by Jacob Cooper
“Eh, well, today that would be Master Aramith.”
“Please good man, show me to him.”
The gruff miner shrugged. “Follow me.”
They passed many workers, some exiting the mines, others working at smelters’ fires, still others sharpening tools with wet stones and files. Daneris spied a tent in their general direction, the flaps of the entrance tied open. Inside he saw a man sitting at a crude table drawing on large sections of parchment.
“Master Aramith!”
The man at the table looked up. “Yes, Stanton, what is it?”
“Found this man, here. Says he needs a word. He don’t look so good if you ask me, what with his arm and all.”
Aramith came forward and met Daneris with some concern in his eyes. He looked at the miner and said, “Thank you, Stanton. That will be all.”
Stanton, the old gruff miner, walked off, presumably back to his duties.
“What has happened?” Aramith asked. “You are hurt.”
Daneris stepped forward and raised his good arm to Aramith’s shoulder. He rested his hand there for a moment before wrapping it around the back of his neck and gently pulling Aramith’s head toward his until their foreheads met.
“I am a current,” Daneris whispered. No response came. Please! he prayed.
He repeated the greeting again, emotion in his voice. “I am a current—”
“—of friction and Light,” Aramith answered, “a spark against the Ancient Dark that cannot be extinguished, a beam of the Lumenatis.”
Daneris let a tear of relief fall to his cheeks.
“Worry not, brother,” Aramith reassured him. “We received your message and have arranged every needed preparation.”
Daneris’ relief was palpable.
“Now,” Aramith said, pulling back, “let us see to your shoulder.” From a sheath on his belt, Aramith pulled a short blade. It was darker than pewter.
“Infused?” Daneris asked.
“Yes. Are you ready?”
The Khan held a deep breath and nodded. Aramith stabbed the point of his blade sharply into the joint of Daneris’ broken shoulder. The Khan grimaced with pain but did not cry out.
“Mylendia shaul,” Aramith whispered. The short dark blade hummed briefly and a jolting “snap” was heard as Daneris’ shoulder reconstituted itself.
“That was the last of it,” Aramith reported. “The blade’s Light is now spent.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Aiden
Day 29 of 4th High 412 A.U.
“AIDEN! WHERE IS LORD THERRIUM?” General Roan asked. Aiden realized it was the second time the General had spoken. He was still kneeling down, leaning on Maynard’s corpse. An unusually thick mist lay low, just above the ground, as the morning dew began to evaporate before the sun. Aiden’s eyes drifted toward the servant chambers, then to Roan. The General motioned to several soldiers who followed him to the humble structure. In a few moments, they emerged with a shaken but alive Banner Therrium. His family followed. Mithi’ah, the Archiver, was the last to exit. He immediately started scanning the scene of death before him, recording every detail in the typical fashion of his race.
Aiden’s eyes, still bloodshot, caught the stare of Lord Therrium. He tried to rise, but before he could, Therrium knelt down to Aiden and hugged him. He then took Aiden’s head gently in his hands and kissed his brow.
“Lord Therrium,” General Roan said. “Please allow my men to escort you inside the hold. We will find better protection there.”
For half an hour more, Aiden did not move. He felt the busy movements of the Arlethian soldiers all around him, clearing debris, checking for survivors. Finally, something roused him from his dream-like state.
“It isn’t possible,” Aiden said, staring in disbelief. “I cannot believe it for fear my heart should shatter if this is only an illusion of the Ancient Heavens. What shade of trickery is this? Some false specter, some cruel mirage of past hope? It isn’t possible. I won’t believe—”
Aiden stopped his elusive ramblings. He didn’t trust his eyes or his senses. Pain still coursed through him as a healer attended to his wounds, lashing Triarch leaves to the affected areas. General Roan and a detachment of wood-dweller infantry and long archers arrived within moments of Maynard’s fall. Aiden expected to be cut down by the hundreds of stunned onlookers, the remnants of the black clad army. He would not have resisted, being overcome with physical weariness and mental exhaustion as he tried to grapple with the unwelcome revelations that had pounced upon his mind as a viper to a field mouse, that apparently High Duke Wellyn had betrayed the Western Province. But the wood-dweller detachment under General Roan easily excused the remaining attackers from existence, securing the hold.
And now Reign Kerr stood in front of him, the long presumed dead heiress of House Kerr, the daughter of his mentor and friend, whom he had failed to protect. He had watched her warily make her way across the field and into the hold, entering the south entrance. As the morning dew evaporated, it fed the thickening fog of the early morning. Seeing Reign emerge through the fog gave a somewhat supernatural aura to her approach. Passing a group of officers in a heated discussion, Reign did her best to conceal her face from the soldiers, but they would not have known her. Raising a hand to her face, she bit down on her index finger slightly in a show of timidity, and said simply, “Hello, Aiden.”
“But, how…?” Aiden asked, his eyes wide and face askew with wonder. “It isn’t possible.”
Reign didn’t answer, but continued to look upon him. The smell of smoke hung in the air with the ruin of thousands upon the earth. The putrid smell of decay would soon be added to the air he breathed. Crows and ravens circled in scores overhead.
“What happened here?” she asked, turning her gaze and observing the scene around them.
Aiden was relieved to hear her voice again, as if confirming that she was real.
“I…I honestly am not sure. I…there was an attempt on Lord Therrium’s life, but no harm befell him. But that was before…before this.” He motioned to the men clad in black, strewn around the eastern and southern parts of the hold. Servants and wood-dweller infantry were busily collecting and inspecting the dead as well as repairing the eastern wall that had been completely razed in the opening of the attack.
“I am bewildered by this move of Duke Wellyn. In fact, I am not certain this was his doing. Perhaps these men wear his sigil as a deflection of their true identity. At the same time, perhaps Wellyn was flaunting his boldness by not hiding his intentions. I just don’t know yet.”
The greater question Aiden struggled with was why would the High Duke betray his own subjects, but those answers would not come without many other questions.
He looked back to Reign, finding her pale. Following her gaze, he saw her eyes fixed upon the man who lay in a thick robe, dead, not twenty paces from where they stood.
“Who was he?” she asked. Aiden glanced back up at Reign, and thought he saw recognition. No, not recognition, but something close to it.
She’s afraid, he thought.
“I’m mostly without answers. Maynard, he was called, but I don’t know what he was. But he was better than me. I should have died but—” Aiden truncated his words. He looked off in the distance, hollowness in his gaze. “But something, something pushed me. I can’t explain it, I’m sorry.”
Reign returned her gaze to him. He could tell he had said something that struck the girl, but she did not say a word.
“But it is you, isn’t it Reign?” Aiden reached out with both hands to take her by the shoulders, but Reign stepped back.
“I am dead,” she said. “I do not exist, and must not.”
As she retreated slightly, the morning fog filled the distance between them. Aiden’s confidence waned as a thought at the edge of his mind took shape. Am I delirious? My mind fractured? He dismissed the thought, but then wondered if perhaps Reign was indeed a spirit or ghost of some create.
“What? W
hat are you saying? Reign—”
“Aiden, I am dead. It must remain so, do you understand?”
Aiden was immeasurably perplexed, not for the first or even second time in the past day.
“If you cared for my family, please, you must be silent.” Reign’s eyes continued to plead for Aiden to comply even if he didn’t understand. She looked around warily toward the other soldiers, appearing concerned they would overhear their conversation.
Aiden capitulated for now. “As you wish, Reign. To be honest, I’m having a hard time believing you are actually standing in front of me and not some trick of my mind.”
“Hedron will be here soon,” Reign said.
This was yet another shock to Aiden. “Hedron? He lives as well? We must tell Lord Therrium! He will know what—”
“No!” Reign hissed. “You must not! Swear you will not!”
“Why? Reign, why? What is it?”
“Have you ever seen a man like that before?” Reign asked. Aiden knew who she meant.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Once. It was long ago, the night your father died.”
Reign did not answer but continued to listen. A truth struck Aiden as he searched her eyes.
“And so have you,” he said.
She did not deny it.
“Lord Therrium! Where is Lord Therrium?” The young officer ran over the hold grounds urgently. Other soldiers directed him to a makeshift pavilion that had been set up as a war room near the southern entrance of the hold. There, Lord Therrium, General Roan and several senior officers sat in earnest council.
“Lord Therrium, General, I beg your pardon for my intrusion, but you must come now!” The young wood-dweller officer was insistent in his gaze. General Roan knew the lad. Lieutenant Fherva, he thought.
“Lieutenant, what urgency brings your interruption with such boldness?” General Roan required.
“Please, sir, it’s just beyond the eastern wall. Colonel Bodhin bids me return with you and Lord Therrium at once.”
They arrived at the east wall, or the ruins of it, and looked beyond in the forest. The Colonel found them.
“Lord Therrium, General Roan, please follow me.”
They stepped across the rubble of the east wall into the forest and walked roughly thirty paces, flanked by a small escort. And then, Therrium saw it.
“Ancient Heavens!” he exclaimed in a heavy voice. “Of what create is this evil?”
Before them, where earth and tree root had been was now only smooth stone upon the ground, forming an aberrant road. As Therrium slowly lifted his gaze, he saw trees along the road that had turned to cold, gray stone, appearing to be statues erected in the likeness of trees that had once occupied the same space. No sound of forest animals or birds were heard or felt. No rustling of leaves or branches that sway in the breeze. The unnatural occurrence stretched out before them for leagues beyond their vision. Short distances to the left or right of the stone road were trees and forest unaffected, retaining their inborn state. The effect was narrow, streamlined, premeditated—deliberate. They were indeed in the forest, the Western Province, but what filled the views of all those present was nothing but alien.
Abruptly, without announcement, Banner Therrium turned around and stormed back to his hold. The soldiers followed. He arrived back at the pavilion, took his seat and began to lead.
“Explanations,” he demanded. The soldiers, mostly officers, were silent. “Speak!” he snapped, utilizing an unusual timbre of command. Several of the men opened their mouths, but could not form any words. “Of what create is this uncanny evil in my forest?”
“My Lord,” General Roan began, “I do not know what could have caused such desecration. But we are certain of several things. First, an attempt was made on your life by one of your own guards. This was foreseen, if I understand the account correctly, by Master Aiden, who slew the assassin. In short, my Lord, you have been directly attacked. Second, soldiers wearing the sigil of House Wellyn attacked this hold at nearly the exact same time. They were well trained, prepared for the difficulties of battling our kind. Most unnerving, they were not detected until they breached the hold wall. We can speculate the changes we have witnessed in the forest have something to do with that fact. Third and finally, none of your hold guard survived save for Master Aiden, he himself taking severe wounds while saving your life. The conclusion is simple. This was an attempt to decapitate the Western Province in one move, to kill the Provincial Lord as well as destroy the hold, throwing the entire province into chaos and unrest without leadership.”
General Roan’s assessment was delivered in true military fashion, brief and to the heart of the matter.
“Why? Who?” Therrium asked further.
“Unknown, my Lord.”
Therrium pondered for a few silent moments then asked, “What is to be done from here?”
“My Lord, it is obvious that someone wants you dead. Decisive military action has been taken against you and this province. Most indications are that High Duke Wellyn is responsible, but this is hard to fathom despite his sigil upon the dead army of black. If Wellyn has an enemy, this would be a strategy to divert blame to him and tear apart the Realm. It is a common ploy to pit two powerful forces against each other. When they are worn down to a weakened state, the true enemy may reveal himself, now strong enough to overcome his foes and achieve his objective.”
Therrium sat considering but did not speak, as was typical of his laconic nature.
“Among other uncertainties, there is one thing clear,” Roan continued. “You cannot stay here. It will be our honor to escort you to the main body of the province’s army where we will establish a nomadic command; where I believe you will be the safest.”
“It sounds as if you are giving me an order, General.”
General Roan stood in silence for a moment, deciding how to respond. He made his decision. “Yes, my Lord, I am.”
Banner Therrium didn’t think he could smile this morning, but one forced its way onto his face anyway. “Very well, General. Collect my family and Aiden. I intend to leave within the day.”
Aiden and Reign had retreated into the hold and out of sight. A disturbance among the soldiers caught their attention.
“Stay here,” he said and ran to the entrance of the hold, which faced south. Near the southeast tower, a group of soldiers lifted up a man among cheers and carried him to a healer. The man’s head hung down, too weak to hold it up. But he was alive and wore the uniform of Therrium’s Guard. Running to him, Aiden gently lifted his head and looked at the man’s face. The wounded guard spoke in a faint whisper. “Master Aiden, I…” He couldn’t form any more words.
“Alrikk!” Aiden cried. He grabbed Alrikk around his torso, relieving the soldiers who bore him and personally carried him to the healers. Laying him upon a bed of Triarch leaves, Aiden saw the gravity of Alrikk’s wounds as well as a small Triarch leafling clutched in his hand. He was barely conscious.
“You will save him,” Aiden said to the healers.
“His wounds are grave, but we will do everything we can.”
“Did my words sound like a request, healer?” Aiden spoke more insistently this time, so as to leave no doubt. “I repeat, you will save him.” The healers began their work with haste.
From his peripheral vision, Aiden caught sight of the destroyed eastern wall and something strange that lay beyond. Rising up he turned his head toward the debris and saw it. Stone where the forest had once been. His chest tightened as he saw the view that stretched out for leagues.
Lord Therrium approached with Roan in tow and beckoned to Aiden. Upon sensing his Lord’s approach, Aiden turned immediately toward him and knelt on one knee.
“No,” Therrium said, shaking his head. “No, you need not bow before me. No man to whom I owe such a great debt shall bow before me. No, Aiden, rise.”
Aiden rose, but felt uneasy standing as if equal before his Lord.
“We will return to the main encampment of t
he army at the Roniah Crossing under General Roan’s escort and abandon the hold for the time until we can better assess the danger and origin of our attackers.”
Aiden looked away. “My Lord, I would seek your blessing to take your leave. There are…matters I must attend to.”
Therrium’s surprise was evident on his face. “Master Aiden, of what do you speak? I would have none other at my side, especially during this time.”
“If you command it, Lord Therrium, I will retain my duties and serve you still. But, I must humbly insist upon seeking your leave. I cannot speak of the nature of it, but you may trust it is vital to me. You will be safe in the heart of the army.”
“Understandably, I’m reluctant,” Therrium said. Aiden’s hope dissolved. “However, Aiden, you are the truest friend to my family, and to the Western Province. For the honor of your fallen men, my fallen men, and for giving my family life, I would grant you anything you ask. You have my blessing for any endeavor you feel to undertake.”
Aiden blinked long and brought his eyes back to Therrium’s, communicating his gratitude. He nodded and said simply, “Thank you, Lord Therrium.”
Then he left. Aiden felt Lord Therrium’s eyes upon his back as he walked away. A feeling of foreboding was upon him, a warning that said he might never see Lord Therrium again if he left.
Fallen Ancients, forgive me for leaving my Lord but give me wisdom and strength as I take up a higher calling. Perhaps the Ancient Heavens did not hear his prayers, but he could not ignore the events of this day. He thought that maybe, amongst all the sins and failures of his life, the Ancient Heavens might be showing him a path to redemption with the miraculous appearance of Reign.
Maybe a chance.
“General,” he heard Therrium say to Roan, “burn the bodies of the enemy. Also, bring me your fastest man. I have a delivery for the High Duke.”
As the day’s light began to melt into twilight, Hedron caught sight of Hold Therrium. Innately he felt Reign’s presence, the way he had always been able to since they were born.