerful person who attempts to harness its energies will be destroyed by them, and anyone with that much ability would defeat any guardians as easily as you did. Even in places where G’Char did manifest, those emanations should not be malevolent. Unless…” His tone grew suddenly wondering. “Could it be? Impossible…and yet it must be…”

  Something in Makree’s voice made Drogni go cold. “Must be what?”

  “Corruption—corruption of power. The enemy has been here for days—his aura must have infected the neutrality of G’Char, staining it with his darkness. It is the only explanation that makes sense…and yet it cannot be…”

  “Why not? That sounds right to me.” Drogni frowned. “That’s what happened to the Traika, right—something about the mountain’s aura making them turn evil? And I saw it in their eyes, too—”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Makree blew out a worried breath. “But there should be no corruption here. The concentration of neutral energy is too great. To infect the Traika, the enemy’s darkness needed only to pass through G’Char, which any magical aura would do easily, since the mountain’s energies are dormant in their natural state. For the corruption to be here, inside the boundaries of G’Char…” He shook his head. “That means that the enemy is stronger than I thought. Stronger than I had believed possible.”

  There was a tremor of despair in Makree’s voice, and for a moment Drogni felt the Black General’s dark mood spread to him. He quelled it firmly, reminding himself that he had nearly beaten Rokan Sellas the last time they’d fought face to face. “So what? So maybe that means he’s a little harder to kill. But I swore to kill that bastard, and I will. Rokan Sellas will die—”

  “No!” Makree’s voice was suddenly vehement. “Don’t you see? To corrupt the aura of a Planet of G’Char—to overpower the existing presence of power—that requires a strength of magic that no ordinary mortal could possess without being torn apart by it. You are still thinking about Rokan Sellas as if he is just a man, and that is a mistake. You may not be able to kill him…because he may not be able to die.”

  It took a moment for Drogni to process what Makree had said, a feeling he was becoming increasingly used to. When he did, his first reaction was shock, followed by anger. “I’m warning you, soldier,” he growled. “Don’t ever say something like that to me again, you hear? I swore to kill him—more than once, over the years—and that means I will. And that is all there is to it. That is all there ever was. Me, and him…and finishing what I should have finished fifteen years ago. Understand?”

  Makree met Drogni’s furious gaze without blinking. “I hope, Admiral, that you are right,” he said softly.

  “It’s not about hope,” replied Drogni hotly. “It’s about the truth. I looked into his eyes fifteen years ago, when he should have died, and I saw it clear as day. He was just a man then, and he’s just a man now. Only this time, I’m making sure he stays dead.”

  Again, Makree did not flinch in the face of Drogni’s anger. But this time he said nothing, and his eyes were sad.

  That gaze, that look of half-despair, half-pity, only fueled Drogni’s rage. Without another word, he turned and stalked down the tunnel, his strides furious. He did not look to see if Makree was following him. There is nothing in this galaxy that cannot be destroyed. Everything is mortal, sooner or later. Even stars burn out. Rokan Sellas can die…and I will kill him.

  But a small part of him still wondered, Could it be true…?

  * * * *

  When morning came, Austin gently shook Katrina awake. She slowly opened her eyes, still red from crying, and peered up at Austin. “Where are we?”

  “Safe,” said Austin. He had carried Katrina far enough away that the torched remains of the Belayas village were no longer visible. “That’s all that matters.”

  Katrina got to her feet. Her lower lip began to tremble, and Austin was certain that she was going to cry again, but instead her face scrunched up resolutely. “What now?” she asked, her voice quiet but determined.

  Austin was simultaneously impressed and saddened by Katrina’s reaction. Good for her that she’s determined not to go to pieces…but no child should have to go through what she did. “I still have to get to Nembane Mountain, and you—”

  “I’m coming with you.” It was a statement, not a question, spoken as if it was ridiculous to even consider another alternative.

  Austin had expected that Katrina might ask to come with him, but her conviction took him aback. “I don’t think so, Katrina. The bad man I told you about will be there, and he won’t hesitate to hurt you if he can. Isn’t there anyplace you can go—some other tribe—”

  “No. I’m going with you. Daddy wanted to help you, and so that’s what I’m gonna do!”

  Her voice remained determined, but right at the end of her declaration it suddenly quavered. Her lower lip trembled, as if she was trying very hard not to cry. Of course she wants to go with me, he realized. She just lost everything she ever knew—I’m all that’s left. How can I leave her here, now? It may be dangerous where I’m going…but she’s all alone, and she needs me. I can’t leave her. “Alright,” he said softly, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. “But you have to promise me two things. The first is that you stay very close to me at all times. I have no idea what I will find under Kil’la’ril, but I expect it will be very dangerous, and I need you to stay where I can protect you. Can you promise me that?”

  “Yes, yes,” replied Katrina, clicking her tongue vigorously.

  “Good. Now the second thing is even more important. There will probably be a time—or maybe more than one—where it will be too dangerous for you to go on. If I tell you to stay put, you have to do it, and not move under any circumstances unless I say it’s okay. Under any circumstances—do you understand?”

  Katrina looked up at him, and her eyes were very solemn. “Yes, I understand.”

  “I believe you. I’m sorry I have to make you promise, but it’s going to be very dangerous, and I just need to make sure you understand that.” Austin smiled comfortingly. “You’re very brave, and I want you to know that. And I promise, I will protect you. No matter what happens.”

  Katrina met Austin’s gaze for a second, then looked away. “Let’s go,” she said in the same soft but resolute voice. “I’m ready.”

  Hearing her speak in that tone made Austin feel as though his heart was about to break. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that it was alright to cry, but he knew that to do so would only shred the thin barriers shielding his own sorrow. And he could not risk that, not here, not now, not while he had a job to do…and one person he could still save. I’m sorry, Katrina. But you have to be brave now…for me. “Then I’m ready too,” he said.

  * * * *

  The two survivors of the Belayas massacre moved swiftly, speaking very little as they
walked. Katrina often ranged ahead of Austin, but never too far, and the rest of the time she stayed close beside him. Austin tried to stay alert to his surroundings, wary for wild animals and, once they passed into Traika territory, for the traps that Katrina had warned him about when they had first met. He kept one hand on his blade, the cool metal hilt comforting to the touch. But they encountered nobody and nothing, as Nembane Mountain grew ever nearer and larger, even though Austin did not pass a single hill or grove of trees without expecting a dozen Traika to suddenly appear from behind it and ambush them.

  As they moved deeper into the land of the Traika, Austin drew his blade and held it protectively in front of them. He was sure that, any moment now, a scout or three would intercept them; having seen firsthand the powers of the Traika shamans, he knew that there was no way they would fail to sense two trespassers. But he saw no one, heard no one. Staying deep within the trees, unable to move as quickly as Austin would like due to their smoke-damaged lungs, lingering exhaustion, and the juraa networks, they passed by the Traika village. Still, there was nothing. It was as if the land lay under a spell of death, and Austin knew that it was not luck that had allowed them to do what Katrina and Taralen had once proclaimed impossible. Something had happened here, something big. A part of Austin wondered what it might have been, but another part firmly insisted that he didn’t want to know. Whatever could defeat those shamans is not something I want to meet on the field of battle. Not ever.

  Perhaps one day he would discover the truth. For now, he simply thanked the stars and whatever deities might be out there watching over them, and kept walking.

  Eventually they came to the base of Nembane Mountain. The giant peak loomed terrifyingly over them, its uppermost heights hidden in the clouds. Having finally reached the mountain, Austin felt a surge of pride…followed immediately by a sinking feeling in the pit of his chest as he realized he had no idea where to go from here. He had focused all of his energy on simply reaching the peak, but now that he was here he realized that simply getting here wasn’t enough. The Vizier had spoken of vast underground tunnels—but not of how to find them. Was there a path? A hole in the side of the mountain? A secret, hidden doorway that required some kind of magic passcode to open? Austin didn’t know. He glanced around, half hoping to see Sergeant Major Makree or Admiral Ortega simply appear in front of him.

  As Austin stood there, contemplating his next move, Katrina suddenly darted away, heading east around the mountain’s base. Austin was about to call her back but stopped when he realized that she was not moving randomly, but with focus and purpose. He hurried after her, catching her quickly. “Where are we going?”

  “You need to get under Kil’la’ril, right?” said Katrina without looking back. “Back when I was really little, right after Mama died and when the Traika still sometimes let other people into their lands, Daddy brought me and anyone else who wanted to come to Kil’la’ril. He said it was important for us to know as much as we could about it, and he showed us the entrance to the tunnel leading under the mountain. He warned us never to go in, because there are demons inside who eat your soul, but he said it was important to know where it was. It was a long time ago, but I remember where it is. Aren’t you glad you brought me along now?”

  Austin smiled. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry I doubted you. But no more holding out on me, okay? Next time we run into something that you know something about—anything at all—you tell me what you know. Understand?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Katrina, but she sounded unconvinced.

  They walked for several more minutes, Katrina picking her way unerringly across the uneven terrain. Soon Austin began to distinguish a trail beneath their feet. It was faint, but he could see footprints—someone had gone the same way they were going and recently. Someone—no, two people—wearing military-issue boots. His heart leapt. They’re alive! It made sense that Makree and Admiral Ortega would have reached the mountain—if I could make it, they could do it blindfolded—but it was a relief to see some confirmation. Austin wondered what their journey had been like. Knowing them, they probably walked right on through the Traika, killing everyone in their path until the Traika decided to just leave them alone.

  Gradually, the path grew clearer, winding along like a massive serpent, until finally Katrina pointed at something in the distance ahead of them. “There it is.”

  Austin looked and saw a massive, gaping hole in the mountain’s surface. The ground around it was a barren patch of sharp white stones. The air suddenly felt dead, as dry and lifeless as the infinite cold of space. Austin felt a pervading chill enter his bones, filling him with visceral dread. This is not a place for the living—it is a place for the damned.

  But he never considered turning back. Hold on, Justin, he thought, I’m coming.

  He strode into the darkness.

  -22-

  Ahead of Drogni, the tunnel suddenly opened up into a cavern, a huge chamber a hundred meters on each side and fifty from floor to ceiling. The entrance through which they had come was not the only one; there were seven more, located at even intervals around the yawning chamber. Massive talons of rock reached down from the ceiling and thrust up from the floor, and in many cases stalagmite and stalactite merged to form unbroken pillars. Elsewhere, uneven mounds of rock a few meters tall littered the cave, their surfaces unnaturally smooth, as if they had been covered with smoky black glass. The sound of running water reached their ears from three spring-fed pools. The chamber was lit by a giant fist of rock that hung from the ceiling like a stony chandelier and glowed as if alive.

  All this Drogni noticed in an instant, his mind automatically scanning every feature of the terrain. His gaze fixed on the dais in the exact center of the chamber. Raised about half a meter from the ground, it was made of what looked like blood-red bone. Four torches rose from the corners of the platform, burning with silver flame.

  Two figures were on the dais. The first was spread-eagled and secured by chains that writhed as if alive and pulsed with emerald light to a slab of the same black rock that filled the chamber. The slab was tilted at a forty-five degree angle, giving the illusion that the captive was simply reclining against it. Black lightning crackled from an aperture in the ceiling, coursing down to strike the chained figure, who shuddered and moaned as the bolts of energy seared his body. Even from fifty meters away, the power of that dark energy made Drogni’s skin tingle. In his hand, Ss’aijas K’sejjas trembled, and a low hum whispered from the Mari’eth blade.

  The chained man’s face was obscured by the black lightning, but Drogni knew immediately that it was Justin Varenn. His heart leapt; perhaps it was not too late to save the Ambassador after all.

  The second figure stood with his back was to them. But his identity was not in doubt. The jagged white scar that ran down his shaven skull was a beacon for Drogni. I remember when you got that scar. I shouldn’t have bothered with slashing those wires; I should have led with my blade. Fifteen years ago, I missed. Fifteen years ago, I failed.

  This time, I will do neither.

  It was as if the last eight days hadn’t happened. As if no time had passed since they had last stood like this, Drogni staring up at his enemy with the Mari’eth blade in his hand.

  As he had done on Hilthak, Drogni raised his sword high. And he bellowed the name of his nemesis.

  “ROKAN!”

  * * * *

  Time froze as that single word echoed thunderously throughout the vast chamber. It drowned out all else—the rushing water, the crackling of the dark lightning, the agonized groans of the prisoner chained to the bed of stone. It seemed as though Drogni could see the very vibrations of the air as his challenge reverberated, echoing once, twice, a dozen times again. A challenge issued—

  Rokan Sellas turned.

  A challenge accepted.

  He stared down at them with eyes of raging sapphire, and his mouth split into that broad, mocking smile. “Welcome, my friend,” he said. “Welcome to the he
art of Espir.”

  Drogni snarled. His par-gun was suddenly in his hand, and he fired, a stream of compressed energy that lanced from his weapon straight for Rokan Sellas’s heart.

  Every particle beam struck its target, but Rokan Sellas did not move. His expression did not change. “Really, Admiral?” he said, reaching up casually with one hand and touching his charred flesh. The wounds were not bleeding. “Is that the best that you can do? It is, and we both know it. Have you not learned that you cannot harm me?”

  Drogni’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. Anger swept through him, clouding his vision; his body shook with rage. Only a few seconds had passed, and already he was on the precipice of blind fury, of charging headlong into battle without a thought for tactics. For a moment, he hovered on that precipice, and then the voice of reason emerged and dragged him back. He felt the warm glow from Ss’aijas K’sejjas and knew that the sword’s calming power had saved him. Damn, but that was close. Too close. He knows me—better than I would like. Better than I know him. “Come down,” Drogni growled. “Come down from there, face me like a man, and I’ll show you the best that I can do.”

  Rokan Sellas’s smile broadened. “All in good time, my friend. But why the hurry? If I were you, I would savor my last moments of life. Besides, it is unsportsmanlike to begin a fight before all of the participants have arrived.”

  Drogni doubted that Rokan Sellas was interested in the rules of fair play. No, this is about arrogance. “This has nothing to do with Forgera. It’s between you and me. Leave him out of this.”

  Rokan Sellas raised his eyebrows. “Forgera? Ah, yes, the other Ambassador. Here, no doubt, to rescue his friend—a noble goal which I, you understand, cannot allow. But he, ultimately, is almost as insignificant as you, and even less capable of defeating me. No, I was not referring to Forgera. There are others who have been drawn here—individuals of real importance, of real power. They, too, are here to try to stop me.” He shrugged. “They, too, will fail.”