by Lakshman, V.
The king held up a hand. “Firstmark, if we are to help each other then let us not bandy words. How do I know my son will be returned safely to me?”
“We saved your life and I give you my word. Is that not enough?”
Clearly it wasn’t. “If your highlord can send you here, why does he not send thousands to take the fortress? Why only a single platoon?”
“The gate created by the highlord came at great expense and could only be opened for a few moments, enough to get us through.” Malak paused, as if trying to give weight to what he’d just said, then he continued, “We must secure the true gate and then alert the highlord. Only then can he reinforce us.”
Bernal looked over the assembled warriors and said, “Aeris cannot be killed by our weapons, Firstmark.”
“Mundane weapons are not true to the task. The Aeris merely sift out of the dead and are ready to possess again. We are different, born of the highlord’s blood and the Way.” Malak shrugged, looked down at the king’s blade, and said, “Your weapon is not mundane and we have more we can distribute to any of your men we find.” The firstmark paused then added meaningfully, “Our weapons eradicate the Aeris, permanently.”
Bernal then said in a soft voice, “And theirs can do the same to you. You’re only some fifty or so men. What if you fail?”
The firstmark gave the king a sardonic smile. “If we cannot secure the gate then we must destroy it, and our only way home.” He paused, then moved a step closer and asked in a softer voice, “Do you understand the nature of the war being waged by Lilyth?”
“They seek to possess us,” Bernal said.
“Why?” countered the firstmark. “Never think of her as simply malevolent or whimsical. She has lived longer than all of us put together, and has a purpose in all things.”
The king turned to the blue-skinned commander, intrigued by this line of questioning. “Enlighten me. Her purpose in this case?”
“Possession frees her people to live in this realm,” Malak said to the king. “With bodies they can live out normal lives free from the changes wrought by Edyn’s dreams.”
“Dreams?” Now Bernal was confused. “What do you mean?”
Malak cocked his head at that, and it was clear he thought the king knew already what he was about to say. Then he put a hand on the king’s shoulder and said, “You bring these Aeris to life with your dreams and worship. Given that life, they spend eternity helpless as your dreams change their world. Sons and daughters, wives and husbands, die because your faith waxes and wanes. Imagine watching your son slowly fade away, knowing you could do naught to change it. Lilyth has grown weary of this.”
Bernal stepped back, shocked, Malak’s words a concept hard to grasp at its core. They brought these demons to life? He felt like a person whose vision suddenly shifted to a new perspective, a bigger picture that he could only glimpse a part of now. He tried to keep focused on what he did know and asked, “Then why not attack? There are surely more demons and nightfrights than people of Edyn. We would be overwhelmed.”
“Has she not done so already, and in doing killed the very people she would possess? What if you had ten coins to give a hundred men, and in the giving five coins were lost, leaving even less to share? What would the hundred men do?”
“Bicker, quarrel, fight…” Bernal whispered, looking down, “kill.”
“Indeed,” nodded Malak, agreeing. “Do not stop your thinking there. Why did she raze the other fortresses that held gates of their own? Why pursue only this path, through Bara’cor?”
Bernal did not know, and for once it seemed that Malak did not have an answer either. “There’s a pattern not easily discerned. However, Lady Lilyth has made a tactical error and the highlord wishes me to seize upon it and turn it to our advantage.”
“Error?”
Malak nodded, “The other three fortresses. While that act allows her to focus her assault on Edyn from a single beachhead, it also limits her.”
“And if we hold this gate?” began the king.
“We effectively cut her off from Edyn,” completed the firstmark. “It won’t stop her forever, but it will delay her enough for the highlord to act. He can then bring his forces to bear on the one place she has gathered.”
Bernal paused, his mind already calculating, then he asked, “Wait, Firstmark, if Lilyth is as shrewd as you give her credit for, she must have known the risk. Why chance it?”
It was Malak’s turn to consider, which he seemed to be doing. “As we said, she made an error.”
“You talk like she made a wrong turn on the way to the market. Taking three fortresses requires planning and care. Why not take two and leave two standing, effectively forcing Edyn to split her forces? Why not leave three, or even all four? It would have made finding her egress harder and protecting against it more difficult. It is not a militarily sound tactic to limit your options, is it?” Bernal’s voice and eyes dared the firstmark to dispute him.
He watched Malak turn this over in his mind. The man reminded him of Ash, young and full of energy. He hoped he had Ash’s pragmatism as well.
Then slowly, the firstmark nodded but said, “While I agree with you, we need more information. We cannot gain it while Bara’cor is infested.” When the king appeared about to argue, the firstmark held up a hand and said, “The highlord has given me very specific orders. Like me, he has no love for demons, and a great love for his family.”
Bernal raised an eyebrow at that, looking up and down at the blue-skinned elf.
“You think me demonborn as well?” Malak laughed and said, “I am born of the blood of Highlord Valarius Galadine, a living testament to his love and will.” He grasped the king’s hand in an iron grip that felt warm, the skin alive, and looked out over his command. “We could not exist here in Edyn were this not true, and serve House Galadine proudly because of the highlord’s gift of life.”
The man’s eyes shone, pride lending his proclamation an edge of raw emotion and utter sincerity. There was no doubt the firstmark was committed to his highlord. That was certain, but did that commitment extend to Bernal as well?
Malak turned from the king and looked at Sparrow, ordering, “Form up the men. Two squads are assigned to protect the king at all times.” The woman Bernal had come to think of as his second-in-command bowed and headed off, shouting orders.
Malak then met the king’s gaze again and asked, “Will you lead us to Lilyth’s gate?”
Bernal looked down, his hand still gripped by Malak’s own, his mind whirling over the implications. It would take time to piece out what might be Lilyth’s true intent, and for that he would need to talk to the firstmark more. The path to the cisterns while trying to avoid notice would take time, enough to gather more information and to judge the measure of this elven commander. If what he said were true, Bernal could potentially stop Lilyth’s war against Edyn before it ever got started and rescue his son. However, a natural distrust of offers forced through leverage made him wonder if this man would keep his word about returning Niall.
His grip tightened on Malak’s and he said, “I’ll take you at your word, firstmark.” He paused for a moment, calculating, then said, “There’s a supply room and medical station we should stop at first, a few levels down. There may be survivors there.” He pumped the commander’s hand once, then let go and moved to a stairwell leading down into the fortress.
Reducing your choices to invade did not make sense to the king. Bernal knew he didn’t have much time to formulate a plan before they would find themselves surrounded by the enemy again. If they could not hold the gate, he’d never see his son. That part of the deal was abundantly clear. That last thought stuck with him, and at the base of the stairs he turned and asked, “You can hold this gate, Firstmark?”
Malak paused, then nodded while scanning the area, his eyes alert for any signs of the Aeris, “We have the means.”
Bernal watched him, looking for any hint of betrayal or deceit, but could find none. He gav
e a short nod, then headed down the stairs escorted by two squads of elven warriors.
Behind him came Firstmark Malak and the rest of the platoon, ready, it seemed, for anything that might appear.
Baast
My brothers tell me fear finds itself
quickly crowded out of a mind,
when attempting to do something
not stupid while fighting for my life.
- Toorval Singh, Memoirs of a Mercenary
Yetteje jumped over a giant’s back, sending two arrows unerringly toward Ash’s position. One took a giant focused on killing the firstmark in the forehead, the other a mistfright circling up his leg. Her focus was preternatural, a combat sense that slowed every action and made every movement precise and economical. It was as if something gave her every move consummate grace and skill.
Valor thrummed as arrows flew. Each draw magically created another, as if the bow had found the perfect partner, a force that would use it for what it was intended, unleashing carnage in battle. Here, in Arcadia, the bow seemed unrivaled.
The princess ducked under a thrust and jumped, kicking out. She caught a spear-wielding giant under the chin and snapped his head back, following it with an arrow fired up through his throat. As he fell the combat swirled around her and for a brief moment she was in a bubble of calm. She could see Kisan trying to stand after a blast had hit her wing, her back against Silbane. Just then, Ash emerged from behind the shattered wing, staggering to his knees in a daze and stabbing Tempest into the ground.
An explosion sounded, a muffled crump that shook her insides with its low concussion. The blast seemed directed down into the earth and was followed immediately with a shock wave that threw her on her rump. A cloud of debris and dirt blocked her sight and she hit the ground and bounced painfully, coming to rest against the body of something dead. When she could finally stand and clear her eyes, the sight that greeted her was shocking. Everyone had been taken off their feet by the blast and where Ash had stood there was only a crater, a gaping pit where her friends had made their last stand! Had they been taken by the explosion?
Her attention snapped back to the here and now. She avoided a thrust by vaulting over yet another giant, lashing out with her bow like a hand weapon to clear some room, then firing arrow after arrow into the mass surrounding her. Wherever the flame arrows went, mistfrights or giants died. She sidestepped and dodged her way to try to get closer to the hole but the mass of warriors arrayed against her was too much. They closed in, a ring of leering mouths and yellow eyes watching her hungrily as she stood by herself.
Then Anhur stepped forward and said, “Your companions have abandoned you. Submit and we will take you to the Lady.”
Yetteje’s eyes narrowed, catching the light with a faint amber glow. Her grip tightened on Valor and she held the bow ready. Then she answered, “Whoever steps first, dies.”
Anhur hesitated, his eyes jumping from her face to her weapon. She knew what he must be thinking: Could she draw, aim, and fire before we overrun her? She sharpened her focus on the leader of the giants, her gaze never wavering. She would take Anhur with her, of that fact she was certain. The sudden fear emanating from him told her he knew the same.
Just then a trumpet sounded, a staccato of notes, like a call to arms. Yetteje swiveled her head in time to see two beings in armor and wings wade into the rear of the giants’ line. They hit with the force of a hammer and the collective mass of giants and mistfrights rippled from their impact.
Anhur cried, “Flanking, reform!” and his force of blue-skinned giants responded, immediately pivoting their formation into an hourglass shape with Yetteje and the armored angels at the widest opposite ends. A glowing spear was thrown, blasting into the two new combatants in a shower of lighting and a clap of thunder.
Whomever these new attackers were, they emerged smoking from behind a shield made by their wings, seemingly unscathed by the lightning storm that had enveloped them just moments before.
Then they laid into the mistfrights and giants with lust and abandon that made them, at least in Yetteje’s mind, look like gods of war come to life. They waded into the fray, striking with swords, and flicking daggered feathers from their bladed wings. The line of mistfrights fell before them like wheat under a scythe.
Yetteje did not waste time gawking, but instead firing arrow after arrow as quickly as possible, trying to thin out her opponents while ducking and dodging their strikes. She was doing well, but knew the odds were still not on her side. Sheer numbers gave her enemies the ability to make many mistakes, and she could not make even one.
She ducked again, spinning down to a knee and firing three arrows in quick succession. These caught two giants and a mistfright, blasting them backward and into the mob of her attackers. She rose, just in time to see the line surge forward, their weapons raised. Standing here meant certain death so she fell backward, still firing as she landed heavily on her back.
The force of the fall jarred her to her bones but she did not stop. The mass continued and Yetteje once again made up her mind up to take as many with her before they overwhelmed her position. She lay with Valor held horizontally, firing from between her knees again and again, knowing death was inevitable.
Then a blade erupted out of a giant’s mouth, felling him not even a body’s length from her. Another dropped next to the first, decapitated by something razor sharp. Yetteje looked up in awe as the two armored angels appeared, using wings and blades to cut their way through to her.
They broke through in an explosion of blood and giant parts, taking station on either side of her and facing the horde, each with one wing bent in front like a shield. Without a word she rose to a knee and started firing from in between them, killing anything that moved toward the two, trusting they would shield her from the surging line.
They did, using their blades and their other unfettered wings to deadly effect. Their weapons cut down foes left and right, leaving a mangled collection of dead giants heaped before them, surrounded by a pall of black mist from the dead mistfrights, which spread like a low-hanging fog at their feet.
Then, as suddenly as the tide had been overwhelmingly against them, it turned. The giant Anhur called a retreat to his men, never addressing them as he pulled his survivors from the bloody field. They fled into the surrounding white woods, no doubt back to Lilyth to report. Next time the giants might win, she thought, but not today.
In a moment the last of her would-be captors had melted back into the forest. A few moans sounded, giants who did not know yet that they were dead. A calm descended around them, the forest becoming still. Only the bodies of the fallen marked that anything had happened here at all.
“You fought well, little cat,” said the one in silver armor edged in blue, towering over her. His visor snapped back to reveal a man with kind eyes and a mouth caught in a half-smile.
The one in orange and red armor looked around the field of battle and said, “We’ll need to move quickly.” He moved through the fallen offering the mercy of a quick death by the tip of his long-bladed spear, his features resolute.
The first held out a hand, which Yetteje took, managing to grasp only two of his massive fingers. “My name is Orion, and this grim companion,” he pointed to the other with his chin, “is Helios.”
The other acknowledged her with a nod even as he stabbed down and through the chest of a giant, his focus still on making sure no foe was left alive to speak of them.
“Tej,” answered the princess with the short form of her name. “What are you?”
Orion’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “We are Watchers. Would you be surprised if I said we side with you?”
Yetteje shook her head. “My father says… said, actions speak louder than words… You came to my aid.”
“Indeed,” he said, sheathing his blade, “though it seemed you had things in hand.” He did a quick scan of their surroundings, and apparently satisfied, turned his attention back to Yetteje. He met the princess’s ta
wny gaze and said, “Have you heard the name Baast?”
“No,” she replied, “should I have?”
“Watchers recognize in each other those who are on the path to Ascension.” Orion looked meaningfully at her and said, “Just as you are, Tej. Hear the name again, Baast, for it is part of who you are, else you would have met her already.”
Helios interrupted by saying, “You don’t have much time. What now?”
To Yetteje he didn’t sound angry or mean, but there was an insistence in his tone that spoke to more than just impatience. Of the conversation about Baast, his short explanation hinted at too much to unravel here and now. She could tell they had to be somewhere soon, and the prospect worried the one called Helios, which by association worried her.
Orion looked back at Yetteje and said, “You will not be safe here and should accompany us, at least until we are clear of Olympious and the Lady’s lands.”
“I need to find my friends. They were over there,” she said, pointing to the depression created by Tempest’s blast. As they watched, she made her way over to the edge, then stopped in shock. Orion came up behind her and laid a massive hand on her tiny shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She shrugged off his hand, looking down the hole that ended, to her amazement, in clear sky. “Two of my friends are like you. They have wings.”
“Like us?” replied the winged giant in armor. “How so?”
Yetteje thought about it then said, “The leader of the ones who attacked us called one Artymis, and the other, Azrael.”
At the names Orion fell back a step, his eyes wide. He looked at Helios, who had also stopped his grim work to listen. Both looked equally stunned. Finally, Orion looked back down at Yetteje and asked, “You say they fell through this hole?”
Yetteje nodded. “Blasted through by Tempest, a blade.”
Orion’s eyes narrowed at that and he came to one knee and hunched so his face was level with Tej’s own. “The Kinslayer is known to us and we do not mourn her fall. Tell me truly, do you align yourself with her?” He didn’t sound threatening, but something in his tone made Yetteje look at him.