by V. Lakshman
“There is another thing to note,” Orion said to Yetteje. “You said you faced Baalor in possession of a builder’s body. Did you see him fall?”
She was quiet, reliving her last good-bye to the man who had been like a second father. That thought reminded her of her reason for coming to Lilyth, and she refocused herself. Then she raised her head and took a breath. “No. We left before the outcome.”
Orion looked uncomfortable when he said, “Then we must assume Baalor was victorious and Lilyth now has a builder’s body in her possession.”
“Is that important?” asked Arek.
“I do not know,” admitted Orion, “but she has sought one for many lifetimes. That she is getting something she wants should fill us with dread.”
Yetteje thought about this, risking a look at Brianna, but the dwarven woman seemed lost in thought, barely listening to their conversation.
She looked back at Arek and said, “I heard Lilyth say she’s your mother, but I don’t believe it. She stands to gain a lot by making you feel like you owe her something.”
The princess paused, looking at Brianna and then at the Watchers, gathering her next thoughts. “Now you’re telling me an archmage from our past is alive? A Galadine?”
“And Niall is with him,” Arek said.
“Yeah,” she replied, deep in thought. Niall’s allegiance to his family was unbreakable. It was an honorable trait that the entire Galadine line, including in some small part herself, shared. Normally, she didn’t think about it twice. Right now, it might prove to be a liability.
“What runs through your mind, little one?” rumbled Orion.
Yetteje looked up at the massive Watcher, her amber eyes regaining some of their glow. “We came here to rescue Niall and Arek. Now Niall is with a Galadine, and blood is thicker than water. I’m worried that when we get to Avalyon, he may not want to leave.”
Helios laughed again. “She insisted we breach Olympious, home to a Celestial who kills Watchers on sight. Her next orders are even simpler. Find and enter Avalyon, a place infested with the warforged elves, and who like nothing better than to also kill Watchers and Furies on sight!” He looked around before addressing an imaginary crowd assembled before them. “Come, give us a challenge worthy of our mettle. This day is too easy.”
“Silence,” Orion said wearily. He looked at Yetteje, his eyes softening as he searched her face. “There’s something about you, Yetteje Tir. Though I owe you no allegiance, I yearn to make a difference. If it will not be in Edyn as an Ascended, perhaps my destiny is to follow one who is on the path to her own, though she does not know it. We can go where you want, but Hel is right. No one breaches Avalyon, and getting out would be even harder.”
From behind them came the sound of rushing air as a gate opened and Lilyth stepped out, accompanied by Thoth. She looked at each of them, her eyes searching for something.
They finally fell upon Arek and she said, “Valarius holds those who are dearer to you than you know. Perhaps we can find a way to help each other, my son.”
Living Legends
Be humble with praise, be grateful for fame.
These are given by others.
Beware of conceit, for you are its only gardener.
- Jebida Naserith, Should I Fall
N
iall followed the yeoman from the royal chambers he’d been occupying, to obey the summons of the highlord. Granduncle Valarius was here and alive! He still couldn’t believe it, or restrain the pride he felt at actually being a descendent of such an illustrious figure from Edyn’s war-torn history. It was one thing to read about him, quite another to walk beside him and hear him speak.
His power was obvious, and Niall knew people feared the powerful. It was no wonder history had so maligned him, branding him a traitor. Now, Niall secretly hoped that with his voice to correct the history of Edyn, perhaps Uncle Valarius would receive the hero’s welcome he deserved. Niall could single-handedly erase the stain upon the Galadine name.
He tugged at the collar of the new tunic he wore, a stiff black fabric emblazoned with the golden lion of his father’s house. It felt more like leather armor than clothes, but Niall thanked the gods for the bath and fresh linens. He wore matching black leather leggings and boots, and had a proper blade strapped to his belt. All in all, he felt every part the prince again for the first time in what felt like forever.
His escort moved quickly, taking him up tunnels of wood. They seemed to have purposely picked a route to avoid any open air vistas, likely protecting him from his vertigo. Niall was happy enough at that, not having to look out over the dizzying expanse between trunks and the drop into empty space. After a few switchbacks they exited on a level somewhere within the expanse of Avalyon, but Niall was so disoriented he had no idea where he was in relation to where he had just been.
The lead elf motioned for him to enter a room as the rest stationed themselves outside. Niall thanked him with a nod, then entered the chamber. It was dark and felt vast; he could not see the other side. The glowing orbs used in Avalyon in place of torches only illuminated a short area around the entrance.
As he entered, more orbs came to life, their soft light revealing a bloody figure hanging by his arms from two posts. His knees didn’t quite touch the floor. Lash marks crisscrossed his body with such ferocity it was difficult to see any place left untouched. The man had been nearly flayed alive, assuming he still lived. He was so motionless it was hard to tell.
“A traitor amongst us.”
He spun in time to see his granduncle step out of the shadows. He nodded in greeting, his eyes drawn back to the suspended man. “What did he do?”
“He plotted against our family, murdering fathers, mothers . . . even children. Anyone bearing the Galadine name.”
Valarius put a warm hand on Niall’s shoulder, gently steering them both closer to the prisoner. A slight movement from an arm told Niall he was still alive. One eye was swollen shut, and his split lip still bled. So much damage had been done that the man’s face looked lopsided. He wore a magehunter’s collar snugly around his neck. Though magehunting had been outlawed by his father, the collars were still a familiar sight at Bara’cor. Then the man’s head lolled to one side, a pale blue eye opening to glare at them.
“Who is he?” Niall asked, his voice hushed. Up close the damage was far worse than he’d thought, and he was surprised by the man’s endurance, stubbornly clinging to life. Curiosity overcame his fear and Niall stepped forward. This was the only other person from Edyn he’d seen here besides Arek.
“Duncan Illrys, who betrayed me at Sovereign’s Fall and murdered my brother.”
Niall turned to Valarius in surprise, and said, “King Mikal took his own life.”
“So the stories say.” Valarius smiled and stepped forward, inspecting Duncan.
“Would you care to refute my accusation to the boy?” he asked his prisoner. When there was no answer, he turned back to Niall and asked, “What should we do with him, Niall?”
He looked past his granduncle and said, “I don’t know.” He didn’t know enough about the man’s transgressions to feel comfortable with judging him. And although nothing actually changed, he felt the man come to attention at the sound of Niall’s name, as if he recognized him. That made him more curious.
“Come now, you are the crown prince of Bara’cor. Surely you have learned the laws concerning crime and punishment,” urged the elven highlord.
Niall nodded, then said hesitatingly, “Regicide . . . is punishable by slow death.”
Valarius smiled and gestured, and two vines bristling with thorns whipped out from the posts, scoring the man’s back and front. The man screamed as torn flesh bled from fresh wounds. The strikes took whatever little strength the man had left and he collapsed, head down, hanging from his arms.
“It will take many days for him to succumb, perhaps weeks.” The highlord looked back at Duncan and smiled. Then he moved back to Niall and said, “Come, let us—�
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“Your father!” the man gasped. “Bernal Galadine’s final thoughts were upon you.”
Niall spun, his eyes wide. “What did you say?”
The man managed to raise his head slightly, looking from under a bloody brow with one good eye. “I stood with him in Bara’cor.”
“Lies,” Valarius said, gesturing, and the whips came back, snapping across the man’s back and driving him back down to his knees.
“Wait!” Niall said, looking back at Valarius. “I would hear what he has to say.”
Screams continued as the thorn vines continued their ugly work, ripping flesh from the man’s back, exposing bone and ribs. Then something in Valarius’s demeanor changed, and he raised a hand. The whipping stopped, and now the only sounds were Duncan’s retching sobs.
Niall turned back and said, “Prove it.”
A giggle emerged, a strange laughter edged with madness. The man looked up again, his one pale eye wide and catching the light with a maniacal glint. Then the man’s demeanor changed, as if another took his place, and his expression turned into something more normal, albeit still disfigured. In a voice filled with pain, Duncan said, “The king gave his bow, Valor . . .”
“The bow is known to all Edyn,” Valarius said, and he began to raise his hand.
“Wait, Uncle,” Niall pleaded. “I must know.”
He didn’t wait for Valarius to answer but turned and went to kneel in front of Duncan, hoping his close proximity would stay his granduncle’s whips. “Gave his bow . . . ?” he urged.
The man raised his head again and said, “To Princess Yetteje, to give to you.”
Niall fell back, stunned. “He’s telling the truth.”
“Perhaps,” Valarius said, “but what can you do? You don’t have the power to help your father, and by now Lilyth and her forces have overrun Bara’cor. It is doubtful anyone survived.”
“You don’t know that,” Niall said, turning to face Valarius. “And my father is tougher than anyone I know.”
“And still, how can you help him?”
Niall got up and went over to Valarius, his mind seizing the most obvious choice. “You could help. You could send elves to combat Lilyth’s forces.”
“I cannot spare myself nor my warforged,” Valarius said. “They’re needed here. Of elves I have plenty, but they need a leader.”
Niall looked down, his mind working furiously. Then it hit him and he looked up, a smile on his face. “Let me! I can lead them back to Bara’cor to help my father!”
His granduncle put his arm around his shoulders and began gently guiding him to the door. “Let’s discuss your idea.”
“Follow him and your life will be shorter than mine,” Duncan said, his voice clear.
Valarius stopped and turned, and Niall was sure he would kill the man right then, but he did not. Instead, he said, “Know that you have helped my cause immensely. Consider my offer and for the sake of my beloved Sonya, I will let you live.”
He gestured and the vines reduced their taut pull, letting Duncan settle his weight upon his knees. Then the highlord stepped back out into the hallway with Niall and shut the door. The last thing Niall saw was the man, his bloody back heaving as sobs racked his tortured body.
“You’ll let him live?” Niall asked as they walked away from Duncan’s prison.
“No,” Valarius said, “but hope keeps men alive longer than despair. It must be meted out in even quantities or his punishment cannot be delivered to its fullest extent.”
Niall looked at his granduncle, admiring the discipline by which he ruled. No emotion, no hesitancy. In many ways he reminded Niall of his own father. Then that thought brought the urgency of his father’s plight to the forefront and he blurted, “We have to hurry. People in Bara’cor are dying.”
Valarius looked at him again, a strange expression Niall could not decipher on his face. He stopped and laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Niall, it pains me to say what I must, but I pledged honesty between us. The path you’ve so eloquently outlined cannot be done.”
“Why?” he demanded. Nothing would stop him from saving his father. He could already picture flooding back into Bara’cor with a thousand elves behind him.
“The elves will only follow those of Galadine blood who also carry the touch of the warforged. You’ve seen the archangels?” At Niall’s nod he continued, “They’re more powerful than the elves, with wings and magic to protect them from the Aeris.”
“So send one with us,” Niall pleaded. He couldn’t abandon his father to these demons. The look on Valarius’s face told Niall he was about to be rejected, but the words still hit him like a hammer.
“I cannot.”
“Why?” he demanded again.
The highlord looked away, then when he looked back there was compassion in his eyes, but it was edged with discipline. He said, “I wage a brutal war here in Arcadia. While I have the troops, I have only six archangels to count upon as my commanders. Bara’cor has no strategic value, and while I mourn the loss of a Galadine in any realm, I welcome his spirit here, where he can become my seventh and most powerful angel. It is a sacrifice, but one we must bear for the greater good.”
He was quiet, then added, “Ask yourself, what would your father do if he stood in my place?”
Niall looked down, falling into despair. “He’d not abandon his overall plan for the sake of one person.”
Valarius nodded. “I wish there were another way. . . . Perhaps . . .”
“What?” demanded Niall, new hope surging into his heart. He would not be denied, when he was so close to finding a way to help Bara’cor.
Valarius seemed to measure him with his eyes before hesitantly saying, “You said earlier about sending you to lead. Is that something you are ready for?”
Niall thought about it, his fear of battle now rising with each heartbeat. He looked up at his granduncle, unsure of how to answer.
Something in his eyes must have shown his uncle how torn Niall felt. Valarius grabbed him by the shoulders and squeezed. “If I made it possible, would you sacrifice the fear you have to save your father?”
“What do you mean?” asked Niall, confused by the question.
“My elves will only follow an archangel. Those of Galadine blood can be warforged and join our ranks. If you were willing, you could offer yourself to our cause.”
“You mean become like Gabreyl?”
“No, Niall, you’re a living Galadine. What you would become would be far more powerful than any of my archangels. With that power you could help wage our war against the Aeris, but more importantly, I could send you back to Bara’cor with a legion of elves at your command. Enough to save the fortress and perhaps more.”
“More?” inquired Niall, hope making his heart beat faster.
“The power you will command will banish your fears. You will be my seventh and most powerful archangel, a living god walking amongst your people, the greatest Galadine since me to take the crown. You will rule the realm, helping me bring peace and order to our people. Only this destiny is worthy of your blood.”
“A god?” Niall whispered.
He could suddenly see himself, winged, armored, majestic, at the head of six thousand elves. He would decimate those opposing him, destroy the Aeris and save Bara’cor! It was the stuff of legends, and he would finally prove himself worthy in the eyes of his father.
His mind continued weaving the fantasy, seeing himself bringing safety and security to the people of Edyn. He would present Valarius to the Imperial Council and ask them—no, he’d demand their apology for maligning the Galadine history. His mother would be proud: the selfless son who gave everything for the hope of saving his family and people.
He looked at his granduncle with pride, but then a thought crept in that made him look down at his feet in shame. He didn’t want to say it, but the thought of wings compelled him.
He didn’t meet his granduncle’s eyes when he admitted, “I’m . . . I fear
heights.”
The moment the words were uttered, he hated he’d said them at all, feeling childlike and miserable in front of the greatest archmage Edyn had ever known.
Valarius smiled, and in a conspiratorial voice he leaned forward and said, “I promised you Niall, when you have my true might, you’ll fear nothing again.”
Reunion
There’s a moment, a sunburst of joy that can only come,
from regaining what you thought forever lost.
- Toorval Singh, Memoirs of a Mercenary
L
ilyth inclined her head, waiting for Arek to speak. Everyone else was waiting for him too, and his mouth went dry.
He wanted to demand the location of his father, but instead, his poise faltered and he found himself repeating, “Help each other?”
Frustrated, he felt like an addled child facing his master after a mistake.
“Come,” Lilyth said, “we have more guests, and it behooves us to wait until we are all assembled.”
She gestured to the portal, waiting for everyone to go through. Led by Thoth, they filed back into Lilyth’s throne room. Arek’s eyes were immediately drawn to the vista spread outside her arched windows. The setting sun was a bit larger, but it wasn’t unlike the Isle during summer afternoons. The thought was tinged with melancholy. It had been too long since he’d seen his friends or had anything resembling a normal day. He wondered if he’d ever go back to that life. Perhaps it was the subconscious conviction that he wouldn’t, which caused his mood to turn glum.
“You seem sad,” Lilyth said, concern in her voice.
“Just missing home,” replied Arek, not looking at her. He could feel the orange sun on his skin and closed his eyes, soaking in its warmth.
“Then perhaps I can bring a bit of home here to you,” Lilyth replied.
The air changed as a gate opened, and Arek slowly turned to look. He was unprepared for the sight that greeted him, and stood in silence. Emerging from the portal was the swordsman he’d faced in Bara’cor, flanked by masters Kisan and . . . Silbane!