by Lakshman, V.
The off-hand comment caught Bernal’s attention, for it seemed out of place. Something in the back of his mind tickled a warning but it was too faint and the king too damaged and battle-weary to take more notice.
Instead, he looked about with the sight of a man given new life, seeing again for the first time these blue-skinned warriors who had saved him, arrayed now in a tight defensive formation. Except for the two that continued his ministrations the rest kept their attention outward holding vigil against any threats.
Many thoughts ran through the king’s head, but with his growing clarity he asked the one question most important to him at that moment: “Who sent you?”
Firstmark Malak took a moment before replying, “My men and I are at your disposal. We serve House Galadine.”
“You didn’t answer me, Malak,” the king rasped. Whatever the woman was doing eased his pain but he wasn’t fully healed yet. His jaw felt better, and a warmth was clearing his lungs. He coughed up a bit more blood and spit to one side, noting that even his teeth seemed to be restored. What sort of magic was this? He then rose unsteadily to his feet, but his voice came out firm. “Who sent you?”
Malak rose as well, and the look on his face was one the king knew intimately from years of campaigning. It was that of an officer given unpleasant information to convey to a superior. No matter the army, the look remained the same.
The king pursed his lips and ordered, “Out with it.”
The firstmark looked at the king, then produced something and handed it over saying, “Your forefather, Highlord Valarius Galadine, sir.”
The king turned to the blue-skinned commander, shock registering plainly on his face. Valarius? The man was a legend, and dead for over two hundred years! What mockery of his family was this?
Then the object in the firstmark’s hand caught his attention. It was a signet ring with the Galadine symbol and a House crest engraved upon it. Only those of the royal family had such a ring, but that was not the detail that shocked him most.
As if completing his thought, Firstmark Malak said, “I have been instructed to help you secure Bara’cor.” He hesitated again before adding, “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.” With that, Malak handed Bernal the ring, then he and the woman he called Sparrow took a knee. The fifty or so remaining elven warriors banged their spears against their shields and shouted in unison and fealty, but did not break their vigil.
Despite their show of loyalty and service, the message was clear. His cooperation was expected, and their objective was to take Bara’cor. Whomever or whatever had sent Malak and his men made sure he understood his place, for while the ring showed the symbol of the Galadines, the crest was not of House Valarius.
Bernal knew the crest on this ring—it was identical to his own. The golden lion of Bara’cor stood rampant on its face, a sure sign it could have come from only one place. He held Niall’s ring in his hand, which meant these blue-skinned elves had his son.
Truesight
I find a penurious reflection of myself in life.
Perhaps in death, I shall find peace.
- Jebida Naserith, Should I Fall
The party appeared amongst trees, the shock of transition fading slowly with a tingle, like ants crawling across their skin. Silbane was the first to look around, his gaze quickly taking in their surroundings. They had appeared in what seemed to be a clearing, with canopy above and enormous trunks twisting out of the earth around them like massive vines made of white wood. It was like being surrounded by a forest of entwining bones, bare and stripped of flesh as they reached upward greedily for the sunlight, only to explode at the top in bursts of green. It was both strange and fascinating at the same time.
“Seems calm enough,” commented Kisan, looking around, “though there’s no way of knowing.”
“We didn’t appear where the image showed,” added Silbane. He looked around again then said, “And the Gate is gone.”
“Of course,” Kisan offered, her voice flat. “Surprised?”
Silbane ignored her jibe, knowing how she thought, then asked, “Did you feel—?”
“Sideways,” Kisan interrupted, “like we shifted as we moved.”
“If that’s true, we could be anywhere,” said Yetteje, her eyes wide, drinking in the details around her. Her fear was plain on her face, now that the actual transition had happened. Saying you’re going to walk through a gate to a demon’s world is different once done. Silbane could sympathize with the sudden dash of cold reality.
“You stand in Arcadia, Lilyth’s realm.” The female voice came from the direction of Ash, who looked down in surprise at his belt.
Silbane stepped around the others and came face to face with Ash. “Tempest?”
“Yes,” she replied, with just a hint of laughter behind the voice.
The elder master’s eyes narrowed and he drew a breath. “And are there other overlords besides Lilyth?”
There was silence to that. Silbane turned to Ash, who in turn shrugged and said to the blade, “Please answer.”
There seemed to be almost a sigh before Tempest replied, “It has been centuries since I lived amongst my kind. I am called ‘Kinslayer’ for a reason.” She seemed ashamed at that, but then she said, “When I was here last, this world was much like your own, with fiefdoms and lands belonging to one lord or another. But things change as your beliefs wax and wane.”
Yetteje was the first to speak, asking, “Our beliefs?”
Tempest laughed, her hesitation and anger disappearing when addressing the princess. “Of course, little sister, the Aeris are your beliefs brought to life. In the last war, those who stood with Lilyth were called Furies. This land we stand upon is theirs, a place where they hope and pine for life again.”
“Then they’re not alive, not real?”
Yetteje looked at Silbane when she asked this, however it was Tempest who replied, “The Furies are real and very dangerous. They have bodies here, for they are a manifestation of pure faith. They are the vanguard of Lilyth’s forces and are fearsome to behold. If they gain a living body, they can move between worlds. You stood witness to this with Baalor.”
Tempest was quiet for a moment then added, “But even now our presence attracts the weaker ones, those who hunger for living flesh. You have seen the mistfrights, but there are much worse. When they possess you, you become a living extension of their will. The presence of Ascended will give them pause, but we must still make haste.”
Silbane held up a hand to stop Yetteje from asking another question, his eyes narrowing. “Ascended?”
The blade seemed reluctant to answer, if that was even possible, then simply replied, “Those who are one with the Way… you can hurt the Aeris.”
And then Duncan’s words came flooding back into mind, that only those gifted with the Way could combat these ghost-like wraiths. Yetteje whispered, “Like Alyx, her blade passed right through them and they took her.” She was speaking to herself, but Silbane didn’t miss the importance of what she’d just said.
He looked back at Ash and Tempest and said, “We have Furies and mistfrights to deal with. Anything else?” He looked at Ash meaningfully. “Anything that might not want to kill us?”
There was silence to that, which Ash finally broke by saying, “You’ll answer him because I wish it.” His words seemed in response to something Tempest had said but they could not hear. Clearly the firstmark was dealing with the sword’s acerbic personality in the best way he could, but his patience, it seemed, was wearing thin. Finally he exclaimed, “Now!”
There was silence at that, then the bitter voice of Tempest said, “Watchers. They are opposed to Lilyth but are few in number, if they have survived at all.”
Much was happening here, and care would have to be taken. Despite Tempest’s information, the blade quite likely had an agenda of its own. Something, some undercurrent of danger pricked Silbane’s senses whenever Tempest spoke. Regardless of her affection for Ash, this latest contest of
wills did not reassure him the blade would always agree with the firstmark, and that thought became a point of concern when it came to their safety. Still, they needed to make some decisions.
He turned to Kisan and asked, “How would you prioritize?”
“Recovering Arek is our highest priority—” Both Yetteje and Ash stepped forward at that, but Kisan stopped them with a glare and continued, “We did not separate during transition. For that reason I think Niall will be with Arek… but I’ll not forget about Piter.” This last remark was added for the group’s benefit, acting to underscore their feelings.
Silbane nodded, not surprised at Kisan’s admission. He dropped his head, deep in thought. How would they know the right direction? He’d been so sure before they arrived, though perhaps blinded by the need to do something to recover Arek. He knew they had few choices, but wandering a land infested with demons held little appeal. Then an idea jumped into his head and he looked out across the rolling hills surrounding them, opening his dragon-given gift of Sight.
Then the whole world was more vivid, sharpening into focus. Details became clearer, lines more distinct. It was as if his vision had magnified in both clarity and scope, yet also remained the same. At first he did not see the yellow particles that made everything up, as before at the Far’anthi Tower. Everything here looked the same, but if he concentrated he could see those particles lining the edge of everything, like a tiny aura. So much! His mind found it hard to conceive that the Way could be so concentrated that it took on real solidity, the same way that substance did in his world. It was humbling.
When Silbane turned back to the group, he got his second shock. His eyes fell upon Kisan, who stood closest. His eyes slowly drifted up, taking in the sight. “You…”
She tilted her head to one side, and the massive being superimposed on her with black armor edged with crimson did the same, as if it was her.
“You what? What do you see?” The image of the winged angel over Kisan followed her every movement, like the massive ghost of her true self.
Tempest laughed. “He sees the truth.”
Silbane looked, only to find the blade made out of the shape of a diminutive woman. Her head and eyes made up the pommel, her arms the cross guard, and her legs the blade. It was not an actual woman, but the distinct ghost of a woman superimposed on the blade. Her alabaster skin and silver hair gave the impression of fine argentium, almost as hard to forge as ebonite. His eyes were drawn to the emerald eyes, shining with life and light, like the gem on the pommel of the blade. Those eyes grew hard as Tempest returned his inspection with a glare and said, “Do not let your gaze linger too long, miscreant.”
Silbane shook his head, unable to explain why Tempest seemed to hate him so much. Still, he looked away, trying to respect the blade’s wishes. He saw nothing else superimposed over Ash, but when he turned his attention to Yetteje, a ghostly form, feline and somehow deadly in its own way, shimmered around her. It did not look as massive or as solid as Kisan’s angel, but the figure was definitely there. And there was something else.
“Remove your bow, Tej,” Silbane said softly.
The girl moved to obey, and Silbane watched in awe as the feline creature moved with her, like a second skin. When the bow was removed and held, it glowed yellow, an aura of particles that looked like a small halo of power, but that was not all. He could See a second aura and asked Tempest, “What is it?”
“Who placed a second enchantment?” she replied simply. Though she did not qualify her question in any way, she implied “dullard” somehow by her tone alone.
Silbane ignored the jibe, looking back at the bow, his eyes widening. Duncan! He was seeing the enchantment placed by the insane archmage. He moved a bit closer and asked, “Will you hold the bow up?”
Yetteje complied, holding the bow lightly in an archer’s stance, without drawing the string. As she did so, the bow seemed to hum with power, but the aura did not change.
“Valor is just a simple tool,” Tempest added, her tone this time filled with derision. “It’s only redeeming trait is its yearning to kill.”
For most, Tempest’s attitude would have meant very little. Yet the older master had been a strategist for his entire life and the blade did not seem to mince words. His thoughts narrowed along with his vision and the intent of the archmage became clear. “A finder?”
“Perhaps,” dismissed Tempest. “It is the most you can expect from the insane.”
Having a blade echo his fears about Duncan did not put Silbane at ease, but he still replied, “So Bernal could find his son?”
“Or a son could find his father,” the blade said this plainly, and then added with a tone of boredom, “It is useless here. Do you truly care?”
“Yes.” Silbane uttered, looking at the group. “Why useless?”
When Tempest didn’t answer right away, Silbane carefully pressed, “Why would it be useless here?”
Kisan’s voice piped in from behind. “Because Niall doesn’t have the bow. Whatever Duncan did linked the king’s weapons together. At best if the king survived, he could find the bow, which is with us.” The younger master paused for a moment then added, “Perhaps Duncan thought better of Bernal’s chances than we gave him credit for.”
Silbane chewed his lip, surprised but knowing better. It had been an oversight on his part not to see the connection between the weapons and the enchantment of the archmage. Duncan had almost said as much when he remarked he’d wished someone had done the same for him. Knowing his obsession with recovering his wife, Silbane had overlooked the obvious, but Kisan hadn’t. His protégé was not one to be underestimated.
As if echoing his thoughts, Tempest added, “Dull is forever.”
“Indeed?” offered Kisan with a small laugh, her eyes filled with mirth. She seemed to understand the blade was insulting Silbane, and covered the smile on her mouth. Then looking out over the landscape she said, “I didn’t particularly like that comment—” she looked at Silbane with a teasing eye, drawing out the moment—“about, ‘hunger for living flesh.’ ”
Silbane searched his memory, piecing it together. He knew there was no point in wandering about, but if the bow was as useless as Tempest said, how to find Arek? He’d told the group that he would find his apprentice, and now they relied on him. The master began to doubt his own words, until something caught his eye.
A motion, a ripple just below his vision. It was as if the world shimmered, if that was even the right term. Although the Way permeated everything, there was a flow to it, like the effect of wind on snowfall. Something acted like a distant lodestone, drawing the Way toward it. What could cause that? It was familiar somehow, then Silbane remembered where he’d seen this before.
Arek. The thought snapped into his mind, including all that had been said with Rai’stahn at the tower. He had Seen this before, hadn’t he? Rai’stahn had claimed his apprentice absorbed these particles of the Way, and now these same particles flowed toward some distant place. Could Arek be the cause? Silbane breathed in, his mind quickly calculating odds.
Then he turned to the group and motioned them to gather. When they had formed a loose circle, he took a breath and then said softly, “Rai’stahn gave me a gift, a type of vision. With it, I may be able to track Arek and the king’s son.” He left out the part about Arek creating a flow like this back at the Far’anthi Tower and the dragon’s claim that his apprentice devoured the Way.
Kisan started to say something but paused. Her eyes flicked back and forth as if mentally weighing her words, then she asked, “If you fall, how will we continue?”
Pragmatism, the most enduring of Kisan’s traits and the one that irked Silbane the most, now came to bear. “I’d try and spare you the inconvenience of my death.”
Kisan, oblivious to his tone, replied, “Be that as it may, we still need a contingency.”
Being annoyed wasn’t Silbane’s style, but he couldn’t help being angered by Kisan’s bluntness. Still, he conceded she
had a point. “I can see a flow in the Way… it goes there.” Silbane pointed at aV made by the peaks of two hills. “I believe the Way flows toward Arek.”
Kisan cocked her head at that, but said nothing. Something in her eyes, however, made Silbane feel she knew more than she was saying. What would cause Kisan to keep information to herself? The thought made him nervous, and he quickly looked away under the pretense of surveying their path.
“Olympious,” supplied Tempest, speaking to no one in particular. “Lilyth’s abode.”
“We’re that close?” replied Ash.
“Distances can be deceiving, my love,” replied the blade. “Olympious lies in that direction, but it is many days travel from here.”
“You can lead us?” Kisan asked, but the question came out like a statement, and wasn’t directed to Silbane. Annoyingly, it was clear the younger master had dismissed him from her strategic planning.
Silbane felt his doubt and anger rise again, but took a deep breath and blew out. He reminded himself that in this way Kisan was no surprise. She had the ability to cut through the chaff and create clear goals… a reason she was picked so often when it came to missions. Instead, Silbane continued to look out over the land with his enhanced Sight. There was beauty here, and life. It emanated from everything like a halo of health and potency.
“And what do you see when you look upon yourself, Lord of War.” Tempest’s voice came floating from behind.
Silbane looked down at his hands, his body, and legs. White armor, overlapping with scales of protection. Gauntlets, vambraces, greaves, all ghostly white and edged with a deep blue. He looked up over his shoulder and saw white wings edged in the same blue, like the sky just before the sunset. Each wing made of blades instead of feathers, keen and sharp, the ghostly form conveying death despite its ethereality.
Tempest said again, “Know your own worth.” The argentium creature superimposed on the blade hanging from Ash’s belt met the master’s eyes but there was no kindness or friendship there. It looked hard, a predatory look that seemed ready to kill. It was clear no one saw what he did. Only Silbane saw the true form of Tempest, who continued, “You give dread, life.”