by Licia Troisi
“Your own determination is all you have, Nihal. The will to resist falling into the abyss. That alone is your hope of salvation,” Megisto reminded her.
Night after night, Nihal returned to the clearing, despite her body’s protests. The moment the sun dipped below the tallest trees, she could feel her stomach knot up, wrenched with nausea, her temples pulsing violently. Night after night she gained ground on those monstrous visions. Gradually, she managed to remain conscious, the blue flame in her hands turning blacker and blacker.
“You’re close, Nihal,” Megisto repeated, and Nihal went on struggling to hold off the torrent of hate and pain.
The horrendous trial came to an end the evening before her final day of leave. When she opened her eyes and clawed her way out of the darkness as usual, a black globe shone in her hand, glowing darkly, just bigger than an apple and hovering above her palm. Nihal regarded it with wonder. She’d done it.
“This is the Inextinguishable Shadow,” Megisto said softly. “Before confronting Dola, charge your sword with this enchantment and it will be capable of piercing his armor. When you close your hand, the globe disappears and the spell is broken.”
Nihal made a fist and the light dissolved.
“Thank you, Megisto,” she murmured.
“Don’t thank me. The gift I’ve given you is lethal. Remember, if you attempt this spell more than once, it will be your death. Now, lower your head.”
Nihal did as told. The old man placed his hand on her and recited a spell under his breath. When he finished, he tilted her head back by the chin and looked her in the eyes. “You’ve come to a turning point in your search for the truth, Nihal. But the truth is a dreadful gift.”
“What do you mean,” she asked, perplexed.
“We must all seek out our own idea of perfection. Never forget that,” the old man replied. He rose to his feet. “Now go. Our time here is done.”
Sailing over the forest on back of Oarf, Nihal recalled Megisto’s words. What could be evil about the truth? All she had ever wanted, since the day her city was destroyed, was true understanding. Prophetic hogwash, she told herself, and spurred her dragon back to base.
21
The Temptation of Death
Nihal’s mastery of the Inextinguishable Shadow had not come without its consequences. From the very first evening she’d faced the abyss, she’d felt restless, tormented by the same swirl of nightmarish images. What have I got myself into?
As the village where she and Laio had spent two weeks faded in the distance, Oarf’s wings speeding them back to the Land of the Wind, Nihal only hoped she’d be able to finish what she’d started without betraying herself.
“So, are you thinking straight again?” Ido was waiting for her at the entrance to her tent, puffing on his pipe.
“Yes. Absolutely,” she lied.
The dwarf eyed her. “You look pale.”
“Just a little tired.”
Ido knocked his pipe against his boot, loosing a mound of ashes. “It’s lunch time. Let’s go eat something.”
Seated at a long wooden table in the mess hall, which was really just an oversized pavilion, Ido filled Nihal in on the past two weeks, all the while bolting down his soup. During her absence, the siege had persisted, but they still hadn’t gained an inch of ground. The battling began each day at dawn and didn’t cease until evening’s shadows carpeted the field. The number of dead was staggering—on both sides—but there was still no end in sight.
“At the moment,” Ido wrapped things up, “our only hope is to starve them out.”
“And Dola?” Nihal inquired casually.
The dwarf went on slurping his soup, Nihal’s inquisitive eyes fixed on him. He rested his spoon against the side of his bowl. “He left.”
Nihal suppressed her shock. “What do you mean, left?”
“Last night.”
For days on end, Dola had reigned over the battlefield, spreading terror and mowing down victims. No one had the strength to stop him. His armor was impervious to swords, lances were useless against him, and even when the archers barraged him with a thick cloud of arrows, he somehow managed to weave between their pointed tips. Then, without warning, the night before Nihal’s return, a sharp cry rang out over the encampment, an inhuman cry, like a bird’s predatory caw. Ido, along with nearly everyone else at the camp, stepped outside to see what it was. A black shadow rose up high above the tents, howling. Howling and laughing. A cynical laugh.
“Reid and I launched after him in pursuit, but a stream of flames took Reid by surprise.”
Nihal’s eyes widened. Reid was among the most valiant Dragon Knights at the encampment.
“Vesa was injured, too. In any case, we had no choice but to retreat,” Ido muttered in conclusion.
“Vesa? Wounded?” Nihal asked in disbelief. No matter how intense a battle, Vesa always landed without a scratch.
“Yes. And he wasn’t the only one,” Ido replied, lifting the sleeve of his tunic to reveal heavy bandaging. “Nothing too serious. Singed me like a chicken, that’s all,” the dwarf joked, though not without a trace of bitterness.
“And now?”
“And now, nothing. What’s important is that he’s gone and we don’t have to deal with him any longer. Wouldn’t you agree?” Ido asked, looking her in the eye.
Nihal lowered her gaze. No, she didn’t agree. She’d gone through hell to be able to face that scoundrel. And that’s what she was going to do, no matter what, even if it meant following him to the edge of the moon.
Ido must have intuited something. With a heavy sigh he drove his spoon like a spade into his soup.
“What?” Nihal asked.
“That’s what I’d like to ask you. What?” the dwarf shot back coldly. “I think I explained myself pretty clearly. But I have the feeling you haven’t changed your attitude.”
Nihal pushed her soup bowl away and leaned in toward Ido. “What is it about the idea of me taking on Dola that bothers you so much? Just tell me!”
Ido held her in a molten gaze. “I didn’t spend all that time training you just so that bastard could turn you into minced meat, Nihal.” The dwarf pushed himself up from his chair, and without looking back, made for the mess hall exit.
Out of principle, Nihal kept away from the battlefield. Instead, she continued to train on her own, regaining her strength. She was amazed at her own patience. Just a year ago she’d have jumped on Oarf’s back and taken off in search of Dola. But now, instead, she waited, fantasizing about her moment of redemption. In the end, her patience was rewarded.
One morning, a captain arrived at their encampment, sent as a messenger by a central garrison in the Herzli Forest along the shores of the Great River Saar. It seemed Dola had relocated to the Forest region and set up headquarters there. Leading a powerful army, he’d launched an attack on the Free Lands’ military outpost in the Land of the Wind.
“He’s well aware of the region’s vulnerability, given its vicinity to the Saar. Our fear is that he’s planning to attack the Land of the Wind from there, and then raid the Land of Water from the west,” the messenger reported. He spoke directly to the encampment general, but all of the Dragon Knights, as well, had gathered to hear his report.
At mention of Dola’s name, Nihal’s heart skipped a beat. The moment had come.
“Our deployments in the Forest region will need reinforcements. I see no other way. We could commit half of our troops,” one of the knights cut in.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Ido countered. “We can’t just leave our territory undefended. Who’s to say that’s not exactly what Dola is counting on—a gap in our defenses to exploit.”
The captain interrupted him. “Knight, we’re dropping like flies out there. I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.”
“What do you propose, Ido?” the general asked.
The dwarf was ready with a response. “The Land of the Wind is the smallest of all the Lands. Its
front is hardly extensive. By dragon, it can be crossed in two days. Which means we could afford to send minor reinforcements. A knight or two, to head up one of the garrisons. In the meantime, we could redistribute our troops along the border and lead an attack from the west, while ensuring that Dola is occupied in the forest.”
“Keeping Dola occupied is no simple task. And I think you know that better than any one of us here,” the general noted.
That was when Nihal rose from the bench where she’d been sitting patiently. “I can take care of him,” she said calmly. Ido shot her a scathing glance, but she was unshakeable. “Assign me a garrison of men and I’ll bring him back here.”
From the crowd of knights came the sound of laughter. “Drop it, Nihal! Don’t flatter yourself. Not a single one of us has been able to hold his own against Dola.”
“Am I wrong, or wasn’t he the one who just knocked you out of commission for two weeks?”
“I’ve learned from my mistakes,” Nihal answered firmly. “If we follow Ido’s plan, someone’s going to have to keep him occupied, right? And the garrisons near the Saar will need fresh forces to back them up. I think I’m more than capable of managing that much.”
The general seemed perplexed.
“You aren’t actually considering standing behind such madness, are you?” Ido burst out.
“This madness was your idea,” his superior observed.
“Yes, but … still, Nihal has only been a knight for so long. She lacks the necessary experience. Do we really want to place the fate of the Land of the Wind in her hands?”
Nihal could feel the blood rush into her temples as she opened her mouth to respond, but the general nodded at her to keep silent. “Your plan strikes me as feasible, given our needs. And Nihal has repeatedly proved herself a valiant warrior. For which reason, we’ll be entrusting her with this mission. That’s my decision, and that’s final.”
Ido shook his head in disapproval.
Nihal’s spirits were soaring. “Thank you for trusting in me, General.”
The meeting broke up and the knights went their separate ways. Nihal, though, remained in the command room to discuss the particulars of the mission. It was the first time she’d been assigned a garrison, but that wasn’t what had her reeling. She couldn’t wait to go.
It was late by the time she arrived at her tent, and Ido was sitting out front, puffing away nervously on his pipe.
“Care to explain to me what in the world you’re so worked up about?” Nihal raised her voice. “It’s a mission, just like any other.”
The dwarf hurled his pipe on the ground, waving his arms drastically in the dark. “No, it isn’t, Nihal, and you know it damned well!” he shouted, red in the face.
Nihal stood stock-still. They’d gotten into their share of arguments, but she’d never seen him so beside himself.
Someone shouted. “Keep quiet, for heaven’s sake!” and a few others poked their heads out of their tents.
Ido bent down to pick up his pipe, fixing Nihal in a cold stare. “Do as you please. Go get yourself killed if that’s what you want,” he muttered, and walked off toward his tent.
The following morning, Nihal made her way over to Ido’s tent and asked if she could come in, but there was no response. She repeated her request, but all she heard from inside was a dense silence.
A few hours later, she and Laio took off.
Nihal had one hundred soldiers at her command, far more than she’d imagined. For a moment, she felt overwhelmed. The mission seemed far beyond her capacity. And when she caught herself wondering whether she had leaped into it merely for revenge, she felt even worse. Yes, revenge. Suddenly the full gravity of the situation bore down on her. Maybe Ido was right.
“Can I ask you something?” Laio said, his voice earnest.
Nihal raised her defenses. “What’s that?”
“What made you want to put yourself in this situation?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, feigning indifference.
“The last time you attacked Dola, did you not come out of it half dead? What are you after? What is it you’re trying to prove?”
“Do you agree with Ido, Laio?” Nihal asked, unnerved.
Laio shrugged his shoulders. “No, Nihal. No.”
When the troops at the Herzli Forest encampment noticed an army approaching with a woman at its command, some were angry, others laughed, others abandoned all hope.
An air of death pervaded the encampment. Everything seemed pale, bloodless, as washed out as the sky after heavy rains. There were twenty or so tents in all, and all of them the same nameless, muddy shade of brown. Many of the men were wounded, and those well enough to fight seemed fatally exhausted. In all the camp, not a single woman or child—only men in the solitude of war.
The general accompanied Nihal on a tour of the site. He came off as one of those men who have seen too much in life. He was thin and not all that old, judging by his athletic build. And yet his face was carved with numerous wrinkles, his shoulders hunched, his eyes grey and depleted. A man tired of blood, of war, a man who’d had enough of life. He introduced himself as Mavern.
The site was by no means ideal for a battle camp. Nihal had never fought down among the brush, and the surrounding woods were dense. She remembered them well, those woods: they were the woods she’d crossed when she’d fled from Salazar, the city devoured in flames. Pricking up her ears, she could hear the mighty roar of the river Saar.
Soon they came to a hilltop, and from there Nihal formed a clearer picture of the situation. Part of the woods appeared to have been stripped of its skin, the bare earth scourged and scarred. The woods radiated outward from a black center, the enemy’s base. It was a well-ordered encampment built around a squat tower. Most of the Fammin were stationed in the camp, though doubtless many others were hiding in the thick of the woods.
“The encampment was there already. And it was ours, up until a week ago. The tower, though, is Dola’s addition. That’s where he lives, he and that hellish black monster. For two days now he’s been holed up in there. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t attack, nothing. He just waits,” said the general.
So that’s where he was. The man who’d made ashes of her city was in her reach.
“Which is to say, we’ll be the ones to rouse him,” Nihal added.
The general wasn’t so quick to share Nihal’s enthusiasm. His men were weak after many hard-fought battles, the losses staggering, their injuries numerous.
“There aren’t many of us left, and we’re at the end of our strength. We can’t pretend to hope for victory.”
“My men are fresh,” Nihal retorted.
“It’s sheer madness, Knight.”
“Tomorrow night is a new moon. We’ll attack them in their sleep. As far as Dola’s concerned, don’t worry—he won’t touch a hair on a single one of your men. You just focus on raiding the camp and fending off the Fammin. But you’ll need to be lightning quick. The element of surprise is the only advantage we’ve got.”
The general regarded her skeptically.
“I promise you we’ll regain control of the camp,” Nihal declared.
The following day passed calmly, though Nihal knew she’d projected a false certainty in her discussion with the general. She crept off into the woods, leaving Laio with the task of polishing her sword and preparing her armor. She traveled farther and farther from the encampment, until she could no longer hear its bustle, drawing ever nearer to the Saar’s majestic roar. She blocked out all thought, convincing herself that it was a mission like any other, and nothing else.
But deep inside she knew that what awaited her was no battle of the Free Lands against the Tyrant. It was not for the dead of Salazar, nor for the population of half-elves. It was her own battle. And she, Nihal the Dragon Knight, was going to carry out her mission, on her own terms. At all costs.
It seemed night would never come.
When darkness finally invaded the summ
er sky, Nihal retreated to her tent and sat on the floor cross legged. Her sword, polished by Laio with his usual fastidiousness, glimmered at her feet. A chill ran up her spine. It was time to recite the spell. She wiped the sweat from her brow and noticed her hands were trembling. She was afraid.
She thought back to the first time she’d tried to conjure the Inextinguishable Shadow. What if she lost control of the enchantment? What if she plunged, crazed, into the abyss?
She closed her eyes and attempted to calm herself. Clear your mind. Her sprinting heartbeat slowed. Clear your mind. She was breathing regularly again. Only then did she call forth the Blade of Light. She sat there staring at the little ball of fire as if she were seeing it for the first time: a perfect sphere, a pale, innocent blue.
Then, in a hoarse tone, she began to chant.
The hellish visions assailed her instantly. Disfigured faces, deformed limbs spiraling toward her, batting up against her. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro. Monstrous howls and squawking laughter erupted in her head. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro. Nihal could feel the darkness tightening around her. Several times, she flicked open her eyelids, but open or closed, it made no difference. She was pervaded, possessed. An unbearable horror, one blink of an eye from madness. She fell backward, gnashing her teeth. She felt her consciousness slipping. Then she yelled, she yelled, and again she yelled, tearing herself from the darkness with an inhuman force.
When she reopened her eyes, bathed in a cold sweat, a black sphere rotated slowly above her palm.
“What is that thing?”
Laio’s voice reached her as a whisper.
Standing in the doorway, he observed her with bulging eyes. Nihal was seated in the center of the tent, pale and stiff, her neck wrenched awkwardly, her eyes rolling in the back of her head.
The unnatural light carved shadows into her face. “I heard you yelling,” he murmured, “so I came in, and …”