by Scott Kaelen
“Wayland?” Adri said.
He turned to face her. “I think you know, Lady.”
She sighed inwardly, then nodded. “I do.”
“If you would have me, I would continue my Warder duties, albeit part-time.”
“Always,” Adri said.
“Wayland,” Linisa said, “what are you doing?”
“I have to leave, Lini. I returned only to be at Eri’s side.” He looked to Adri. “I loved her as my own sister… perhaps more, yet not in this world.”
A lump caught in her throat as she watched the veteran Warder turn sideways and allow Sabrian to link his arm. One of the knights stepped forward for Wayland to grip his shoulder. Looking back, he said, “There are no more goodbyes today, ladies. I will see you soon.” With a wink to Linisa, he let the men lead him away.
Cleve remained, watching as the others walked away. Once they were out of earshot, he turned to Adri. “A word to the wise, Lady Adriana. It would grieve my friend Sabrian if he were to see those foul objects in the boughs of your tree again. Might I request you remove them? I believe you might agree that they have outlasted their purpose.”
Adri drew a long, shuddering breath. “I most certainly do.”
As Cleve walked away, the Priestess Superior ran forwards from her chapel. “You cannot do this,” she hissed.
“Oh, I can, Amiryn.” Adri looked out at the gathering of villagers, their shadows stretched across the green. “I can, and I will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
UNBOUND
At the far end of the white corridor, Ellidar gave the twisted metal of the fake wall a final heave and it shifted another inch, affording him enough space to poke a torch through and peer into the black chute. The wreckage of the transportation mechanism lay somewhere at the bottom, half-buried, he knew, beneath debris from the partially-collapsed shaft. When the major repairs to the castle and the rest of the city were completed, there would be more work ahead for himself and the knights to dig a path back to the Mother, but, for now, she was quiet and content to wait. A lesson had been learned by recent events – a lesson of peace over violence, reinforced by one whose nature included wrath as a reaction without thought, who took any compatible vessels and used them for its own survival. Ellidar sniffed in wry amusement, not altogether appreciating the irony.
As he strode back along the winding corridor, he picked up a faint sending and aimed his awareness out beyond the castle and beyond the city walls. A gust of urgency blew through his mind as he sensed Cleve Hauverydh calling to him, conveying to him an image of the outlander lady and her companions. He pushed his focus, and Cleve’s warning became clear. Clenching a leather-gloved fist, he hesitated only briefly before bursting into a run along the shallow rise of the corridor, and projected his thoughts to Gorven Althalus. “Did you sense the message?”
A moment later, Gorven’s reply reached him. “I sensed Sabrian, but the meaning was muddy. Something about Dagra and the others? What did you get?”
“Villagers. A sizeable group of them heading to intercept the wielder of the blade Ammenfar and the lady Jalis. She is a woman of valour and every bit the warrior, but there are too many.”
“Our friends are a day and a half out of Lachyla already,” Gorven sent. “It is too far, and Dagra is weakened; he cannot sense anything more than the distant buzz of our collective mind. There is nothing we can do.”
“I am a knight. There is nothing I will back away from.” Ellidar bounded for the hanging drape that led into the throne room. “These villagers have caused enough harm already. I will not allow it.”
“But, Ellidar, you will die!”
He dipped beneath the drape, his eyes falling upon the dark stain on the floor and the scorched surface of the bronze seat. He ran across the throne room and burst through the far doors, snatching a longsword from the wall before crashing through the outer doors.
“There is no time for discussion,” he sent to Gorven as he pelted down the marble steps. “I go now. I go alone.”
With each passing step, Dagra’s breath was becoming more ragged as he trudged across the grassy heath, his arm around Oriken’s middle, and Oriken’s clutched around his. Half a mile ahead a thicket of conifers stretched across the rocky coastline, nestled beneath a steep crag. The swatch of green melted into the grey tide, the trees’ spindly trunks swaying like flowers though there was no breeze to disturb them. The voices in his head were all but gone now, but in their stead came others – the voices of the gods.
“It’s time,” he said, his step faltering. “I’m ready.”
Oriken gripped him tighter, and at his other side Jalis linked his arm. His senses reeled. He felt Oriken’s shoulder against his cheek, Jalis’s warm hand upon his. Somehow they were already nearing the edge of the thicket. His feet all but dragged along the ground; he moved only because his friends were there to help him onwards.
Stars and shadows swam in his vision though the day was bright, and the gods’ voices sang in known and foreign tongues. The Dyad sang with their paragons and a choir of disciples. Khariali’s lilting chimes blended with her sibling Cherak’s baritone rumble, resonating along the golden rays of their son, Banael, to wash over Dagra’s face. Pheranisa crooned a liquid lament, while Haleth’s chords danced across her waters. Beneath an unfamiliar staccato of hooves, the Arbiter’s judgement was a calmed roar. All the aspects and patrons added their voices to the sibilant dirge, and he even sensed the silent attendants at the edge of the deific choir, among them the Herald, the Grey Watcher, and that ancient Himaeran goddess, the blighter of Lachyla.
He also felt the presence of another – one he did not know, that seemed to link the rest together like threads in a fractured tapestry. This was the least of them, a worm, but somehow the most important, weaving the notes of the song in perfect harmony.
He was on his back, perched upon soft ground and staring up into the starred-and-shadowed dazzling sky. The faces of his friends, at first hazy, came into focus above him.
“Oriken. Jalis…”
“We’re here,” Jalis said, though he didn’t see her lips move.
He felt a pressure upon his fingers and looked down to see Oriken’s hand in his. Dagra lifted his eyes to his friend, and in Oriken’s features he saw the boy and the man he had become, a solemn expression on his face, the corners of his mouth turned down within his stubbled cheeks.
“It’s okay,” he heard himself say. “They’re all here, come to see me away.”
“Of course they are,” Oriken said. “They’d have to answer to me otherwise.” Dagra thought he saw him smile.
He felt a smile of his own, though whether it reached his face he couldn’t be sure. “I don’t think… it’s heresy to say… that not even Aveia holds a candle to you, my friend.”
Oriken squeezed his hand, but said nothing.
“Tell my grandparents I love them.”
Oriken nodded. “Of course,” he said, his voice cracking.
“It’s been… a life worth living. And no regrets.” Dagra turned to Jalis. “It’s beautiful, lass. As beautiful as you. You’ve been… one of the finest people in my life. Knowing you… has enriched me. Say goodbye to that big, wonderful giant for me, will you?”
Jalis reached towards him and touched her palm to his cheek, just as tears ran freely down her own. “I will,” she said.
He glanced back to Oriken. “Orik, I can… hardly see you.” His breaths came shallower by the moment.
“I’m still here.” Oriken squeezed Dagra’s hand tighter.
“I want you to have… my sword,” Dagra told him. “Learn how to dual wield. I wish… I’d had time to spar with you… the way they used to.”
Oriken’s choking laugh reached Dagra’s ears through the choral voices of the gods. “I’ll wear it for the rest of my days, Dag.”
“Jalis. Take my Avato emblem.” He waved weakly towards the pendant around his neck. “You don’t… have to wear it, just think of me some
times.”
Jalis sobbed quietly.
“Don’t cry, lass. I’m just… a thread… in the unending tapestry.”
One by one, the stars faded until all that remained was the black Void. The heavenly song grew, soaring through his mind as his body became lighter.
“Goodbye, my friends. I hope… I hope we…”
Svey’Drommelach’s shadow enveloped him. The god gathered him beneath its wing, evaporating all that mattered. And he was free.
The world closed in around Oriken as he stared at Dagra’s eyes, and the bearded little man stared sightlessly back at him. With a shuddering breath, he removed the ancient gladius from Dagra’s belt. With a hand on Jalis’s shoulder, he rose to his feet and unbuckled his swordbelt, slid the aged scabbard over the leather, and refastened the belt. The weight of the two swords, one on each hip, felt balanced. It felt right.
He looked down at Dagra. In death, his features were slack; not peaceful the way everyone glorified it, but empty.
“So long, Dag,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat. “We found the adventures we were looking for, hey?”
It didn’t feel real. It felt like a dream he must surely soon awaken from. But he wouldn’t, and he knew it. Dagra was gone. Jalis got to her feet, the Avato pendant in her hand. She placed it to her lips, then slipped it into her pocket. Taking Oriken’s arm, she leaned into him and silently wept. He clenched his teeth and swallowed the lump in his throat. With his hand over Jalis’s, the gentle pressure of her body against his reminded him that he wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
FIRE AND TIDE
The sun melted over the hills as the morning stretched on and Jalis gathered wood for a makeshift pyre. She watched with concern as Oriken wandered listlessly through the trees, his face empty of emotion. Eventually a large pile of wood was stacked upon the grass beside the rocky shore, and she crossed to Oriken.
“That’s enough,” she said gently, taking his arm and removing the short branch he’d held for the last five minutes.
Without looking at her, he grunted and gave a brief nod.
“We need to carry him over.”
He took a deep breath and released it slowly.
“Oriken.”
“Yeah.”
He walked over to the shallow rise where Dagra lay, and crouched to take him beneath the arms. With an inward sigh, Jalis joined him and they carried Dagra’s body to the woodpile, lowering him onto the pyre. She positioned his arms neatly at his sides while Oriken retrieved the tinderbox from a backpack.
“Do you want me to do it?” she asked.
“I’ve got it.” He knelt and began to strike the flint into the kindling at the base of the woodpile. Sparks flew, but the wood did not catch.
Perching herself on a mossy boulder, Jalis gazed out onto the ocean and back along the stretch of heath behind them. The languid hiss of the waves mixed with the sound of Oriken striking the flint. Scratch, scratch, scratch… A gull cried and took to flight from within the conifers, soaring along the rocky shore. The minutes stretched by, and she opened her senses to her surroundings. As the scratching stopped, she looked to Oriken to see him fishing a hand into his jacket and bringing out the small metal object Sabrian had given him. He flicked the lid open and held the circle of glass within towards the high sun, and waited. After a minute the heat lens began to glow and he touched it to the kindling. The wood crackled, but did not take.
“Bah! Fucking useless cunting thing.” He flicked the lid closed and stuffed the device into his pocket.
Jalis rose and approached him, bent down and whispered in his ear, “We’re being watched.”
“Where?”
“Stay here. But be on your guard, just in case.” She brushed past him and ambled inconspicuously along the edge of the thicket, heading to the far end where the trees met the craggy rise. Nonchalantly she stepped around the back of the trees to the scattering of boulders that lined the base of the crag. Approaching the largest of them, she peered behind it.
“Hello, Demelza,” she said, frowning down at the crouching girl pressed tightly against the stone. “You’re far from home.”
Demelza’s face turned white as she looked up at Jalis. “I weren’t following you. Honest. You… you were following me.”
Jalis’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Shall we talk about honesty? You swore to the goddess that you wouldn’t mention us to your people.”
“Goddess never did nowt for me. Why should I do summat for her?”
“You also swore to me that you wouldn’t tell. Do we have you to thank for those hunters finding us in the city?”
“I didn’t know they’d want to kill yous. I swear. They forced me to tell. I was scared.”
“Jalis!”
She turned to see Oriken heading towards her, Dagra’s sword in his hand.
“It’s all right,” she told him. “You can put the sword away. We have an unexpected guest.” To Demelza, she said, “You’d better come and join us.”
Demelza clung to her satchel and climbed to her feet, and Jalis led her to Dagra’s pyre.
“As you can see,” Jalis said drily, “our number has shrunk by a third.”
“I… I can help wi’ that,” Demelza said.
Oriken scoffed. “The wood’s damp, girl. If I can’t get it to catch, what gives you the sodding thought that you can do it?”
Something in Demelza’s expression piqued Jalis’s interest and she caught Oriken’s gaze, giving him a look to ask for his patience. “Go on, Demelza,” she said to the girl.
Demelza stared at the woodpile, a look of casual concentration on her face. The moment grew. Oriken sucked air through his teeth and opened his mouth, but Jalis touched his arm and shook her head. Demelza closed her eyes, and when Jalis looked to the branches she saw the air shimmer beneath them within the kindling. And, with a quiet hiss, it caught into flames.
Oriken tensed. “What did you just do?”
“She magicked fire from air,” Jalis told him. “You can put that on the list of things you’ve seen with your own eyes.”
He glared at her, then turned on Demelza. “How?”
The girl took a step away from him, but Jalis gently took her arm. As the flames grew around Dagra’s body, Jalis said to Oriken, “You remember the girl a few years ago? The one who shrank an oak back into a sapling? She was a diachromancer.”
Oriken barked a harsh laugh. “Do you think I’m—”
“Let me finish, Orik. The girl was a feyborn, and Demelza is a feyborn, too. More specifically, she’s an elemancer.”
Demelza turned a doe-eyed look on Jalis, and a tentative grin spread on her face. “A Melemancer!”
Jalis couldn’t help but smile. “Yes,” she said, patting the girl’s arm. “A Melemancer.”
The flames were licking higher and spreading around Dagra’s body, and Jalis suddenly became aware of the smell that drifted from the pyre. She looked to Oriken, but he was glaring hard at the fire, his jaw clenched.
“Demelza,” she said, “would you help us gather our things? We should continue on our way.” She eyed the girl sidelong. “That is unless you’re returning to your home?”
Demelza gave a vehement shake of her head. “Don’t ‘ave an ‘ome no more. Ain’t no one there likes the Melza. Not no more. Not now Waynan’s gone.”
Waynan, Jalis thought. Then, Wayland. Yes, I see now. “In that case, if you say we can trust you, and if you have no other destination in mind, you’re welcome to travel with us.”
“I do promise,” Demelza said. “I meant it afore an’ I mean it now. I ain’t got no contrabibialities ‘gainst yous.” She cast a fearful glance at Oriken, who looked up from the flames and narrowed his eyes, first at the girl, then at Jalis before turning on his heel and stalking away to their belongings.
“He don’t like me,” Demelza said.
“He’s just upset. You don’t have anything to fear from him. And it looks like you don�
��t need to help us with our gear, either; the Orc King’s got it covered.” Jalis gave the burning pyre a last look and sent Dagra a silent, final goodbye.
Several hours later, Oriken sat on the rocks and gazed down the winding coast to the distant stand of conifers, behind which Dagra’s remains lay on a bed of warm ash. The numbness had faded, the anger was quelling and the true emotions were clamouring to reach the surface, but he pushed back against them for all he was worth.
Not yet, damn it! Not yet.
In his hand, Dagra’s gladius was all that remained of his lifelong friend. He vowed there and then that he’d use the ancient, rune-etched short sword until his freeblading days were over and he hung it on the wall with the blade of Mallak Ammenfar in traditional freeblade style; the age-worn gladius would take pride of place, crossed atop its gleaming, regal counterpart. He slid the sword back into its scabbard and looked long at the horizon where coast met ocean, imagining a faint spume of smoke drifting out onto the glistening water.
He sat, lost in thought until the sun arced into its final quarter and Jalis’s voice stirred him from his reverie. He glanced across to her. She was sat cross-legged upon a blanket, and, although engaged in conversation with the girl, she seemed small, lost, as if a part of her had gone with Dagra, which he knew it had, as had a large part of his own self. He rose and wandered across to join them, lowering himself to the blanket beside her.
She gave him a weak smile. “I was just talking to Demelza about her talent.”
“Uhuh.”
“She possesses one of the three accepted magic arts. I’ve seen elemancy a few times, but only once before with—” Her voice caught. “Only once with fire.”
He nodded and glanced indifferently at the girl. “Interesting.”
There was a long pause before Jalis said, “Demelza, did your mother have the same gift?”
“Dunno. She died afore I was born.”
Jalis muttered under her breath, then said, “You know, there are places where girls like you can meet others with similar talents, and live alongside them. Places where your skills can be put to good use. Would you like to visit such a place?”