by V. Lakshman
She could feel Tarin nod. The guardians are not to be trifled with. They are power incarnate, like the dragons but less structured. They would wreak ruin if not confined to the mountain.
Jesyn looked up at the small star shining bright and was suddenly worried for the young dragon. For all their vaunted lethality, she knew very little about dragon weaknesses, nor the difference between Rais and Sais. If what Tarin said was true, Sovereign would send something capable of dealing with Sai’ken intruding upon his domain.
Sai’ken’s light looked so small and fragile as these guardians circled her slowly like sharks, inexorably tightening their search as they sought the dragon out. Jesyn could only watch, knowing that soon, Sai’ken would face them alone.
Direwood
People seldom rise to the level of our expectations,
but fall instead to the level of their training.
- Duncan Illrys, Remembrances
A
rek and his friends took advantage of the distraction created by Lilyth’s attack and flew through the blue circle that promised escape. As they burst into sunlight, Arek realized with dismay that they had not exited Avalyon, only entered another vast hall lined with pennants and what looked like statues arranged in concentric rings.
It was a domed throne room sitting at the very top of the city, its walls made of a loose branches knitting together as they reached skyward, finally to end in a circular hole leading out of Avalyon and into the blue skies above. Set on one end was the raised dais and seats for what could only be the highlord and lady; at the other was a large gate similar to the one under Bara’cor that Arek and Niall had used to enter Arcadia. Arek pointed, but Silbane had already begun to dive for that structure, followed by the rest. Wings flared and the group found themselves standing on a floor made of a black wood so polished it looked like marble.
Silbane set Brianna and the unconscious Duncan down. The instant Arek’s feet touched the ground a wave of dizziness and nausea washed through him. His master staggered over to one side, his hands on his knees. A quick glance at the others said all were similarly affected.
Brianna dashed to Duncan’s side, checking him with concern on her face. “He’s not responding as quickly as he should.” Then her eyes fell upon the torc encircling Duncan’s neck, almost hidden under the blood and damage, and she cursed in surprise. “I didn’t see this.” She looked around helplessly, then turned to Arek and said, “Take this off him or he’s going to die.”
Arek nodded, knowing if the torc was anything like the one Brianna had worn, it would block Duncan from the Way, and perhaps also Brianna’s healing magic. He moved over carefully, vertigo now replacing the earlier nausea, and took a closer look at his father and the healing patch. It glowed a soft amber color, pulsing erratically. Could that be his heartbeat?
“It should be green with a steady pulse,” Brianna said.
Arek met her eyes and saw no deceit in them. “Thank you, no matter what.” He reached down and touched the torc on Duncan’s neck. At first nothing happened. Tendrils of blackfire, like smoke, flowed downward and into the black wood beneath them instead of the torc. Then, like a spreading ink spill, it began to infuse the coppery metal of the torc, but slowly. What was going on? The torc began to disintegrate, but so sluggishly Arek couldn’t make out any progress unless he looked away and back again.
Orion then said to the party, “I, too, am drained.” The Watcher had sank to one knee and looked at the group with concern. Helios crouched in much the same posture behind him, only if it were possible he looked even more miserable. “Our forms are the Way incarnate. This should not be happening in Arcadia.”
“Valarius,” Silbane whispered, pointing to the statue in the phoenix armor. “He’s done something.”
Silbane flicked a glance at Orion, who shook his massive head and said, “I do not know the lore of gates.”
The master’s eyes narrowed, peering about the room, then he said, “It’s strange. The Way here is dampened, as if the entire place acts as a sponge, soaking it up.”
The master turned back to Arek and said, “We wait here for Kisan. Hopefully she was able to recover the firstmark and return. When she arrives and Duncan awakens, we find Niall and get out.”
“You’re sure she’s alive?” muttered Yetteje.
Arek looked at her and managed to smile through his nausea, “You clearly don’t know Kisan.”
The princess shrugged, her face drawn, as the hall seemed to pull from her the vibrancy she had just so recently exuded. “We should get out of here,” she said, looking at Silbane.
The master agreed and gestured to Brianna, “Can you carry Duncan? The princess is right. There’s no reason to chance this place any longer than we must.”
Before Brianna could reply, Yetteje’s voice grabbed Arek’s attention. “Is this gallery some sort of tribute to Valarius?” she asked, addressing no one in particular. Arek looked around and saw why she would think this. From the air the statues seemed small and insignificant. At ground level they spread throughout the chamber in rows upon rows of elven soldiers, each carved exquisitely out of some sort of deep brown wood.
At the center of the room not far from where they stood was a pair of men, one tall dressed in light armor with a phoenix carved into the chest, the other of equal height but much bigger, with wings that looked bladed like the Watchers’ or Silbane’s. Behind them stood six smaller angelic elves, their wings crossed over their bodies and their heads bowed. These statues looked to be made of some marble, the sheen and detail extraordinary. Another explosion rocked the hall, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
Yetteje caught her balance, then moved closer to the two tall men, inspecting their detail with fascination. Arek watched as she finished looking at the first, then moved over to the second. Then something happened. She stepped back and then stumbled.
“Arek,” she screamed, “it’s a trap!”
Did that thing just move? Arek asked himself. As if confirming his worst fears, the statues of Valarius and the other angelic elves wavered, their marble facade disappearing in a rippling wave. The eight figures of Valarius and his seven archangels advanced, suddenly alive and very deadly.
Arek had called upon his blackfire when Yetteje screamed, but nothing happened. Then a searing pain told him his shoulder cut had reopened. Since they’d been here his healing had been much quicker, the abundance of the Way regenerating him with a sublime efficacy, buoying his spirit. Now that along with his blackfire was either gone or dampened by whatever this place did. He fell back into a combat stance, his eyes darting left and right, trying desperately to identify any foes. Not good, Arek thought, his mouth going dry.
Silbane maneuvered himself to intercept the tall man who now strode forward to meet them.
“Surrender, and I will allow you all to go free,” said the man, who could only be the Highlord Valarius Galadine. “You can continue the fight to protect Edyn and her people.”
Before Silbane could reply, Yetteje said in a half whisper, half gasp, “Niall! What have you done?”
Arek followed her gaze past Valarius to the winged warrior standing right behind him. The man moved forward with Valarius and his features were more visible.
That face . . . Though Arek had only spent a few days with Niall, he recognized him easily. He’d come to think of the prince of Bara’cor as a friend, and the eyes of the warrior who stood across from them were Niall’s eyes, but in a vastly different body.
The man answered in a voice eerily similar to the one he remembered, but deeper, older. “Tej, I’m what I was always supposed to be.”
“What?” yelled Yetteje. “What about your father and mother? What will they say?”
“I did this for them,” replied Niall, calmly. “I’ll lead these men back to Bara’cor and defend it from Lilyth’s forces. Together, my granduncle, my father, and I will change the world.” He moved forward one step and extended a hand. “You can join us.”
&
nbsp; Arek couldn’t take his eyes off Niall. The prince had really changed. He was taller, bigger, his skin had a light sheen of blue, and as they’d all seen, he was armored and winged. His feathers were the same deadly razors as the Ascended. He also radiated power, though when standing next to Valarius that power was overshadowed by the presence of an archmage stepping right out of legend.
Arek turned his attention to the highlord, noting the wolf-like amber eyes and parchment-white skin. They both looked like elves, but nevertheless the mark of Galadine blood ran true and neither could be mistaken for anything else but part of that detested royal family. He’d been tortured and maimed by the Galadines and now his father hung a heartbeat away from death because of them. Rage flashed white-hot through Arek. He could feel his scalp itch with it. He wanted to pummel the highlord’s face, to beat Valarius to death for the pain he’d inflicted on his father. If his blackfire wouldn’t come when called, he still had his fists.
Yetteje miserably shook her head. “No,” she said. “You need to come home with us.”
Valarius was quick to respond and addressed the entire group. “Do not so blithely cast away our offer, for Lilyth is coming. Even now her forces prepare to invade Edyn.” He turned his attention back to Yetteje and said, “The Galadine blood flows strongly within you. You can rescue your people, rebuild EvenSea, and bring order to your lands.”
Silbane stepped forward. “What have you done? You’ve changed the Way, altered it here somehow.”
“You can See?” asked Valarius, his eyebrows rising in surprise. Another explosion rocked the ground upon which they stood. When the tremors subsided he said, “You have been given the gift of Sight?” To Silbane’s hesitant nod the archmage responded, “Then you have been gifted a lie, an attempt by the Conclave and dragons to mislead you to ruin.
“Yet I have turned their meddling into something of worth. Behold”—and he looked at Arek—“my Sight has been bent to a grander purpose, to create the weapon needed to destroy the Aeris. Had Sonya’s meddling not taken Arek from me, I would have accomplished this long ago.” He smiled and said, “Now he has been brought back by a desperate demon thinking to turn my own flesh and blood against me.”
“I’m not your son,” Arek snarled.
“No? Who brought you into this world, consecrated and blessed?” Valarius asked. Before Arek could answer, the archmage turned back to Silbane. “Did you think you could come against me with your Aeris scum and I would not be prepared? Lilyth has played her hand, ineptly and without consideration for your lives. I offer you a true alliance, but only if you stand against the demons of Arcadia.”
“Lilyth does not seek your death,” replied Orion simply. From his knees he was almost at Valarius’s eye level. “We Watchers have always held ourselves neutral, but even we see it is your aggression that drives this war.”
Valarius raised an eyebrow and asked, “Then who invades Avalyon now, or besieges Bara’cor, or will at last conquer Dawnlight?” As if punctuating the archmage’s statement, another explosion shook the floor, sending tremors through the black wooden floor. “Perhaps Lilyth and Thoth have deemed you a necessary sacrifice?”
A sickening sense of dread formed in the pit of Arek’s stomach. Had Lilyth so effortlessly maneuvered them here under the ruse of saving Duncan? Then why hadn’t she attacked when Duncan first appeared? Why wait for he and his companions . . . unless getting him here somehow furthered her plans. He began calculating furiously, but his master was first to respond.
“Dawnlight?” asked Silbane. “The lost city of the dwarves?”
Valarius nodded and replied, “She will possess every soul living within that mountain and return to Edyn with an army behind her.” The highlord gestured to Niall and said, “Prince Galadine told me of your fight with one of Sovereign’s assassins. You thought facing one of them was difficult… imagine ten thousand possessed with the power of the Aeris. Join us. Help us defend Edyn from Lilyth’s tyranny.”
To Arek, his master looked like he was going to be sick. Into that pause Valarius spoke again, asking, “Why did I arm the magehunters? The charge of fratricide can be laid at my feet, yes. But have you asked, why? You have been gifted the dragon-given Sight. What did you See?”
Silbane looked up and said, “I saw you petition for aid from the Conclave, aid that was rejected. Instead, they gave you the Sight.”
Valarius shook his head. “Then you were shown only enough to send you blindly after me, or to destroy the one chance we have for victory.” The archmage looked pointedly at Arek. Then he looked back and said, “Ask me what I Saw.”
Arek knew a rhetorical question when he heard one and was not surprised his master didn’t answer. Valarius seemed to appreciate that as well.
He said, “I saw the death of the Way. We multiply upon Edyn like locusts, squandering our birthright. Each soul diminishes the Way with foolish wishes and selfish dreams. These give the demons of Arcadia life, who in turn fight for that life and freedom from the capricious nature of those very same dreams, our dreams.”
Valarius spread his arms, taking in the whole of Avalyon, and said, “The Way is powerful, but it is not infinite in its largess. Like all the grains of rice upon Edyn,to one man it is an infinite amount, more than he can consume. When shared by a world however, it becomes nothing but cantrips, superstitious fodder, and myth. Soon there will be so many of us that each person’s birthright will be nothing more than a single grain, perhaps less. We will tell our children of the times when elves, dragons, and fairies walked the world. If we are to guide our people, only a few of us can remain, and for that I sent death amongst those with Talent. Those who were strong enough would survive my crucible and become legend.”
Valarius paused, looking remorseful. When he looked back up, his eyes glistened with tears. “I hated, that is true. I felt betrayed by the very people I loved. Yet as the years passed I realized something the dragons did not want me to See, that I would create a world in which the Way never died. For that, sacrifices must be made. The magehunters were not an instrument of revenge—rather they were the least terrible choice out of many terrible choices left to me.
“You have been fed half-truths by scheming dragons like Rai’stahn and representatives of the Conclave like Thoth. They seek to destroy me because I can stop what’s to come. Do not be misled, for Lilyth is the master of lies. If you cherish the magnificence and harmony of the Way, join with me and Prince Niall, and we will show you the truth of these things.”
Arek’s mind swam. Was the death of the Way inevitable? He couldn’t bear the thought of magic disappearing. Could Valarius have been defending the Way and acting for the good of Edyn? He understood the analogy of grains of rice shared amongst a growing population, and for that reason he didn’t trust himself to answer anything yet. But something in what the archmage said rang true.
Silence reigned, with no weapons drawn. The dead gaze of hundreds of wooden elven effigies arrayed throughout the hall made this place seem almost sanctified, a temple dedicated to the truth of the archmage’s vision. Time itself seemed to slow, as if Valarius was content to let them think through what he’d offered without forcing their hand.
Slowly, however, Silbane seemed to recover and then met Valarius’s gaze. “You and Lilyth are perfect for each other, waging an endless war between yourselves. But you’ll no longer use us as pawns to further your ends. We are taking our children and leaving this place. Whatever else happens is between you and her.”
Valarius sighed and said, “Only my honor and faith in you holds these angels from killing everyone. Your prowess is undeniable, but even you cannot fathom the power I wield. Submit, or watch your friends die. Whatever happens to them is on your head.”
Heartbeats went by, a silence that seemed to stretch from one end of the hall to the other. Finally, Silbane spread his arms and implored, “Valarius, I will gladly surrender if you get Arek safely out of here. He cannot die in this world, or it will mean the end for
us all. You must know that.”
The archmage stood silent, then as Arek watched, his face somehow grew more serious and he said, “Is that what Lilyth told you?” He paused, and when Silbane didn’t answer he continued, “I made Arek in my image, an avatar designed by my hand, destined to give me freedom from this accursed place so I could defend Edyn again. The light of life shines within him because of me. Do you not think I prepared a counter to the very gift I gave him?”
Silbane shook his head. “You can’t harm him with magic. You know that.”
Valarius’s eyes narrowed and he nodded. “I do.”
Something caused Arek’s head to turn. He heard a hiss and felt a punch in his gut. It knocked the wind out of him and he fell down heavily. He tried to rise but it was hard, harder than it should be—his legs wouldn’t work properly, pushing ineffectually at the slick black ground. He managed to lever himself up and looked uncomprehendingly down at blood welling up from something buried in his stomach. What is this? he wondered numbly, unable to connect what had just happened.
Brianna was at his side, yanking open his light armor and underclothes to inspect the wound. She looked at Arek and said, “Relax, you’ll be—” then she spasmed once, her eyes wide and pitched forward, a bolt appearing as if by magic buried deep in her back. Slowly, she crawled off Arek and curled into a fetal position, her eyes still open.
Valarius’s deep voice quickly said, “Hold!” He stepped forward with a hand upraised. The entire hall rippled, and what were once wooden statues became living elves. They stepped from their silent illusion, bringing with them the immediate danger of a blade’s keen edge held to one’s throat. Valarius must have done something to hide them from Silbane’s vision. Arek dimly heard his master say, “By the gods . . .”
“By my hand,” Valarius corrected. “His mother sought to protect him from his one weakness.” Arek watched in a daze as Valarius gestured up at the now living crossbowmen, “Mundane weapons, simple wood”—the highlord drew a blade and dropped it clattering on the ground—“simple steel. Now as his light dims, I will replace it with my own.”