by Lakshman, V.
Then a man stepped into his field of view. Judging from the vast stillness of the place, he could have been there the entire time. He was tall, garbed in gold armor etched with a phoenix. His skin was as white as parchment. Amber eyes reminded Duncan of a wolf’s. The man’s hair fell below his shoulders, also pure white and long, held back by a circlet of gold set with a green gem.
Duncan blinked his one eye to clear his vision, knowing somehow that the weight around his neck was the collar of the Galadines, blocking his path to the Way. He tested one of his wrists and the vines retightened their hold. He looked back at the man. The face was bearded, yet Duncan still felt he should know him. Pain and fatigue conspired to make his mind move slowly, and he could not connect what he knew was likely obvious. That, or the collar was interfering with his thoughts.
“Release me,” Duncan croaked, surprised by the sound of his own voice. Sudden thirst made him realize how long it had been since he’d had any water, and he let out a ragged cough.
The man smiled and said, “Duncan Illrys, I have dreamt of the day I would see you again.”
The voice! Duncan knew immediately who this man was and said, “Val…” He raised his head and met the yellow eyes of his captor and finished, “Death becomes you.”
“Not so dead… and not quite alive.” Valarius paused, moving a bit closer. “The Way changes one here, makes one stronger. I take on the aspect of my children, for their faith gives me power.”
It was true. As he came closer, Duncan could see that except for his parchment-white skin, Valarius looked just like one of the blue-skinned elves. His gaze narrowed and he found himself unable to find any joy that the man still lived. “Fate doesn’t have the sense to be rid of you.”
“Rid?” The backhand caught Duncan unaware, rocking his head back as Valarius struck him viciously across his jaw. “It is only because of me that Edyn survives!”
He fell, only to be held painfully up by the vines snapping his shoulders into agony. His head whirled and he hung there, limp. Slowly, he regained his senses and managed to get his feet back under him. His mouth was too dry to spit so he swallowed the blood, finding a strange satisfaction in the act.
Then he looked at the archmage thought dead so long ago and said, “I see you’re still good with using your words.”
Valarius smiled, then motioned to someone outside of Duncan’s field of view. “I’ll not have you die so easily.”
Duncan’s head was jerked back and a spigot put in his mouth. Cool water flowed, threatening to drown him, but he gulped as quickly as he could. Then it was yanked away, and he hacked and coughed out what had nearly choked him, trying both to clear his lungs and swallow water at the same time. The coughing brought fresh agony to his chest and ribs, but the cool water was pure bliss. He could almost feel death’s door retreat as his body absorbed every drop.
“I saved you. When Lilyth struck, I extended myself and deflected the blow that would have ended your life. And you repaid me with this.” Valarius touched his own face.
“You opened the gate,” Duncan said. “You let the demons in. The king decreed mages be killed because of—”
“Do not speak of my brother! He has been reborn to a greater purpose, but you… still have much to answer for, including what you did to him.”
He blinked at the vehemence, and the random thought of how prisoners under Duncan’s own hand had fared came to mind. In truth, if he’d had his new clarity it would have given him the burden of perfect recall. Luckily his memory was vague, stifled. Yet through all of it he knew his reasons had been noble—to find and recover his family.
He looked at the elven highlord that had once been Valarius and said, “You want to be thought a savior? Release me, and you’ll start with one person who might believe you.”
“Ahh,” Valarius smiled. “I have more than one.” He looked to his side and said, “Sonya.”
The air shimmered and the shade of Duncan’s wife stepped into view. Something in her demeanor made him feel she was not here by choice, but she wore a smile laced with pity, and there was still no love in her eyes when she looked at him. She came up next to Valarius, put her hand upon his waiting arm, and said, “I told you not to come.”
Duncan stared, the sight of her standing on his arm confirming his worst fears. It was a punch to his gut, a stab that deflated any sense of purpose he might have had. His quest now seemed a mockery of everything he cherished. His head sagged, and a bolt—a lightning quick surge of rage—turned his skin red and made his vision blur.
When he looked back up, he was greeted with a smile on Valarius’s face that drove his hate for the man to new heights, but still he said nothing. He’d not give them the satisfaction, and with this collar on it was unlikely anything he did would be useful. Better to wait, a voice said, and a small titter escaped before he could clamp his mouth over it.
Valarius raised an eyebrow at that, but when it was clear he would not speak, the highlord said, “We’ve known each other now for two hundred years. What is your commitment compared to our lifetime together?” While the words were logical, they were delivered with a malicious smile, as it was clear the man was enjoying this moment. He pulled Sonya in tighter, who went willingly into his embrace.
He refused to look at Valarius. Instead, Duncan’s eyes bored holes into Sonya’s own until she looked away. She had not changed, since he’d seen her last, not one bit. It was as if time had frozen her appearance just as she had when she’d left him, and perhaps it had. Perhaps his obsession had played a part in casting her in this form, he thought, a walking tribute to his own memory but nothing else. It seemed so when her ghost appeared, and here again in the bedrock of the reality he faced. Sonya was no longer his. A part of his mind wondered in a detached way if elves did not banish shades with their touch?
“Do you know what we do here?” Valarius asked, his words attempting and failing to pull Duncan’s eyes to his own. He waited, but there was no response. “We are the only thing standing against the demons of Arcadia,” he said this with a gesture meant to encompass everything. “We are the only proof against Lilyth and her Furies, the Aeris who invade our world and seek possession of our people.”
“Congratulations,” Duncan sneered, speaking to Sonya, but it was Valarius who responded.
“Edyn has remained safe for two hundred years, because of me!” he stepped forward and blocked Duncan’s view of Sonya, forcing him eye to eye. “I hold them from invasion, my elves keep them contained and occupied, but at dear cost. Still, I have never abandoned the land that abandoned me so readily.”
Duncan finally looked at Valarius, instead of looking through him, and said, “Lilyth sent me here to kill you, Val.” It was stated simply but the rage behind it could not be hidden no matter how much he tried.
“You’ll find that difficult.” He moved away and said, “Mikal.”
From behind a curtain to one side of the hall stepped the king who had loosed the arrow at Duncan and Sonya. Though he was blue-skinned and winged, the man’s face had been burned into Duncan’s memory. Here, too, perhaps he had had some influence, for the people he remembered most were the least changed.
A part of him wondered at why Valarius was so different, but the thought was asked and answered in the same breath. He thought Val dead, and therefore never obsessed over him. He also understood his fixation for analysis at this moment, a defense to keep him from breaking down. Analysis provided emotional distance and… apathy. Be silent.
Mikal Galadine came forth and bowed to Valarius, then knelt before Sonya, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped as if carrying a great weight. “My queen, forgive us,” he said while breathing out softly.
Sonya for her part looked down on the penitent king. “Rise,” she said. That she could show love to the man who had put an arrow through her was almost too much to bear, so Duncan fled back to noting every detail. The man wore silver armor much like Valarius’s, with the same phoenix symbol on pauldro
n and chest. No weapons seemed evident, but he was carrying a bundle in his weapon hand, the hand that drew the bowstring that changed his life.
Valarius reached and Mikal handed him the bundle, which moved and squirmed. A gentle hand removed the cloth and inside was a small baby, its pink skin and face marking it as a child of Edyn. For a moment, Duncan forgot that Arek was his son and thought this babe would in fact be revealed as his true offspring. The sickening clench in his stomach abated with Valarius’s next words.
“Though we have stopped the full invasions of the past, we cannot end Lilyth’s raids. Children are still taken.” Valarius looked at Sonya and then handed the child over. “This one was lucky, rescued by my elves.” Then he and Mikal went to stand before the crucified form with Sonya and the baby in tow.
Valarius took the center, in front of the small upraised bowl, and met Duncan’s eyes. “Do you know how we combat Lilyth?”
The sick feeling returned, a sudden dread that Valarius would harm the child in some sort of sacrifice. Duncan licked his parched lips and said carefully, “Nothing is worth harming an innocent child.”
“Said from a man who has brought harm to everyone he’s met,” replied Valarius, “men, women, and children.” Then he smiled and added, “Do not fear for the child. I’m not as cruel as you, and he has a far greater destiny.”
While Sonya removed the cloth and gave the naked baby to Valarius, Mikal turned and pulled a small piece of desiccated flesh from the crucified form, not more than a speck to Duncan’s eye. Then the king turned and traced a circle on the baby’s forehead. He placed the speck on the baby’s tongue.
Valarius then dipped the baby in the water of the bowl, submerging and pulling him out quickly. When the baby emerged it was covered in a black liquid tinged red in the dim light. Duncan realized with horror that the babe had been consecrated in blood.
The yellow flash of a binding Oath startled Duncan, though no words had been uttered. It was intense, so much so that for a moment the scene was a sunburst of blinding yellow light. Then Valarius intoned, “From my flesh and blood, be reborn as the angel Sorath, who gave himself for his brothers. You will be Fate’s Lyre, your music will change the world.”
When Duncan’s vision returned he could see Sonya cleaning off the babe and swaddling him again. The three then made their way around and back to the shackled archmage, who could only watch in silence as the baby’s skin began to change.
It darkened, then slowly became a soft blue, glowing with health and vitality, visible even to Duncan’s now mundane vision. The bundle seemed to grow a bit, and he was sure if Sonya removed the blanket, he would see fledgling wings. He looked slowly up from the baby, to his wife, then to Valarius. “What have you done?”
“We need angels to fight demons. Blood and faith lets us create them, but living flesh is needed.” He looked at Mikal and said, “Tell the warforged that Sorath has returned to them.”
“You turn children into elves?” Duncan asked, aghast.
Valarius shook his slowly. “These are far greater than my elves, though they too are forged from my blood. Of the thousands of children stolen by Lilyth, I rescue those few I can and give them a higher purpose. If they carry the bloodline of the first families they become my angels. You bore witness to the birth of one just now. If they carry the noble Galadine blood they receive the greatest gift of all, serving as archangels in our war against Lilyth. We are Edyn’s sacrifice and carry the burden of her safety upon our shoulders.”
Duncan just looked at him, blinking. Was he serious? His eyes searched Val’s face, but there was no doubt behind the man’s amber eyes. He then looked at Mikal, who looked away. Was that shame he saw flit across the king-murderer’s face. Duncan felt no pity for him. Finally, his gaze came to rest on Sonya.
To her, he said, “What about our son? Would you have let Val do this to him?”
Valarius stepped in between the two and answered, “How do you think Arek came to be?”
Duncan turned, shock hitting him like a lightning bolt. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice breaking with desperation, hoping Valarius had not done what he’d just witnessed to his own baby, that Sonya had not allowed it.
“Arek was our first and greatest creation. Born of your and Sonya’s blood, consecrated by my blood and Oath, he’s as much my son as yours, and will serve his purpose in this war… as will you.”
Duncan surged forward, his control gone behind white-hot fury at all that had been taken from him. He grabbed and pulled, brought short by the vines until he’d spent what little reserves he had, and sagged back down to hang by his tortured wrists.
Valarius came and knelt in front of him, grabbing him by the hair and raising his head until their eyes met. “You will be reborn and take your place beside my brother and the rest who betrayed me. You will serve me as we destroy Lilyth, and finally bring order and peace to Edyn.”
The highlord gestured and the wooden poles grew, becoming vaguely humanoid shaped trees. Each had Duncan entwined by an arm and as they straightened, Duncan’s feet left the ground.
“Take him back to his cell,” Valarius said, “and strip the flesh from his bones, but keep him alive.”
The two creatures bowed, then walked off with Duncan suspended painfully in between them. He could not see Sonya, and wondered now if coming to Arcadia had been such a good idea after all.
* * * * *
Lilyth walked the garden, enjoying the sun as it flooded the area with its warm orange-yellow light. The health of the land surrounded her, a vitality that permeated every blade of grass and leaf within sight. The thought brought about a sudden wave of sadness, for she knew this world would soon be consumed, ashes laid upon the altar of sacrifice to stop Sovereign. She took a breath, banishing such ill thoughts. Today would be the beginning of the end. Victory and life for her people, if all unfolded the way she hoped. She closed her eyes and steadied herself against self-doubt. Today, she would have to play her hand perfectly and that required clarity and confidence.
Booted feet tromping to some internal rhythm of a soldier’s march neared. It was a cadence born from a lifetime—and now more, Lilyth thought with a smile—of service. Without turning, she said, “Deft.”
The undead magehunter stopped, her silence the equivalent of a salute.
“What do you want?” the demon-queen inquired, inspecting a white blossom tinged in purple.
“Baalor reports he’s ready,” was the curt reply.
Lilyth turned to face her and said, “He’s on schedule. We must—” Her eyes widened in shock and she looked up at the afternoon sky, searching. The lens had just fixed its own position, which meant it had already found its way into Avalyon.
Deft did not address her queen’s unfinished reply, but merely asked, “Your orders?”
Lilyth walked past the soldier, her mind whirling. She’d known today would likely be Baalor’s entry into Dawnlight but she’d not dreamt the archmage could have gained access to Avalyon so quickly. Tracking the lens had not been of any immediate concern until Baalor was ready. More importantly, the next phase of action had to be synchronized carefully.
She focused her thoughts, seeking the lens through eddies and currents of the Way. Her gaze was pulled up to the peaceful blue sky. There! Her eyes narrowed at a pinprick of light, sparkling like a diamond to her enhanced vision.
Lilyth looked at Alion Deft and smiled. “Duncan has succeeded and Avalyon is revealed. Prepare the Furies. When Baalor signals, we must launch our assault on Avalyon and reinforce Baalor at Dawnlight. You’ll burn Valarius out of the sky.”
Alion’s half eaten face smiled to reveal her bone-white grin. “What of the red mage?” The question was delivered with a hungry anticipation Lilyth seldom heard from the undead warrior, “You promised him to me.”
She nodded, waving her hand in dismissal, “Kill them all. I know my own.”
Histories: Arek & Kisan
You must find strength within yoursel
f.
Outside influences will distract, bend, push, and pull you to their own needs.
In this be not the bamboo but the oak,
the roots of what you are must run deep.
- Kensei Tsao, The Lens of Blades
Haji-mai!”
Arek moved quickly to his left, the brown color of his loose fitting canvas uniform soaking in the warmth of the afternoon sun. His bare feet barely made a sound as he circled his opponent, who had for her part, not yet moved. Master Kisan’s eyes tracked him as she slowly pivoted in place. At some point he knew he should attack, but she was as famous for her countering ability as Arek was not.
He kept circling, knowing she would have to move her rear foot to keep him in view, or twist herself all the way around and reverse her stance. The change would mean losing him visually for a moment, and that would be his opening.
When she reversed her stance to bring her other hand up, he attacked. His body arrowed in, leading with a kick then two strikes in rapid succession. His opponent blocked the kick and moved in close to jam his punches. At that moment Arek had the distinct impression she’d known all along what he’d intended.
Then her ridge hand strike came out in a slow and easy to block counter. He unconsciously matched the master’s pace, slowing to her own. A sudden blinding strike left his vision swimming and he felt the ground hit his cheek. When had he fallen?
“Hold.”
His master’s voice sounded tired. When Arek opened his eyes, he was prostrate on the ground. The ache in his forehead and neck told him he’d been felled by a wrist or knuckle strike to the back of his skull, though with Master Kisan it could easily have been a hook kick. He shook away the stars, causing him to wince as his headache got worse, then sat up, angry at himself.