Aren lifted his face to look back at the Titans.
His face immediately fell to the picture of chagrined disbelief.
“Oh, you have got to be joking!” he blurted out.
The outrageously huge hall around them now appeared to be of the more common size. The thrones remained before him, as did the Titans, but all three of them were now only slightly taller than Aren himself. For a moment, Aren could not decide whether they had shrunk or he had grown to their size.
The first two Titans still looked much as they had a few moments before, but what had previously appeared as godlike physiques were now more naturally strong rather than exaggerated. The third Titan’s beauty was still evident, but no longer of the unworldly quality that had impressed Aren a few moments before.
The staff of the first Titan had also changed somewhat, in its appearance as much as its size. What had looked like ornate filigree down the shaft, Aren could now see were intricate mechanisms that shifted and turned in constant motion. The base of the staff still contained the orb of bluish-purple light, but Aren could now see streaks of purple lightning dancing across its surface, much like he had seen on the citadel dome as they approached the city.
Aren had the look of someone who had just discovered he had been cheated at cards. “You’re the Titans?”
The first of them stepped forward, the mechanical staff still in his left hand. “We are what remains of the Titans. My name is Grannus. This is my brother, Boreus, and our sister, Sequana.”
“But you’re just … people,” Aren said, shaking his head. “Humans, just like anybody else.”
“That is not true,” Boreus said with a severe look. “Our origins are not found among the circles of this world. Our ancestors walked different sands on different shores.”
“You mean, across the oceans.” Aren blinked, trying to comprehend.
“Much farther still,” Sequana gently corrected him. “We lived in a place far beyond your shattered moon, beyond your stars and sky.”
“The civilization of our world was great and produced many marvelous and powerful devices,” Grannus said, “but in the end, even those marvels could not save us from the Fall.”
“The Fall?” Aren shook his head, trying to understand. “I thought you said your lands were far away. The Fall was here.”
“The Fall was not in your world alone; it came to many places and many worlds … in some far worse than others,” said Sequana, her face troubled.
Sequana walked over to the polished bronze doors—now appearing to be a more reasonable size—and pulled them open. A much shorter hall opened into the rotunda, which, to Aren’s surprise, had remained the same size as he remembered it.
“Nowhere was it worse than in our world beyond your sky,” Sequana continued as they stepped into the rotunda. “A darkness fell with no hope of dawn; a noise with no hope of music. The Avatars were known among us, too. Our people had come to know of their means of walking between the worlds and had managed even to duplicate the technique with our inventions. In the end, perhaps, we brought the Fall upon ourselves.”
“That was our parents’ guilt talking,” Boreus argued. “They were farmers whose knowledge was limited, far removed from those who might truly know.”
Aren saw now that the central statue was that of a woman. She was reaching into the dome above. The captain looked up and saw that the dome was filled with a fresco of stars around a central circle whose edges depicted a portal to a pastoral scene of farmland and peace. The other eight statues were reaching upward as well.
“Our plantation was remote, far from our cities. We had many devices for our convenience and protection, but none of us fully understood the principles behind their functions. We could operate them, even repair them on some level, but we never understood them. As chaos descended upon our world and the fabric of its being was unraveling, our parents attempted to use these devices to save our family.”
“What happened?” Aren asked.
“Something went wrong,” Sequana said.
“Perhaps it had something to do with the world coming apart at an elemental level, or maybe the devices simply were broken,” Boreus said. “We can’t know. What we do know is that we escaped through a gateway from our world into this one. We had hoped that the Fall was like a storm that we could wait out here and then return to our home. Our ancestors never expected that the calamity in our own world would be mirrored in this one. We arrived only to find the gate back to our world was shut. We do not know if our world survived.”
“That’s what we have been doing here,” Grannus said, cradling the staff now in his crossed arms. “The devices of our forebearers are failing. We do not understand entirely how they work, and the technology of this world is unlike our own. For centuries we have been gathering all the knowledge of your world that we can so we might adapt its devices to our own, struggling ever since to find the means to return home.”
“Centuries?” Aren turned a skeptical look toward Grannus.
“Travel between the worlds changes time,” Grannus said. “The Avatars spoke of it as well, how time in this world passed differently than time in our own or in theirs.”
“Avatars!” Aren said at last. “Back again to these Avatars! This is all a very charming—if entirely bizarre and unbelievable—tale, but what has any of this to do with me?”
“You hold the sword of an Avatar,” Sequana stated as though the thought alone were sufficient.
“Yes, and so?”
“Each of the ancient blades reflected the Virtues in some degree or another,” Grannus said. “This particular blade was known as Eye of the Scales. From what we have learned, it reflected three of the principle Virtues espoused by the Avatars from before the Fall. One of them was ‘true sight.’”
“It gives you better vision?”
“No, better perspective,” Sequana said. “It strips away the facade of pretense to see the underlying truth: a viewpoint beyond personal bias or prejudice. The references we have found to the sword are incomplete and in some places contradictory. Some say it was wielded by Lord Brinist in ancient times, while others assign it to other Avatars of legend.”
“It has two other aspects as well,” Boreus added. “Although so far the texts have only agreed on ‘true sight.’ Perhaps further research may be of help in this matter, and we have granted permission to both Loremaster Zhal and Loremistress Lanilan to access those texts we have that refer to your blade.”
“Again, interesting,” Aren insisted. “But why did the sword of some long-dead Avatar choose me?”
“Because the sword does not empower you.” Sequana bowed slightly as she spoke. “You empower the sword. It is your honesty that opened this aspect of the sword, not the other way around.”
“And it is that honesty to which we are appealing. We need you to save the treasure of Opalis,” Grannus said. “If we are ever to find our way back to our home, the treasure must be kept safe, and we believe the sword chose you for that purpose. Our powers are failing, our devices weakening—”
“Look, you have the wrong man,” Aren said, shaking his head as he stepped backward, away from them. “I’m not the guy who saves the treasure; I’m the guy that plunders it!”
“But they are coming!” Sequana pleaded. “They will be here in a matter of days, and we do not have the strength to stop them!”
“Coming?” Aren asked. “Who’s coming?”
“The Westreach Army of the Obsidian Empire,” Grannus said. “Couriers from the caravans have brought word that the army is marching down the broken road and may reach Jaanaford as soon as three days from now.”
Aren was dumbstruck. “The Westreach … General Karpasic’s army?”
“You must find a way to stop them from finding our treasure,” Boreus insisted.
“Are you out of your Titan minds?” Aren shouted. “Karpasic is my commander! I’m an officer in the Westreach Army! I’m supposed to help them conquer and plunder any city
under their siege!”
Grannus cocked his head to one side. “Then perhaps in that case you would like to see the treasure?”
Aren gaped.
“Would you?”
Aren felt the fire go out of him. He was truly baffled. “Of course.”
Grannus motioned Aren to follow him down the long hall where he had originally arrived in the citadel. He approached one of the side double doors in the hall and threw them open.
The room held ranks of shelves, each of which was filled with books, scrolls, and inscribed plates.
Grannus walked across the hall and opened the other set of doors. That revealed another room filled with bound papers, maps, and scrolls.
“The accumulated knowledge of the last three centuries,” Grannus said. “We have spent the wealth of Opalis to gather as much of the wisdom and learning of your known world as possible.”
“What do you see, Aren?” Sequana asked.
Aren rested his left hand on the pommel of his sword.
He saw the truth.
He drew in a long, shuddering breath.
“Karpasic believes the city to be a treasure house,” Aren said quietly.
“And when he finds that the treasure is the written word on parchment?” Boreus pressed for an answer.
“He will do what he always does,” Aren answered simply. “He will burn it.”
CHAPTER
20
Unwilling Help
“Jackals!” Trevan roared, slamming his fist down on the wide table, causing the various maps scattered across its surface to jump. “Worse than jackals … carrion birds at the heels of jackals!”
Syenna picked up the scroll before it had stopped rocking back and forth on the top of the table. They stood in the map room of the Legion barracks.
“This missive,” Syenna said as she unrolled it. “They cannot possibly mean what you say.”
“Oh, they mean it, all right!” Trevan pushed himself away from the table and began pacing once more behind it. “Read it! It’s all there in the fifth paragraph from the top!”
Syenna’s eyes moved down the page. In moments, she found the section and began to read aloud. “It says, ‘The Warlords of Resolute sympathize with the concerns of their fellow noble warriors of South Paladis, but reports of military activities throughout the region have caused the council in Resolute to reevaluate their strategic position against these insurgents of unknown strength and location.’”
“Keep reading!” Trevan seethed.
“‘The council is resolved to abide by their agreements with the Elders of Opalis, their rightful representation of the Titans who rule them, and the people whom they protect, and shall, in due course and at the proper time, support the cause of their defense with.’” Syenna paused, glancing over the top of the scroll at Trevan. “What does this mean, ‘in due course and at the proper time’?”
“It means they are not coming,” Trevan snarled. “They are worried that the force marching in our direction is either a feint, or part of a greater strategy on the part of the Obsidians to strike against Resolute while her armies are engaged with us far south of their city. Maybe they are right. I don’t know. But what I do know is that they’re leaving us on our own. They won’t risk leaving their own city defenseless just to defend ours.”
“What about Norgard?” Syenna asked.
“What about them?” Trevan huffed.
“Their armies recently completed a campaign of conquest just beyond the Pillars of Night,” Syenna said. She pushed a number of maps out of the way before finding the one she sought and then pointed at the spot to the west. “They have two armies encamped right now, here in Willowvale. I understand that they are only of partial strength, but they could be here in a matter of no more than two days if—”
“The armies of the Norgard Empire crossed the Pillars of Night last night”—Trevan nodded as he gazed at the map—“down Superstition Canyon at the western edge of the South Paladis Plain.…”
“Excellent.” Syenna smiled with relief.
“And then immediately encamped at the mouth of that same Superstition Canyon,” Trevan concluded.
“They … stopped?” Syenna was having trouble believing what she had heard.
“Yes, they are at the western edge of our prairie, simply waiting until the Obsidian Army has done most of the work for them,” Trevan said, gritting his teeth as he spoke. “They are more than happy to let both the defenders of Opalis and the attackers of the Obsidians bleed each other white on each other’s swords before they arrive to fulfill their agreements with the Council of Might. In this particular case, being late is, for them, far better than never arriving at all.”
“You mean they’ll wait until Opalis has fallen?” Syenna gaped.
“Yes, they will wait.” Trevan spoke the words as though he were spitting them. “Then once we have fallen, the city has been plundered, and the Obsidian Army has been weakened, then the glorious legions of the Norgard Empire will show up at our gates as liberators. How grateful will whatever remains of our citizenry be to accept their dictatorial rule!”
“But the others,” Syenna said, her voice rising both in pitch and volume. “The rest of the Council of Might, surely they would not allow—”
“You know as well as I do that Etceter depends more upon the sea for its defense than any standing army.” Trevan sighed. His eyes continued to be fixed on the map as though if he looked at it long enough or hard enough, it might reveal a miracle to him that he had somehow overlooked. “But even so, there are not enough merchant ships to properly convey the army you do have across the Bay of Storms, and if you tried to march them overland, you would have to pass through Midmaer and the Blackblade Mountains … both of which are now part of the Obsidian Empire. Ardoris is even farther from us than Etceter, and on the wrong side of Midmaer even if they could get here in time. The only remaining member of the vaunted Council of Might that might come to our aid are the Guildmasters of Aerie—and they won’t because they stand to profit more from having Opalis in the hands of Norgard than to remain independent.”
“Then we need to hold out against the siege,” Syenna insisted. “Give the baroness and the shogun Tsuneo time to relieve the siege and attack Karpasic’s army from the rear. We’ve sent word; all we need to do is hold out until they arrive.”
“That could be a long time,” Trevan said.
“Do you have somewhere else to go?” Syenna asked.
“No.” Trevan smiled ruefully. “Nowhere in particular.”
“Neither do I,” Syenna continued. “But that doesn’t mean everyone must stay. Shouldn’t we evacuate the city—get everyone out who is not needed for the defense—while there is still time?”
“Evacuate them to where?” Trevan asked, pointing back down toward the map. “Should we send them west into the welcoming steel of the Norgard Empire? Or east toward Jaanaford, directly toward the approaching Obsidian Army? North across the open prairie in the direction of Resolute, where just a few elements of the Obsidian Army could hunt them down to extinction … or perhaps south, where they could be caught on the shores of the Sea of Storms? There is nowhere I can send the citizens of Opalis that is safer than within these walls, and there is no safety here, either.”
“What about Captain Bennis?” Syenna asked as she gnawed at her lip. “Hasn’t he been speaking with the Titans directly?”
“From when they first brought him into the citadel until as late as yesterday, yes.” Trevan nodded, straightening up. “What’s your point?”
“Well, the Titans are supposed to be the font of all wisdom,” Syenna urged. “They must have had a purpose in choosing him to have audience with them now.”
“I’ve lived here for all my life,” Trevan said, “and I’ve never once seen the Titans. If they have some plan as to what we might do to defend the city or defeat the Obsidians, they have not communicated it to me nor, so far as I know, to Captain Bennis either. Still, they apparently did
choose him. If he has a plan, however, I would be very much obliged if he would show up and tell me what it is.”
“Where is he?” Syenna asked, glancing about them despite the fact that the room contained only the two of them.
“He’s back in the citadel, I suppose.” Trevan shrugged, crossing his massive arms over his chest. “Not that I know how Aren gets in or comes out of it. I saw him earlier this morning, but he seemed in too great a hurry to speak with me or answer my questions. One thing he made clear to me, however, is that he no more has the answers to this problem than I do.” He then turned toward the door, yelling. “Centurion!”
A warrior of Opalis launched himself in through the door as though he had been waiting outside on a spring. “Yes, sire!”
“I’m worried about the defenses on the Long Wall,” Trevan said. “I want to see the stonemasons in charge here immediately. How is the crop gathering coming?”
“Some of the farmers are complaining about having their crops appropriated,” the centurion replied. “They say that they are not yet ripe for picking.”
“If the Obsidians burn down the fields,” Trevan answered, “they won’t ripen any more than they already have—”
“Commander,” Syenna interrupted. “How long do we have before General Karpasic arrives with his forces?”
Trevan eyed the centurion, contemplating whether such information should be given in front of the young warrior. In the end, he decided it no longer mattered.
Trevan cleared his throat before he spoke. “The first elements passed through Jaanaford earlier this evening.”
“That soon?” Syenna whispered.
“They must have force-marched down the Broken Road.” Trevan nodded. “By sunrise we should see the first elements moving toward us from the southeast.”
“Then war is come to Opalis.” Syenna nodded.
“There may still be time for you to escape,” Trevan continued, a softness coming into his eyes that Syenna found unexpected in the warrior. “You might take your loremaster and guard contingent at once south to the Ash Coast; Karpasic will be too intent on the city to be looking for a small group on the prairie—especially if you leave the captain here with us. From there, it may be possible for you to find a ship back home.”
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