by Damien Lake
“It seems like a waste of effort,” Dietrik observed. “These seals contain the blighted places, do they not? Let the forest go to hell however it wants to, as long as it does it privately.”
“Unfortunately, it is not so easy as that.”
Dietrik grimaced. “Life never seems to be.”
“The seals are no simple barrier. No impassable wall against which the life within might wash against futilely. In truth, the seals are delicate creations. They only work so long as each seal is crafted for the specific distortions which they contain.”
“Does this make any sense to your mage’s mind, mate?”
Marik shrugged. “I’m not sure. What does that mean?”
“It means that if too many changes occur within the sealed area, the seal containing it will fray and eventually collapse. Liken it to a suspension bring upon which people continue to walk, while none of the earlier depart. Soon the weight will be too much and the ropes will snap.”
“Gods. Then these monster plants would be roaming the whole Rovasii, wouldn’t they? Not only the Euvea trees!”
“Indeed,” Colbey agreed. “Should imbalances occur, it is to the Guardians to set them to rights. Increased breeding or declines in certain populations due to overfeeding, certain plants spreading to take over an entire area…these things will eventually collapse the seal if left unchecked.”
“But what about that one seal you mentioned? Filled with poisonous gas? The way you said it sounded like you people could enter it freely before. That must have been a massive change!”
“If we are unable to control the area, then the seal masters had the power to alter the seal’s nature. The seal is adjusted to contain the new environment, the definitions of the seal rewritten. Doing this was always a great risk. Manipulating a seal can easily destroy rather than repair it.”
Dietrik looked askance at Colbey with a diamond-hard eye. “And keeping these seals intact only constitutes the second duty you Guardian chaps worked at? What under the heavens could you possibly think is more important than keeping these aberrations under lock and key?”
Colbey at last glanced away from the flames. His expression composed equal parts amusement and apprehension. “Are you so certain you wish to know, mercenary? You strike me as uncomforted by the realities I have already forced upon you.”
“Well, he might not, but I do!” Marik asserted. “The Arronaths aren’t wandering around the forest looking for herbs and tasty mushrooms!”
“For all we know,” Dietrik heatedly shot back, “a tasty mushroom is a rarity in their homeland! But it seems too right likely to me that these blighters are after these bloody seals. It sounds as if anything that wants to exist can in this forest. Who knows what monsters would be valuable to them when they already have bulls walking on two legs and dragonflies that can carry off a horse?”
“No,” Colbey uttered softly enough that the fire’s crackling nearly covered it. “If it were so simple, they never would have…” He cracked his neck anew. “There is no question of what they are after.”
“What then?” Marik wanted to know.
“A remnant.”
“Old carpets and tailor scraps, is it?” Dietrik snorted derisively.
“An artifact that should not have survived its time,” Colbey returned. “From a war that once engulfed the world. Neither of you has yet asked me why this hidden village chose such inviolate seclusion in the first place.”
Marik nodded. “I’ve been curious the whole time, but I was waiting to see if you would tell.”
“A war so all-encompassing that adequate records do not exist anywhere. Or, anywhere so far as Merinor is concerned. Who can say what knowledge the Arronaths keep on their side of the water. Other kingdoms of Merinor might remember with clarity beyond Galemar’s, since they claim no Basill Cerellas in their history, destroying clans, boundaries, memories, ancient sites and buildings alike in one massive swath. Even we, who cherish our ancestral duty, have forgotten vast stretches of the histories.”
“Well, how much is that?” Marik asked. “Half? Three-quarters? What’s left?”
Colbey’s gaze grew as frosty as he could ever remember feeling during the previous years. Dietrik, sounding no less exasperated, snapped, “If you can’t remember, how are you supposed to know what you’ve forgotten? And what does it matter in the longer run? Get on with the tale, I say.”
“What we remember was taught to all the children of the village,” Colbey resumed with an annoyed twitch, “not merely the scouts alone. It would take until dawn several days hence to retell it completely. What is important is this; there were no corners of any land that escaped the war’s touch. Countless kingdoms, clans, tribes and religions were allied together to oppose a force equally composed. Hundreds of groups, if not thousands, were forced to choose one side or the other.
“The village’s ancestors were one such group of warriors dedicated to fighting the oppressors. Their purpose in the larger war was to take and destroy an enemy stronghold that had been established in this ancient forest. It was a vital duty, for a powerful mage held the stronghold, which served as a key resource to the enemy forces. This mage populated the stronghold with his personal army, a collection of skilled warriors numbering thousands, naming themselves the Sordel’lei.
“It was no quick battle. The village’s ancestors were led by men from other parts of the larger alliance, men who brought with them skills beyond those of ordinary warriors. For many years, both the ancestors and the Sordel’lei strove to vanquish the other. It was not until the war’s final moments, when the spine of the enemy’s power was shattered in a foreign land, that the Sordel’lei were at last outsmarted.
“The mage lay slain, yet his final act was to shred the titanic magics he had imbued throughout his strongholds scattered across the inner forest. Several were destroyed. Others went wild. Their effects were unpredictable and chaotic. It may well have taken his conquerors with him into death were they not so quick to think and act.”
“I see where these distortions came from then,” Marik mused. “Whatever magics he had spun into his fortress refused to fully collapse, and for some reason they are still around today. I can’t imagine how they have lasted as long as they have without maintenance, but a spell that’s been damaged…it could end up doing most anything at all.”
“That was the problem the ancestors were faced with,” Colbey agreed. “They set to determining what and where, to isolating what they were unable to unravel. At first they intended to report what had happened and request aid, yet with the fall of the enemy armies, the alliance that had held fast against overwhelming strength soon fell to pieces.”
“What do you expect?” Dietrik observed. “You take away one tent pole and the rest topple.”
“Leadership dissolved when each ruler disagreed with the others on how best to handle their new freedom. The ancestors were forgotten about along with countless other small forces. As well, it was apparent that the ancestors had failed to neutralize the dangers posed by the central stronghold by killing the mage. Its powerbase still lay intact.”
“How can a fort be a threat with no bloody soldiers inside it?” Dietrik demanded.
“I can guess.” Marik stood so he could pace. “I’d bet that the mage had several magical objects in his base. Things that made this particular forest area valuable, instead of just another random set of fortresses. If they were solid enough that they could operate on their own, without a mage to power them, that would mean anyone could use them. A new enemy detachment could sneak in, set them off, then the alliance fighters would be right back where they started.”
“Generally along those lines,” Colbey agreed.
“They could not remove them?” Dietrik said. “Rip them to pieces or hurl them into the Southern Sea?”
“Looks like not,” Marik observed. “They couldn’t move them, couldn’t wreck them, couldn’t risk letting anyone else know about them in case the lingering enemy soldi
ers heard about them…so they sat down on top of the whole mess to guard it all.”
Colbey crossed his arms, a narrow pinch between his eyes. “An uncouth description, yet close enough.”
“Perhaps,” Dietrik allowed. “But for entire lifetimes? Where is the sense in that?”
“The damage that caused the distortions is impossible to undo. That was determined early by men well-practiced in such knowledge. All that can be done is to seal them away. Yet the seals require much care, so there must live nearby those who tend to them. Also, the remnant that lingers beneath the village is far too dangerous to entrust to any man.”
“You sound roughly thirty levels holier than the rest of us.”
Colbey returned Dietrik’s angry retort with a stony glance. “We make no use of it. No one can be trusted to handle the power lying dormant behind the strongest seals my ancestors were capable of producing. It grows stronger with every passing year. What was a worry two-thousand years past is a cataclysmic concern today.”
“Sounds damned dangerous,” Marik agreed, retaking his seat. “But how can a power grow stronger on its own? That shouldn’t be possible.”
“Knowledge beyond yours created it, mage. Expect nothing familiar from it.”
Marik frowned. “Sealed distortions spawning twisted creations, and an old magical object far too powerful to use hidden away. No wonder the forest has such a dark reputation.”
“Of our doing,” Colbey admitted. “We fostered numerous rumors to keep the outlanders out, and to those who ignored the warnings, the scouts would deal with in an appropriate manner. It was a point of pride among the scouts who would not advance to the Guardians. The cleverest tricks or most skilled pranks played on outland hunters earned respect from the rest.”
“And so?” A hard quality pervaded Dietrik’s words. Marik glanced sideways in concern, noticing his friend’s hand resting on his rapier’s swept hilt. “Generations of secrets passed over a camp fire. Thrilling and exciting…and damned peculiar. I get to thinking that the dawn might be harder to reach than I’ve been led to expect. And I don’t take to being buggered without my consent.”
Marik eyed Dietrik nervously. He had a point, but he’d never once felt ill intention wafting from Colbey during the talk. On the other hand, if Colbey did want to kill them, then few could wear an impartial mask the way the scout could. Going against a Colbey who was calm and collected, rather than hot and obsessed, drove icicles through the back of Marik’s neck. The scout remained the best swordsman Marik had ever known.
Colbey stiffened. Marik matched the movement, thinking the scout tensed from anger at Dietrik’s accusation. After a moment he saw that Colbey’s reaction bore no resemblance to a lethal coil preparing to unwind. Instead, his bearing forcibly struck Marik as familiar.
A raw emotion swallowed the man. Neither fury nor rage, it was equally primal, though of a different nature. In his eyes, Marik saw the reflection of his own years in the days following his mother’s death. Bad days. Times where he switched from the desire to sob until his body withered to desiring a violent fight with any of the town’s pompous princelings. The change could wash over him in a single instant. Chaotic. Unfettered. Wild.
His pain had eventually lessened as he approached a decision. Setting out along the road to Kingshome with Maddock and Harlan and Chatham had finally released him from the lingering pain evoked by living in a cottage drowned in her memories. For several months afterward his temper had continued to blaze fiercely, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. He had kept his mind focused sharply on the quest to find Rail because it enabled him to avoiding thinking about the simple fact that locating his father had only been the excuse. The reason for leaving was the abiding pain of watching his mother steadily deteriorate to a paltry shadow resembling her former self, and his being unable to stop it no matter how hard he fought to save her.
Colbey’s tortured soul, having slipped momentarily from behind its resolute mask, churned Marik’s memories to a boil far too quickly to sort properly. Marik struggled with the remembered emotions, at a loss for what to say.
Dietrik appeared to notice the change as well. His friend’s harsh posture softened slightly, Dietrik’s head stretching forward to imitate a turtle’s venturing from its leathery carapace.
“To be a Guardian…was to stand for the noblest causes. Strength of spirit beyond strength of force.” Colbey’s words were choked. Marik stared in amazement. “My…obsession for revenge…it twisted my sanity in ways I believed myself immune to…”
“Revenge against us?” Dietrik’s hand clenched tighter on the hilt. “What bloody cause have we given you for that?”
“None at all,” Colbey admitted. The scout stood to peer sorrowfully into the dark trees. “And that is my shame. Mage, I betrayed you and yours. I did this out of weakness.”
“I don’t think you are weak,” Marik responded. Everything about Colbey, from his bearing to the eerily haunted tone, disquieted him.
“Weakness is in he unable to hold fast to his morals. The enemies I sought had eluded me far longer than I expected them to. My rage grew until I finally abandoned by principles. With no enemy to slay, I created monsters from the men closest to me.”
Marik touched Dietrik’s elbow lightly. His friend took the cue and relaxed his grip on the rapier. Relaxed…but not released. “What are you talking about, Colbey?”
“The village where I once lived is vanished,” the scout uttered in a hoarse whisper. Neither man was surprised. Colbey had spoken of the village during the entire tale in the past tense.
“I expect it is,” Dietrik said to fill the long pause. “And what connection does that have to us.”
“None at all. What happened…is this. What the village had long feared finally came to pass. Mages hungry for the power we kept from the world came to the village without warning. Casting spells from behind the Taurs they brought, they slaughtered every person they found, from children to elder. The Guardians fought, but were killed all the same.
“I know this because several villagers were left for dead. The survivors gathered once the…murderers departed. A bare handful remained…”
Marik stroked his chin in thought. “Then why come back? Unless…they couldn’t get anything. Could they? They didn’t! Whether it was the seals, or the artifact, they couldn’t get their hands on what they wanted!”
Colbey’s eyes were blank, his ears unhearing. Dietrik looked to Marik, his hand finally leaving the hilt so he could rest his forearms across his knees. “That’s a bit balmy, mate. The Arronaths only arrived in Tullainia about two years ago.”
“They must have sent forces over sooner than that. It makes sense. No army charges into unknown territory to start a war!”
“No,” Colbey countered. He focused his attention on the two mercenaries. “For a long time, I believed, as a dying village elder did, that the attack on the village was to gather power to use during a war. It currently seems unlikely to me, seeing what I have. This invasion by the Arronaths required time to set in motion. Only after they failed to obtain the power hidden in the village did they resort to warfare.”
“I hear a false peal to your bell,” Dietrik countered. “That must have put it around the same winter we entered the band. If a flying mountain had been lurking anywhere, someone would have seen it and raised the bloody racks!”
“Their Citadel is a mover of armies. A smaller force could have easily crossed the ocean by boat with a skilled crew. It is too far for conventional ships, except the Arronaths are clever in the uses they put their resources to.”
“That’s why you joined the Crimson Kings, isn’t it?” The same reason as me, Marik thought with wonder. “You hoped you would find the ones you were searching for during a contract with the band.”
“There were few choices,” Colbey admitted. “The alternatives seemed less likely to bear fruit. Few are as knowledgeable about strife in the kingdom as a mercenary band. I had hoped to find th
e enemy, which proved to be the Arronaths, quickly. Instead my need to avenge my people drove me attack you. The closest mage I could vent my…my fury upon.”
“Mage is right,” Marik declared with iron-clad conviction, ignoring Colbey’s self-recrimination. When he met his eye, Marik continued. “I can see how it must have truly happened! It fits too well. The Arronaths have to be as much a victim as we are.”
A spark fired in the scout’s pupils. “Is a murderer a victim?”
“If he is the murderer, then no. But this must be what Xenos has been planning! This is what father and his…his friend have been trying to stop him from doing!”
Dietrik grew wary, while Colbey turned quizzical. “Mate, you realize what that means?”
Marik nodded. “Xenos couldn’t get the artifact before, so he tricked the Arronaths into starting a war. Because…I’m not sure. Maybe the army will help him break the protections in some way. But he’s in the forest and heading to where the village must be.”
“Explain this to me,” Colbey ordered. “Who are you speaking of?”
They resumed their positions around the fire while Marik recounted the facts passed to him by Rail in the Queen’s Head. Colbey’s manner soured throughout the entire tale, regaining a measure of his former personality in time to spit, “Mages! Never satisfied with their own power! How many mutilated to satisfy their greed?”
“Why don’t you ask Marik how many children he has diced into stew ingredients if you want an answer?” Dietrik needled sharply.
Colbey deflated at the pointed jab. “This man is the sort against whom we worked tirelessly our entire lives to prevent from entering the Euvea. My course is clear. Sleep, so that we may rise with the first light.”
“Your course?” Marik puzzled. “What course? We finally know what the Arronaths are planning! We have to get the information back to the army!”
“That is not an option to me,” Colbey tossed back. “I will not travel to the outlands to bring thousands into the Euvea groves.”
“And how will you stop us from doing exactly that, eh?” Dietrik’s hand drifted back to his rapier.