by Matthew Wolf
At last, the aging Devari slammed his sword back into his sheath. “Forgive me, Dundai. I have not seen you before. How was the Black Marsh? Are the Algasi still advancing north?”
Gray replied absently, dazed. “They are making their way to Vaster still, but we held them back as much as we could.” Again, the words weren’t his but Kirin’s.
Sunji nodded. “It’s not like the Algasi at all. They do not care for the affairs of this world, or so we’ve always been told. Something must be happening. Are they hurting the unarmed at all? Those in the countryside?”
Gray took a guess. “No.”
“As I thought,” Sunji replied. “Their prize is greater. But what do they seek?”
“I wish I knew,” Gray said honestly.
Sunji sighed deeply, blue eyes looking away, as if seeing the world crumbling beyond the black walls. “The world stands upon the brink of destruction. We must seek to stop it as best we can—I only wish the Devari had both the answer and the strength to stop it.”
“If you seek unity and peace, then what are you doing questioning a brother at the tip of your sword?” Zane said furiously.
Gray waited for the man to snap back, but he simply nodded, sorrowful.
“The tide of darkness has changed me,” Sunji answered sullenly. “But still, it is no excuse. We must stand together as brothers. Forgive me for questioning you so, brother.” He said, looking to Gray sincerely.
“You’re forgiven,” Gray replied, as if grudging.
The man held out his tan, leathery arm laced with scars. And Gray remembered Victasys’ counsel. The Devari greeting. He clasped Sunji’s arm heartily, showing his strength. Victasys, still menacingly silent, stepped forward and motioned the two men aside with his presence. And together, they moved away, joining others entering the Citadel, taking the wide steps swiftly.
“What in the blood and dust was that?” Zane whispered. “I’ve lied in my time, but you? That was like a completely different man! And a believable one too.”
Gray kept his teeth from gnashing.
A thank you would be appropriate, Kirin voiced.
As soon as they reached the Citadel’s grand entry, breaching the last of the massive steps, Victasys grabbed Zane and Gray. He pulled them aside, behind a sea of colossal black pillars, each the girth of ten men with their arms linked. High above, a domed ceiling of gold, silver, and glittering blue gems sheltered them. Most importantly, it was out of the flow of traffic and away from ears and eyes, aside from the occasional glance. “First, pull your hood up. Second, explain yourself,” Victasys said darkly.
The scarred Devari’s silence had been unnerving, and Gray was almost glad to hear him speak at last. Almost. The man was a thunderhead. “What is there to explain?” Gray said, looking over his shoulder as a young gray-robed flock noticed the three Devari huddled by the pillars, staring at them with fear and respect. A guard ushered them on, deeper into the wide hall.
“What you did…” Victasys said, looking flabbergasted. “That was impossible.”
He swallowed. “What did I do?”
“You changed your ki. Willfully.”
“And?”
“You don’t get it,” Victasys growled. “You didn’t just alter your emotions, you somehow implanted entirely different ones.”
Zane shook his head. “Sorry, still not following you. Your brief sketch on how to be a Devari didn’t really explain this. How is that strange exactly?”
“How to explain it to you two fools…” Victasys grumbled, “To put it simply, it would be like trying to remember something that someone else has forgotten. It’s not possible. It is a thing of myth.”
Zane let out a breath, and then scratched his head. “That does sound confusing.”
“I’m not sure what you’re so upset about,” Gray said. “I got us out of there, didn’t I?”
Victasys made another disgruntled sound. “Alas, now I wish I’d asked more about your past, for I fear it will get us into more trouble yet.” He turned to Zane. “And you? Any large, dark secrets to unveil?”
Zane grunted. “No. And I agree. Based on that little encounter, I fear Gray’s past is not done with us so soon. But it’s all the more reason to find Ezrah, and quickly. I don’t want to waste any more time here. Hannah is waiting for me.” He left unstated that Faye and the others had to succeed first for that to happen. But Zane’s fire wasn’t something Gray wanted to question. Not without expecting to get burned.
Victasys exhaled thinly. “So be it. Follow me.”
With that, they left the columns and moved back into the flow of the crowds. The hallway was wide enough for four carts to move through side by side. It opened up abruptly into a huge chamber, and Gray’s next step faltered.
Even Zane, at his side, fell short with a curse.
The hall was breathtaking.
Fiery opals were set into the floor, smoldering like small flames just beneath the marble’s surface. On the far walls, white crystals glittered. The walls themselves were fashioned in a bizarre but symmetrical pattern of shapes. Each of them glowed, refracting light. Gray realized the faceted walls were meant to extract the natural light from outside and reflect it all over the great hall. The result was an ever-present bloom of soft white light, bathing his skin. It made all those in the hall appear divine, like spirits sent from above. Gray peered up and held back another gasp.
Simulated clouds swirled, skimming across a dome of bright blue. The clouds flowed as if alive, forming shapes and strange patterns. It mimicked a real sky, if the real sky was a thousand different shades of blue, and clouds were made from the dust of glimmering stars. It was truly remarkable, and Gray wondered if he could ever look at the sky without feeling it somehow paled in comparison. Granted it was not as opulent as the entry hall, it was far more stunning in his eye.
With the gems, clouds, angular walls, and crystals, the vast chamber appeared cut and polished from a glorious mine, and then shaped by a master craftsman’s hand. Wayfarers’ Hall, Kirin said. He sounded unimpressed. As if there could be places grander than this. Gray snorted. He didn’t believe it.
In the center of the vast floor was a statue of a man. It towered ten men high, looming like a giant among giants. The man was clothed in elaborately carved robes that fell about his form gracefully. His face, wizened but not old, held wisdom, power, and truth. In one hand, the man held a scepter, in the other, a huge real flame burned brightly, cradled in the figure’s upturned palm. Who was this man?
A second figure knelt at the robed statue’s side. And Gray knew instantly who it was.
Seth.
The Ronin was carved immaculately. It was as if the legend had returned to life, grown a hundred feet in size and girth, then been frozen in stone forever, immortalized. Seth’s hard, angry face was just as Gray remembered it. It stared outward, as if seeing beyond the grand chamber, past the hall, to something no one else could see. In the man’s hands, of course, was the Ronin’s famed blade, carved to scale. One swing of that stone blade, Gray imagined, could have smashed Mura’s hut, leaving nothing in its place but splinters the size of toothpicks.
Yet most stunning were the sounds and colors.
On the far walls, hundreds of purple spheres opened and closed making a droning vwoom.
Over and over again it sounded. Soft individually, but together it created a humming chorus like a host of men in prayer, like those they had passed at the entrance to Farbs. Gray watched, stunned and fearful as men and women walked casually into the spheres, and then disappeared, each vwoom resonating through his limbs.
Transporters, Kirin said.
Suddenly, the teeming of voices and even the droning of Transporters was dulled as a ripple appeared in the crowd coming toward Gray, Zane, and Victasys.
The ripple spread, approaching.
Hundreds parted like fearful insects scattering, and at the center of the now hollow corridor was a woman. From far away, Gray took her in. She had raven hair
that flowed to her shoulders. With her head bent, he couldn’t make out her features aside from a heart shaped face and pale skin. Her robes were a pure white, but they were laced with gold filigree, and her cuffs and skirt that brushed the marble floor were trimmed in black. She bore no stripes of rank. In her hand she held a thick tome, her gaze absorbed in its pages. Abruptly, more men and women stepped nervously aside, revealing a horror that made Gray’s hairs stand on end.
A gangly beast crawled by her side, using a dozen, long, multi-jointed legs and arms. Those limbs moved too fast. They appeared neither bone nor flesh, like black knives ringing on the marble floor. From it, darkness emanated, shadows eating at the light. Yet there were white parts to the creature too: translucent horns, silver eyes, long fangs, and splotches of white hair. Gray didn’t know what to make of it, but he knew distinctly what its darker side was.
Darkwalker.
With the horror trailing at her side like a misshapen pet, the woman strode down the path created for her. She seemed oblivious to the others around her—or perhaps uncaring. Power hit Gray like a wave, crashing against him and stealing his breath. His knees quavered. The sensation was different than anything he’d ever felt. He was torn between grasping his neck and clutching his heart, feeling a heady mix of terror and awe. This woman was death and life all wrapped up in one, and he knew instantly.
An Arbiter.
And they stood straight in her path. Gray glanced around, realizing the truth of that statement. None stood near them. Not a single soul. He didn’t see Victasys. But the rest of the crowds had parted and now watched him and Zane in fear.
Gray’s mind raced. Where could they go? There was nowhere to go. If they ran back, the woman would only see that oddity and notice them even more, and if they jumped into the crowds? No, the crowds watched them like an anomaly. They would stick out like a fly swimming in fresh milk. Gray’s heart thumped faster, hands sweating as the woman’s steps glided closer.
Something droned nearby.
It distracted Gray, but he couldn’t move. He was rooted, his gaze fixed and limbs frozen. Somehow the woman was still not looking at them, but she was drawing nearer. The creature at her side still moved, a mass of flashing white and black limbs, scrambling along the marble. Gray felt as if each step of the Arbiter rattled the floor, shaking him, and spiking his dread.
Vwoom.
It hummed and pulled him from his fear.
Gray felt something well up inside him. The Transporter. At the same time, a white sphere appeared in his mind. He grabbed at it, and the mantle of fear and the awe-inspiring power that rooted him diminished.
A hand gripped his shoulder. “Come now!” Victasys breathed, pulling them as another Transporter opened a dozen paces away.
Gray looked away for a split second and saw the Arbiter was almost to them.
When he looked back, the purple sphere was nowhere to be seen. The Transporter was gone. No! He thought, dread rising, sweat flashing across his arms. In the corner of his vision, the Arbiter was nearly upon them. Victasys smacked the wall. To Gray’s surprise, a block of stone slid into the wall and a purple sphere appeared from thin air. The Devari shoved him and Zane in then dove headfirst after them, just as Gray saw the Arbiter’s gaze pan up.
The purple light coated him, taking his vision. He felt stuck in solid stone. Light and time distorted as he floated in nothing. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He hit something hard. His hands gripped a stone floor. Dazed, he looked around. Gray saw they were now in a strange wide hallway with a series of windows on one wall. Where… are we?
Victasys pulled Gray to his feet.
“Who was that woman?” Zane asked, brushing himself off.
“Arbiter Fera,” the Devari answered. “She is one to be feared and avoided like death.”
“I sensed that,” Zane grunted. “But what was that thing at her side?”
Gray shivered, remembering that horrible looking beast.
Victasys answered, “It’s an abomination. Arbiter Fera has been experimenting, breeding the magical creatures of this world. She considers herself an inventor of sorts, and all the Citadel fears her creations, especially that beast.”
“It seemed like she was looking for something,” Gray said, hoping to change the topic.
“You used your ki, didn’t you?” Victasys said. “It’s true. According to rumors, she is searching for orphan boys.” He dipped his head towards Zane. “It is part of why I saved his life.”
“And why Ezrah saved me as well. He pretended to be my father,” Zane explained.
Gray looked around. Outside the windows, he saw more green courtyards with soldiers and several Devari. Haystacks riddled with arrows and wooden dummies hugged the long wall. A training grounds, Kirin said. One of many. “Where are we?”
Victasys looked up and down the empty hall. “I don’t know.”
“What?” Zane asked. “How?”
“Like I said, I was trained here, but I’ve never lived long in the Citadel.”
“Then where are the Vaults at least?” Gray questioned.
“They are below us,” Victasys said, “but I do not know the way.”
Gray’s grip tightened on Morrowil. “Then what do we do?”
“We’ve only one option. We search,” Victasys replied.
“Aimlessly wandering? This place is far too large,” Gray said.
“Agreed—we’ve no time for that,” Zane growled.
Gray opened his mouth when a sudden image appeared. He tried to speak but images flashed in his mind, almost painfully. Hallways… Rooms… Turns… Everything sparked as he was seared with memories. His eyes snapped wide with a sharp breath. He realized the other two were looking at him. Ignoring their looks, he started forward. “The Vaults are this way. Follow me,” he ordered. And he didn’t have to look behind, or use his ki to feel their looks of incredulity and uncertainty.
Victasys silently joined him, matching his strides.
Zane fell in at his side as well. “And I thought we were the mad ones.”
Gray wanted to laugh but he merely nodded. “Me too. And if my previous self is correct, the path ahead is a treacherous one. In the end, perhaps we’re all mad. I just hope we’re not too late…”
Don’t die, Ezrah, he prayed. We’re coming for you.
A Rising War
THE TIDE OF WAR WAS RISING. Karil felt it in her bones.
Outside the tent’s window, the camps churned with commotion, an array of sounds and sights—the clang of swords on swords, the twang of bows, and ring of blacksmiths’ hammers.
They were in the green fields of Belegrun, just outside the Forest of Aenor. It was several days’ ride from Eldas, the location chosen purposively, like a mother keeping watch on its child—if the child was a Great Kingdom, taken and being held hostage by an evil known as Dryan.
She took a deep breath, looking back.
Four elves stood at attention. Each of them was a high-ranking member of the Lando, elf warriors—the small, brilliant pieces of her father’s crown shining upon their elfin chainmail. Their pointed ears stuck out through their long, silken hair. She felt a special affection for the Lando, and an undeniable debt, for they had saved her life, whisking her out of Eldas when her father was assassinated. They had believed in her when few had.
Looking at them, she still felt strange being a half-elf in charge of an Elvin army, but she did not allow herself to question it for long. Questioning led to uncertainty and uncertainty led to failure. And she could not fail. Not when the lives of her people were at stake.
“What would you have us do?” asked Tunmai, the highest-ranking of the Lando.
“Send out more messengers,” Karil commanded at last. “All the Great Kingdoms must know. Eldas will not be taken without a fight.”
“The same message?” the elf asked.
“No,” she answered. “This time tell them Eldas is under siege. Mention nothing of Dryan or his rebels.”
“And if they still do not respond as you hope?” Rydel asked from behind her.
“Then we press on,” she pronounced with the true strength of a queen—her father would have been proud. “We will siege Eldas with or without their aid and free our people, taking back what is rightfully ours.”
“At your command, my queen,” Tunmai said.
The other elves clasped fists to their hearts, moving out of the enormous command tent.
The tent was tall, with a peaked canvas roof. A dozen tables were scattered about, holding maps, markers, scrolls, and other signs of an impending war, and her bed sat at the far side, still made. Sisala had made it two days ago. Karil had not slept since. She was beginning to feel fatigued to her bones, but there was too much to be done and seen to. She would sleep soon, she promised her tired limbs as she rubbed her brow, but not yet.
Beside her throne sat a cup of tea that had gone cold and a stack of letters, most of which she’d already read. It was a dismal litany of bad news: raids on the Frizzian Coast by strange red-sailed mercenaries, upheaval in Menelas and Ester—rumors that the two mining cities were at one another’s throats over the discovery of a strange new metal, not to mention that bandits were moving in droves around Sevia, attacking merchant caravans upon the Aster Plains, and the Algasi were moving north, towards Vaster.
That last bit was troublesome enough on its own—for few knew the history of the Algasi and the city of Vaster, Great Kingdom of Sun. Few but the elves. It was almost enough to set her stomach churning as if she’d eaten a bad dumai root. But she hadn’t. In fact, she’d barely eaten anything at all. If Sisala found out—and somehow she always seemed to—the short, stern-faced elf would chide her with a firm tongue. At that thought, she expected the straight-backed servant to barge into the tent and force one of her noxious remedies down Karil’s throat, as if thinking of her would be enough to summon her, like the children’s stories of her youth.
At her side, Rydel made a sound, displeased.
“What is it?” she asked.