These unthinkable flashes were visible above the ridgeline, each coruscation accompanied by the soul-quavering, thunderous resonances that were felt rather than heard.
Over and over, the incandescence burst skyward as if galaxies were colliding.
While the music of the spheres rushed heavenward, visible far and wide, the reason for those detonations remained uncertain.
The Light’s thunder fell upon silence, a stillness so deep that not even a ripple escaped.
What exactly the Empyrean Knights were fighting, I could not guess, but I had an idea.
And I did not like it.
Astride Goer’naq, the tableau unfolding leagues away, I turned to Lucius and asked, “Is there aught we can do?”
Lucius offered the equivalent of a small shrug. “Hope.”
I did not like the sound of his answer.
If there was something ahead that five or more Empyrean Knights could not face and hope to overcome, the odds of our fighting through seemed long indeed.
“The Lightsworn battle on the periphery of our lands.
“We must use their efforts to our advantage if we are to win past, for the juel’dara are between us and Kerraboer.”
“And we cannot help them?”
“I fear the conflict will be decided well before we could offer our aid.”
I did not like the sound of Lucius using the word fear.
With a heavy heart, I nodded my assent, and we sped onward to the east, heading parallel to the direction of the mountain line blocking the battle while trying to skirt it.
Unwilling to do nothing, I sang to the Knights as we flew, offering them fortune and protection as best I was able from afar, hoping the subtle weaves of my song would not distract them from their efforts or draw unwanted attention toward us.
The clash beyond the ridge ended gradually, the brilliant bursts of Light slowly coming to an end, winked out of existence one by one.
The Knights’ celestial music rang out no more.
Generally it is the silence before a storm that is filled with threat and dark portents. In this case, it was the silence after the storm that was filled with menace.
Dark and foreboding was the silence that fell, for the Light that had once shone so brightly was no more. The lives that had allowed its expression, that had furthered its end, had been quelled.
What end they had met, I could not say, for, though demons were massed around the el’amins’ borders, those infernals—whose heinous music clashed and clamored in my ears, scratching furiously against the borders of my soul—were not the ones that had brought about the Knights’ end. These demons were but the froth and chop churning atop a much deeper, wider ocean, one I dared not swim.
“They are gone, Lucius.”
Lucius tilted forward, his nod tinged with sadness.
“Do you have any idea what it was? Is there anything we can do to prepare?”
When he spoke, Lucius’ words were simple and direct, perhaps anticipating and accepting something I could not yet see. “There are yet great evils loose on Uërth, Noema’dar. Some far greater than others. Few are the juel’dathra that have been found over the many long years since the opening of the Chaos Gate. Fewer still are those that have fallen.
“Though guraem may wield the swords of angels, these men are not angels.”
“I do not follow, Lucius. Men may not be angels, but we have goodness and Light in our hearts. We have achieved more perhaps than even the Heavenly Host was capable of, for we have managed to hold on to the Uërth even after Heaven’s Fall.”
Lucius was silent, my words falling around him but leaving him unmoved. “I do not deny what we have saved, nor do I deny what we have lost.
“Though guraem may wield Angel Swords, men cannot always fight angels’ battles.”
“But we have done so for hundreds of years! We are still fighting! We are winning!”
Lucius did not disagree. He continued patiently, as though explaining a perfectly reasonable supposition to an unreasonable student. “I am not arguing what we have done or what we will do, Noema’dar. We have accomplished much and more.
“We have achieved far more than many would have dared to dream when the Empyrean Gate first fell and with the Heavenly Host.
“But there is much we have not yet achieved, for there is much we have not yet faced.”
“And you are saying that whatever killed the Empyrean Knights beyond that ridge is one such thing?”
“I am saying that few are the juel’dathra that have been slain by mortals, and there is one over that mountain.”
Undeterred, though I feared what might lie ahead, I countered, “But mortals have managed to slay juel’dathra?”
“Yes. The combined forces of the Lightsworn have done so at Kerraboer, on the field of battle before the gate to the plane of the devourers of living essence.”
“Have there been others?”
Again Lucius tilted forward, giving a slight nod. “Saedeus slew one when he brought down the Chaos Gate.”
“He did?”
“The gate itself was a juel’dathra, one of the mightiest.”
“Then we have a chance!”
If Lucius could smile, he would have done so then, for I could sense his pride in my ready, overreaching optimism. “We have a chance.”
I would not argue the point further, because I knew what I needed to know.
We had the same chance we had always had, however small.
Ours was the task of seizing it.
But, better yet, if we were fortunate, we could avoid needing to seize it in the first place.
A Fire That Burns
Luecaeus had to admire his wera’dun.
She held to her beliefs in the face of all obstacles and evidence to the contrary.
She fought for what she believed in, even when fate was stacked against her.
She held to her vision doggedly, despite her dreams fading every time she woke.
She was stubborn and unyielding, as if her heart were made of stone.
She was just like him.
And he loved her for that, just as he loved all his wera’dun.
He would do everything in his power to reward that blunt refusal to yield and see it to its just and proper end.
He owed her that much and more, for her people kept his alive.
The fluid-filled receptacles helped bring magic into the world and sustain it.
Even as they blundered about their destinies, sloshing to and fro, leaking their essences everywhere, their lives brought potential into the world that would otherwise be absent.
He would fight for them and their futures.
For they fought for his.
Even when they had no idea what they were doing.
Which was most of the time.
A Lone Obstacle Not Alone
Wind whipped over me, my clothes flapping frantically in the turbulent eddies, ready to take off, freed like a kite in the wind. Despite the cantata I intoned to keep warm and protect myself against the thinning air, the chill of the heights burrowed into me, for the warmth of my body seeped into Goer’naq’s cool stone as much as the whistling air.
Ignoring the cold, I stared into the depthless infinities of Loer’allon’s blade. While my reflection skimmed across her surface, never alighting or abiding within, Light seemed to go on forever within her edge, just as light seemed to pass through her crystalline length untouched and undiminished.
While I studied Loer’allon’s extent, seeking to unfold her mysteries as we traveled above the ravaged lands of the northern Dragon’s Teeth, Maeraeth reached out to me, addressing some of Lucius’ concerns in our conversation about the juel’dathra. “We may not be angels…”
Saedeus broke in before Maeraeth could get started. “Speak for yourself, Maeraeth.”
Maeraeth ignored Saedeus’s quip and kept speaking without raising his voice or acknowledging the interruption. “But we can help you fight those who cast the d
emons down.”
Saedeus spoke firmly, building upon Maeraeth’s assurance. “I have done my fair share of casting down.
“But not of angels,” added Saedeus after a moment’s pause for dramatic effect. Ever modest, he continued, “Maeraeth and I might not bring the might of angels to bear against the demons ahead, but we have accomplished deeds that angels could not and did not.”
Quick to amend Saedeus’s comment, Maeraeth added, “Alone. We have accomplished deeds that angels could not or did not on their own.
“Using their angelic tools to enable our efforts,” he amended.
Seadeus laughed. “Maeraeth, there will be no retribution for us speaking our minds. Neither will Master Nomba be offended if you take a slight measure of pride in your accomplishments.”
“I was merely clarifying…”
“And I was merely speaking the truth. We have done what others have not, whether they wished to or not. This speaks nothing of their abilities or accomplishments, merely that we lend a certain gravitas in our support of Ilya’s efforts.”
I smiled as the two bandied back and forth. “Thank you both.
“We will need every bit of luck and assistance we can get, for it appears the demons leave us no choice but to face them.”
“The hellspawn will rue the day they see my face!” growled Saedeus.
“Saedeus, you don’t have a face.” Maeraeth’s words were only the slightest bit mocking. Mostly they were full of mirth, if his laughter was any indication.
“By my radiant blade, the demons will rue the day they see my luminous edge!”
“Loer’allon is not your radiant blade now, nor was she ever. You were but a fellow wayfarer meeting up with her along her path.”
“Bah! We’re married now, Maeraeth, bound to common cause. And you’re stuck here too!”
“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m stuck…”
I could see this conversation was going nowhere quickly, so I ended further quibbling. “Whether the juel’dara see rue or blades, or some combination thereof, your offer is welcome and will be needed more than I can probably say. Your purpose is still your own, even if your location is within Loer’allon. You have not lost who and what you are.”
After a moment’s pause, my lecturing at an end, I added, “When I call for you, will you come?”
“Of course!” shouted Maeraeth, only a bit too loudly.
“What else do I have to do?” asked Saedeus.
What else, indeed.
Lucius guided us to the east, behind and along the ridgeline, keeping a valley between us and the demonic host gathered beyond the next.
Far from an army, the demons were, however, an obstacle to be avoided, for their numbers were easily as great as our own. They held a horror in their midst none of us wished to see, for we already understood what it could do.
We passed other elementals along the way, those sentinels on the outskirts of el’amin territory, as we traveled over the ice-covered peaks and snow-covered mountainsides, but these elementals held to their posts in readiness for any sign of demonic infiltration.
We warned them of what was trailing us, hoping the warning was unneeded.
As we moved eastward, it quickly became clear that the pack of demons across the other mountain was shadowing us, staying far enough away to avoid elemental lands where some residual magics would weaken them but close enough to be ready to waylay us as soon as we moved northward.
There would be no avoiding the infernals.
“Why do the demons not cross the mountains and engage us directly, Lucius?”
Other demons had pushed into the lands of the el’amin before.
Why weren’t they now?
These demons, or at least one of them, were powerful enough to slay groups of Empyrean Knights.
What was any different here that could possibly cause them fear?
Lucius’ essence moved in a slow rumble, deep and filled with the stillness found between rock and earth. “Perhaps the juel’dara have had their fill of what happens when they venture into the lands of the el’amin.
“Some in this group may have been part of the much larger force that first assaulted Noema’jin.
“If so, doubtless they do not wish to revisit past successes.
“Perchance whatever now guides them wishes for a new start, one bathed in the blood of Empyrean Knights. Knights are most often found to the north, not the south.
“Or there may be other reasons.
“There are many.”
Lucius shrugged noncommittally, his shadow curving along and away on Goer’naq’s sweeping shoulders. “Who can say? All that matters is that the devourers of living essence are here and wish to destroy us.”
Some might view Lucius’ words, at least those who could interpret his music, as defeatist or fatalistic, but such a view was anything but true. Lucius accepted what was true and dealt with it directly, openly, and honestly. These were admirable qualities both in a friend and as a way to live one’s life.
Especially in a world filled with dissemblance, treachery, and hordes of rampaging extradimensional terrors.
“How should we approach this, Lucius? What should we do?”
There was no point in going farther east. We could keep going until the mountains turned to desert, and the demons would still follow us.
The farther we went astray, the more likely we were to encounter other demons. If that happened, these demons might choose to join up in the frenzied festivities as they all sought to do us in.
We could not outrun the demons. The infernals had us marked, and followed with ease.
There was little drama in this chase, for it had never truly begun.
We just needed to decide how to respond.
What action would lead to the best outcome—if choosing to face demons could ever be considered a good option—for us?
I had a feeling that I knew how Lucius would respond— directly, openly, and honestly.
True to himself, Lucius answered, “You are right to question, Noema’dar. There is no longer any need to feint eastward. Kerraboer is almost directly due north, across the Plains of D’rith Sinae.
“The demons already know where we are.
“We should show them where we wish to be.”
Although he had left it unspoken, I knew exactly what Lucius meant…by smashing right through their demonic ranks.
Juel’dathra
Down the steeply sloped rise, in the valley flat between this peak and the next, a lone man stood in the distance.
Dark, massed skies threatened overhead, pregnant with rain.
Wind whipped through the gorge, a presage to the coming storm.
The man waited just beyond the line of demarcation outside the bounds of the elementals’ homelands.
At least he appeared to be a man.
But I knew otherwise.
There was a stillness about him, deep, abiding, and untouchable.
This stillness was not one of serenity or cultivation.
Nor did this stillness originate from the realization of inner peace.
Nor was this stillness the expansive expression of quietude’s boundless unfolding.
No, this was the stillness of ends, of utter entropy, of absolutely no more.
No more potential.
No more possibility.
No more laughter.
No more songs.
No more joy.
No more life.
This man, this demon, was ultimate ending incarnate.
And he was waiting for us.
With his deadly calm.
And his terrible internal peace.
And in absolute certainty of our impending demise.
Arrayed behind him, a backdrop gone unnoticed because of the gravity of his presence, a seething wall of demonic nightmares fumed and gnashed.
Hungrily.
The gathered oozing, slavering, bristling, grating, and keening infernals surged en masse, held in chec
k only by his presence. The juel’dara were a failing dam about to burst, a massive wave cresting and soon to crash.
But his presence held them in place.
The jaggedly spiked reptilian horrors, the oozing masses of decaying protoplasm, the incorporeal swaths of aphotic Darkness, the draconic monsters spewing hellfire and wreathed in magic, the soul-devouring wraiths, the distended and decaying animated dead, the unholy necromantic entities surrounded by fell minions, among many others cast off from the lowest pits of the Abyss, all followed his will without so much as a hint of rebellion.
He was their master.
And he was here waiting for us, ready to bring us to our ends.
I, for one, was not ready to go quietly, unsung and unremembered, into that total, depressingly complete night.
At least not the one he offered.
In one hand he held a black sword, point down, its tip not quite touching the ground. So dark was the blade that I could not actually see it. Rather, I read its implication in the way illumination disappeared reluctantly into its lightless mass. His other hand was placed with casual nonchalance in a pocket of his ill-fitted trousers.
I imagined him perhaps fingering coins or an object of particular interest.
His appearance was nondescript. An oval face framed flat brown eyes resting dispassionately beneath tousled, mousy brown hair. Thin lips that seemed to never have moved from a straight line were but an afterthought above a weakly formed chin.
He was of medium height and build and was wearing old, dusty clothing that he could have found at random, for it did not match or suit him.
Like his clothes, his appearance was but an afterthought.
In every way, he seemed to be but a caricature of a man—only the vaguest outline and not fully fleshed out.
While the gathered demons raged and tussled in place, the violence and dread of their presence an overwhelming discordant opus of hellish purpose and corrupt motives, the man presented no music whatsoever.
In this regard, like his physical form, the man was entirely unnoted and unnoticeable, filled with silence.
Legacy of the Blade: The Complete Trilogy Page 50