by Clayton Wood
Sabin backs away slowly, his eyes locked on that square. There is a loud thump, and then the square starts to lower itself into the room.
Sabin feels his back strike the cold stone of the wall behind him, and he presses himself against it, staring at the stone slab descending from the ceiling. His bare foot lands on something moist, and he looks down, seeing his heel next to the hole in the floor. He grimaces, scraping his heel on the stone, then stepping to the side.
Two feet appear, standing on the stone square as it lowers itself. White boots, followed by stark white pants. A perfectly pressed white shirt. And then, a face.
Sabin's eyes widen, and he steps forward from the wall, his jaw dropping. He recognizes the man descending into the room through the hole left by the stone square immediately, his heart leaping into his throat.
Nespo!
The platform the Grand Runic stands on slows its descent, meeting the floor with a dull thud. Nespo stares at Sabin for a long moment, then steps off of the platform onto the floor. The stone platform rises up of its own accord, fusing with the ceiling above.
“Good morning, Sabin,” Nespo greets.
“Nespo!” Sabin cries, rushing up to the man. Nespo holds out one hand, and Sabin stops in his tracks. Layer upon layer of gravity shields appear around the Grand Runic.
“Stand where you are.”
“Nespo, what the hell is going on?” Sabin asks. “Your guards attacked me last night...they're accusing me of murder!”
“So I’ve heard,” Nespo replies calmly
“You don't understand,” he states. “I haven't murdered anyone. You have to-”
“I don't have to do anything,” Nespo interrupts coldly. “Particularly for the man who conspired to assassinate me.”
Sabin's eyes widen, and he takes a step back.
“Wait, what?” he exclaimed. “Nespo, I didn't...”
“I think you did, Nespo interjects. “The accomplice you hired ratted you out. In exchange for immunity, of course. He was more than happy to provide the letters you wrote him detailing your little plan.”
“Letters?” Sabin exclaims. “What letters? What accomplice?” He shakes his head angrily. “Nespo, I swear I don't know what you're talking about!”
“The evidence is overwhelming,” Nespo states calmly. “The letters were written in your hand. The signatures you so stupidly signed them with are yours. Even now, the Grand Court is reviewing the documents.”
“Nespo, whatever you found, it wasn't me,” Sabin insists. “I didn't hire anybody, I didn't send any letters!” He steps forward, pressing his palms against Nespo's outermost gravity shield. “I'm innocent, damn it!”
“Innocent?” Nespo retorts, raising one eyebrow. He pulls a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it and holding it out from behind his gravity shields. Sabin stares at it.
We must act quickly. The longer we wait, the greater our likelihood of being discovered. The tyrant must die. It cannot be traced to me, or our efforts are in vain. With luck, I will be sitting in Nespo's office, ordained with his power, within the month.
You will be richly rewarded for your efforts.
- S
Sabin's mouth falls open, his eyes widening. The letter is in his handwriting, there is no denying it. But he never wrote it.
“I didn't write that,” Sabin protests. “Nespo, I didn't write that, it's a forgery!”
“Your accomplice gave us this,” Nespo retorts. “Along with many, many others.”
“Nespo, I swear I didn't write those,” Sabin protests. “Someone else must have done it, forged my handwriting and my signature. I'm being framed!”
Nespo folds the paper into a small rectangle, then deposits it back in his pocket. Sabin feels a slight vibration, and the stone platform descends from the ceiling again, lowering itself to the floor beside Nespo. The Grand Runic lowers his gaze to Sabin's right hand, and Sabin stares at it himself, seeing his ring there, on his middle finger. The onyx ring with the diamond-shaped emerald.
“It wasn't enough, was it,” Nespo murmurs, his eyes flicking back up to Sabin's. “You had to have more.” He steps onto the stone platform then, and it immediately begins to rise.
“Nespo,” Sabin cries. “Nespo, wait!”
“Your trial is in two days,” Nespo declares as he rises slowly through the air, toward the hole in the ceiling. “When you are found guilty, you will be sentenced to public execution.” He folds his arms over his chest, his stark white clothes practically glowing in the light from the lantern above. He stares down at Sabin as he ascends, his expression stony. “They'll cut off your fingers, then your toes. Then your limbs, piece by piece, cauterizing every wound. When they finally cut you open and burn your intestines, you'll be begging for death. And everyone you care about will be present to bear witness...all of your friends, your colleagues, even your family.”
“Nespo!” Sabin shouts, rushing forward to grab onto the edge of the platform. He is thrown backward by an invisible force, slamming his back against the stone wall. He crumples onto the floor, gasping for breath as Nespo continues to rise. The Grand Runic stares impassively at Sabin, the corner of his mouth twisting into a slight smirk.
“Consider this,” he stated, extending both arms out to his sides. “...the greatest accomplishment of your life.”
* * *
The twelve Councilman, Kalibar, and Erasmus sat around the circular table in the center of the War room for the third hour of meetings that day. Kalibar stretched his legs under the table, shifting his weight from one buttock to the other to try to keep his legs from falling asleep. He glanced at Erasmus, who was clearly having trouble keeping his entire body from falling asleep, and tapped the Grand Runic's leg with his foot. Erasmus jerked awake, glancing at Kalibar, then immediately pretending to be engrossed in Councilman Hewes' speech.
“...and so a five percent global tax increase is the only realistic option we have left,” Hewes concluded. Councilman Goran shook his head.
“I cannot endorse that,” he stated firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “And neither will our citizens...not after their fortunes evaporated with the attack on Stridon Central Bank.”
“Then how do you propose we pay for rebuilding the Southwest Quarter?” Hewes demanded. “We're suffering from the largest deficit in twenty years...”
“I am well aware of the state of our budget,” Goran interrupted. “We'll pay for it by raising the cost of the properties we rebuilt.”
“Some of the Quarter's residents won't be able to afford a rent increase,” Hewes retorted. “You'd be effectively kicking them out of their homes right after we celebrated their return!”
“A tax increase won't do the same?” Goran countered.
Just then, the front door of the War room opened. Kalibar twisted around in his chair, spotting High Weaver Urson standing at the entrance.
“My apologies, Councilmen,” Urson stated. He walked up to Kalibar's side, leaning in. “I have news,” he whispered. Kalibar nodded, pushing himself away from the table, then rising to his feet. He turned to face the Council.
“I'll be back,” he stated. Goran and the other Councilmen nodded, and Erasmus stared at Kalibar questioningly. Kalibar ignored the look, turning about and following Urson out of the room. They made their way to Kalibar's suite. Kalibar unlocked the magic door, then ushered Urson in, closing it behind them. Urson turned to face Kalibar, his expression – as usual – impossible to read.
“We found the Defiance,” Urson declared. Kalibar felt a chill run down his spine, and he struggled to maintain his outward calm. The Defiance had been crippled in international waters, with Verhanian warships searching for it. There were only two possibilities: either the ship had been rescued, or it had been destroyed...and Kyle and Ariana with it.
“And?”
“Docked at an island called the Shimmering Isle, eighty miles north of Verhan,” Urson replied. “A neutral territory without extradition to Verhan. It do
cked today. The captain and crew are alive.”
“And my children?” Kalibar pressed, trying his best to hide his sudden frustration. Get on with it, he thought.
“Missing.”
“Missing?” Kalibar exclaimed incredulously. Urson nodded.
“The island's officials are refusing access to the captain and the crew,” Urson stated apologetically. “We haven't been allowed to interrogate them.”
“Get access,” Kalibar ordered. “Bribe them. You have clearance to mobilize whatever funds you require.”
“Yes sire.”
“Find my children, Urson,” Kalibar urged, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. “Make it happen.” Urson nodded crisply.
“Will that be all?”
“Yes,” Kalibar answered. “Get to it.” Urson saluted, then turned about, leaving the suite. The door shut slowly and silently behind him, leaving Kalibar alone in his room. He stared at the door for a long moment, then lowered his gaze to the floor.
They're alive, he thought, a wave of relief washing over him. He felt lightheaded suddenly, and walked over to one of his couches, sitting down on it and leaning back into the plush cushions. Somehow, the Defiance had escaped, sailing across hundreds of miles of open ocean in a few days despite being all but crippled. It was an impossible feat, one that could only have been achieved with magic.
And that meant his children had been aboard to save the ship.
Kalibar sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs. He rubbed his face with his hands, then stared at the tabletop before him.
My children are alive, he thought. And they've made it to Orja.
He smiled despite himself, shaking his head and chuckling quietly. He hadn't given them enough credit, it appeared. He should have realized that Ariana's incredible talents would keep them both safe. With her shard protecting her, not even a fleet of warships stood a chance.
Still, against one of Sabin's Chosen, she would be utterly helpless.
Kalibar sighed, standing up from the couch. He began to pace, his boots clicking on the granite floor below with every step. Then he stopped suddenly, pivoting about and walking to his bedroom. His eyes went to the desk in the corner, where he'd put the stack of books from the Archives. Or rather, to the roll of paper next to them. He walked up to it, unrolling it and placing it on the bed. It was a huge map of Orja, the most current one they had. His predecessor, Grand Weaver Rivin, had gotten it as a gift from the King of Verhan. He traced his finger over the Orjanian coast, finding Verhan there. He went north, finding a small series of islands off of the coast. One was labeled “Shimmering Isle.” He paused, staring at it.
Kyle said Ampir had given him a map...
Kalibar cursed under his breath, wishing that he'd taken a look at that map when he'd had the chance. He had no idea where Sabin's lair was...no idea where Kyle and Ariana were going. And, as Erasmus had recently admitted to him, Kyle had specifically asked to learn the invisibility pattern before running away. Which meant that if Kyle and Ariana were using the pattern, his Battle-Weavers would never be able to find them...even if they knew where they were going. His Battle-Weavers could be standing a hundred feet away from the two, and they wouldn't even know it.
But I would, Kalibar thought.
He – and only he – had the ability to see magic. While sensing magic normally required the subject to be close by, Kalibar could sense magic as far as his eyes could see. He would be able to see the invisibility field surrounding Kyle and Ariana. That made him the only person who could possibly find them.
Kalibar stared at the map for a moment longer, then stood up straight, taking a deep breath in, then letting it out.
“Alright,” he muttered, turning away from the map and walking up to his nightstand. He streamed magic to the communication orb there, then walked out of the bedroom, back into his suite. He stopped a few feet from the translucent front door, then closed his eyes, taking another deep breath in.
Alright.
* * *
“You're doing what?” Erasmus exclaimed, staring at Kalibar in disbelief. Kalibar sighed, sitting down on one of Erasmus's chairs around a large table in the Grand Runic's suite, meeting his bewildered gaze. Kalibar had gone back to the Council meeting soon after talking with Urson, and when the meeting had finally adjourned, he'd asked Erasmus to speak with him here.
“I've made up my mind,” Kalibar stated firmly. Erasmus continued to stare at Kalibar, shaking his head slowly.
“You're out of your mind!” the portly Runic exclaimed. “You're out of your damn mind,” he added emphatically.
“I'm going after them,” Kalibar insisted.
“You're the goddamn leader of the free world!” Erasmus retorted heatedly. “You can't just pack up and leave to get your children!”
“I'm not 'getting' my children,” Kalibar countered calmly.
“Is that so?” Erasmus stated, putting his hands on his hips. “Then what the hell are you doing?”
“I'm going with them.”
Erasmus stared at Kalibar for a long moment, his eyebrows furrowing.
“You're going with them?” Erasmus asked. “What does that even mean?”
“My duty,” Kalibar replied, “...is to protect the Empire.”
“Exactly,” Erasmus agreed. “Which means you need to stay here and lead the damn country with me.”
“Erasmus, please...hear me out,” Kalibar insisted. Erasmus rolled his eyes, then gestured for Kalibar to continue. “My duty is to protect the Empire,” Kalibar repeated, “...but my position as Grand Weaver prevents me from doing just that.”
Erasmus started to say something, but in a rare moment of self-control, he stopped himself.
“Kyle and Ariana are in possession of the one weapon that has the capability of destroying Sabin,” Kalibar stated. Erasmus nodded, having already been told about Ampir's death, Xanos's true identity, and Kyle's bomb. “They're bringing it to Sabin so they can activate it.”
“I got that,” Erasmus grumbled impatiently.
“As far as I know,” Kalibar continued, “...I am the most skilled Battle-Weaver in the Empire, and the only Weaver with experience...and success...in fighting the Chosen.”
“Granted.”
“If Kyle and Ariana fail to destroy Sabin, the Empire will either be destroyed, or it will be subjugated. There is no other likely outcome.”
“But you know damn well they'll never make it,” Erasmus complained. “You said yourself that it's a fool's errand!”
“I did,” Kalibar agreed. “But it is the best – and only – chance that we have left.” He sighed then, lowering his gaze. “And so, in order to serve my people to the best of my ability, and to save my children, I must step down as Grand Weaver.”
“This is madness,” Erasmus protested, running both hands over his bald pate. He started to pace. “You know who's going to take over if you step down,” he added darkly. Kalibar tried to hide a smirk, but failed.
“Goran isn't so bad,” he soothed. Erasmus stopped pacing, turning to glare at him.
“Not that bad?” he exclaimed indignantly. “I hate that bastard and you know it!” He started pacing again. “Ever since that conniving, two-faced son-of-a...”
“Erasmus,” Kalibar interrupted gently. “It's only temporary.”
“Easy for you to say,” Erasmus retorted, throwing his hands up into the air. “You get to go on some hare-brained adventure with your kids while I'm stuck with that pompous, arrogant...”
“It'll be a week at most,” Kalibar stated, cutting his friend off. “I'll claim a week of vacation, and appoint Goran as acting Grand Weaver until I return.”
“If you return,” Erasmus muttered darkly. Kalibar nodded.
“If I return,” he agreed. “If not, then Goran will replace me permanently.”
“Which is exactly what's going to happen, by the way,” Erasmus stated, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is a suicide mission and you damn wel
l know it,” he accused.
“Perhaps so,” Kalibar admitted. “If you have any better ideas, I'd be happy to hear them.” Erasmus snorted.
“You know I don't,” he grumbled. He sighed then, lowering his hands to his sides, then walking up to the couch and sitting down beside Kalibar. He turned to look at Kalibar for a long moment, then gave his old friend a weak smile. “You'd better make it back,” he warned. He put a hand on Kalibar's shoulder then. “I wouldn't know what to do without you.”
“You did fine while I was holed up in Bellingham,” Kalibar countered, returning Erasmus's smile. Erasmus chuckled.
“Never expected you to turn into a shut-in,” he admitted. “You were really pathetic for a few years there, you know.” Kalibar laughed, then nodded reluctantly.
“I was, wasn't I?”
“Hell yes you were,” Erasmus replied with a grin. “Down in your dank basement in Boringham, wasting your life away on hopeless projects. If I'd had your looks, I'd have spent my retirement drinking wine and chasing women.”
“In all fairness, I did drink a fair bit of wine.”
“Not enough,” Erasmus retorted. “If you'd had enough, you'd have a damn village filled with illegitimate children by now!”
“I think I would've enjoyed that particular project,” Kalibar admitted with a grin. Erasmus laughed, and so did Kalibar. But when the laughter died down, Erasmus sighed, standing up from the couch and facing Kalibar. Kalibar stood as well.
“Good luck old friend,” Erasmus said. He stepped forward then, wrapping his arms around Kalibar, giving him a hug. Then he stepped back, holding Kalibar's shoulders at arm's length. “If anyone can do it, you can.”
“Thank you,” Kalibar replied. Erasmus smiled then, but his eyes were sad, moisture lining his lower lids.
“You'd better come back, you old bastard,” he warned, his voice cracking. “You're my best friend, you know.”
“I know,” Kalibar replied, feeling his own eyes grow moist. “I love you too, old buddy.”
“Yeah, well,” Erasmus muttered, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly. “We'd better go tell the Council about your vacation.” He chuckled then, despite himself. “The worst timed vacation in history, by the way.”