by S. C. Stokes
When the last noble filed out of the room the Empress slumped into her throne. “You are the sorcerer that fought with Khashish at the Everpeak?” she asked.
“Indeed I am.”
“What brings you to Andara now? The war is over—it has been for many moons. Why trouble us now?”
“Why trouble you now? Do you have any idea the suffering and grief you have caused? The Dwarves are still burying their dead. Tharadin, High King of the Dwarves, was slain. I trouble you now to find the reason for this madness.
“You know little of me, empress, but you should know I am from Valaar. It has not been long since we had a power-hungry tyrant of our own to contend with. Together our people thwarted his attempt to usurp our freedom and he died by my brother’s hand. If I find you to be of similar ilk, and deem you still pose a threat to this land . . . you will die by mine.”
“You would kill me in cold blood?” the empress asked quietly.
“If I find you to pose a threat to the lives of other innocents, yes,” Syrion replied impassively. “I will end your life to save others in a heartbeat.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, it wasn’t my idea. I didn’t want to go to war any more than I wanted my parents to be slaughtered. It was thrust upon me—I had no choice.” The empress sighed in resignation.
“Please explain.”
“It’s a long story,” she replied.
“I have all the time in the world.”
“As you wish. Not long ago I was the Empress Infanta, an only child. While the inevitability of ruling Andara had been impressed upon me as a child, it is not something I expected to occur anytime soon. My parents were yet young. My Father Aelor should have ruled for decades yet. All of that changed when the Elkhan dried up.”
“The Elkhan?” Syrion asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“The river to our north. It is the lifeblood of Sevalorn. It flows out of the Frozen Peaks and gives life to all of the nations in Sevalorn’s northern lands. We depend on it for survival. When its waters all but ceased, our land suffered a terrible drought. Our farmers’ crops failed and our people began to suffer. My parents did what they could, but the populace was starving. The people allied themselves with some disaffected soldiers and together they rose up against my parents and killed them.
“If it weren’t for the actions of my bodyguard Mavolo, I would have perished also,” she continued. “Fortunately, he held them at bay until soldiers loyal to my parents were able to regain control of the palace. With my parents death I became Empress Yaneera far sooner than I had imagined, and did so in the heat of a crisis that had already cost my parents their lives.
“I did the only thing I could. I repossessed the food stores belonging to the nobles and used them to feed my people while I tried to negotiate with my neighbors. They spurned my offers and further inhibited the Elkhan to ensure that my people continued to suffer, knowing that in due course, when the river ceased completely, we would be set upon from the north by the beasts known as the Kairon.
“My diplomatic attempts to reverse their course of action failed. Backed into a corner with nowhere to go, and unwilling to watch my people starve to death in the street, I sent a raiding party to destroy my neighbors’ dam. I hoped it would allow what little water remained in the Elkhan to resume its normal course. But my ploy failed and I found myself at war with Vitaem.
“It was in these desperate circumstances that the first Disciple, Jonas, appeared. He possessed great power and brought with him rain. With his assistance we were spared from starvation. Unfortunately, that salvation came at a price. The god Mythos that these disciples worship, he isn’t the tolerant kind. The disciples forced us to forsake the Allfather and worship Mythos if we wished to receive his continued aid. It was discipleship or death.” She shifted on her throne and Syrion looked down in contemplation of all she was sharing.
“Once we were dependent on the disciples for our lives, I had little choice but to follow Jonas’s instruction. He made it abundantly clear that another could easily take my place, so I continued to follow him. I am ashamed to admit it, but I followed the Disciple to save myself and my people. I could not protect them if I was dead. I followed not as a blind sheep, but with caution, looking for a means to free my people.
“When Jonas began to raise an army, I tried to object, but by then there were more disciples and they were traveling to my neighbors. Again we were told that if we did not serve, others would take our place—and so we did, albeit reluctantly.
“So the disciples raised their army. Some of our neighbors likewise accepted the disciples’ entreaty and joined us. Others like the Dwarves resisted. They slew the Disciple that entered their lands. Jonas was furious and insisted they be destroyed—there was no reasoning with him.
“So we marched on the Everpeak. Jonas intended to erase the Dwarves from existence. You can believe whatever you wish, Syrion, but you only saw the conclusion of the matter. Our forces were overwhelming the Dwarven position, but when the last of the disciples perished, we retreated. I did not want to be there—I did not want to destroy another people to save my own. We left of our own accord.
“Now I am left to pick up the pieces of a war I did not wish for, all the while attempting to drag my people out of the poverty that was caused by waging it. So judge for yourself, Syrion. Am I the threat you so greatly fear? If so, kill me, but do it knowing that anyone else would have made the same choice in my place. I fight for the survival of my people, nothing more.” The empress concluded with a nod of finality.
Syrion let the words sink in. It was not what he had expected. His experience with Gerwold at King’s Court had colored his expectations of the empress. In his mind he had supposed the disciples were a tool of the Empress, not vice versa. To learn that she had been compelled to act against her own wishes changed a great deal.
Her recounting also spoke volumes for the disciples of Mythos. They were even more dangerous than Syrion had supposed. The empress’s explanation showed the ingenuity of their plan. Left unchecked they would have had all of Sevalorn in their sway within a year of their arrival.
“So . . .” the young empress prodded, drawing Syrion back to the present. “What do you plan to do with me?”
“You are not what I expected,” Syrion replied earnestly. “If what you have said is true, I will do nothing to you. If I find out you have lied to me, you will not fare well.”
“It is the truth, Syrion,” the empress replied. “If you speak with the other ruling houses of Sevalorn you will find the disciples treated them in the same manner. If you do not trust my word, trust theirs. I just had less choice in the matter—my people were already dying.”
“The Shah was likewise compelled by the Disciple Talan,” Syrion answered. “He sought my aid to deal with that Disciple and to secure his people’s freedom.”
“And how did he do that?” the empress asked. “How exactly did you come to serve the Shah?”
Syrion laughed openly. “I do not serve the Shah, your majesty. The Shah sent a petition to the King of Valaar. At the King’s request I traveled here to aid the Shah, and to prevent Mythos gaining a foothold on this world.”
“Kings don’t request—they command,” Yaneera challenged. “—unless the brother you mentioned earlier is Tristan Listar, first of the new Kings in Valaar.”
This time it was Syrion’s turn to be taken aback.
Yaneera smiled at having knocked the sorcerer off balance.
“Ah, you didn’t think word of your new King had made it to Andara,” Yaneera goaded. “It has. The details were sparse but fortunately you are not my first guest hailing from Valaar in recent days. The others told me a great deal of your island Kingdom and its new King, and spoke of you and your exploits in the battle for King’s Court.
“I should have realized sooner that the hero they spoke of and the sorcerer that devastated us at the Everpeak were one and the same,” she added while fixing him with her gaze. “When they w
ere speaking I thought their stories were strange and overly familiar, not the sort of wives’ fables that form from repeated retellings. It wasn’t until now that I realized who they are.”
“Who, who is?” he asked.
“My guests . . . “ Yaneera answered. “They are your parents. Seeing you now, I see the resemblance is unmistakable.”
“Im-impossible,” Syrion stuttered.
“Improbable, perhaps. A patrol found them wandering by the Forests of the Diadri. Fearing they were spies from a rival Kingdom, they brought them here. When I learned they were from Valaar I insisted they stay as my guests.”
Syrion shook his head in disbelief. “You said ‘them’?” Syrion asked hesitantly. “There were two of them?”
“Indeed—Marcus and Elaina.” Yaneera replied, a little taken aback by the sorceror’s confusion.
“Fetch them at once!” Syrion demanded.
“Of course. They are not prisoners here, Syrion. They are my guests.” Gesturing to a guard, she commanded, “Fetch our guests from Valaar. There is someone here who would like to see them.”
The guard rushed out of the room and the empress continued: “I hope you will take my treatment of them as further evidence of my character.”
Syrion simply nodded. His world had turned upside down. His mother had succeeded!
My father is alive, Syrion thought to himself. The notion sent excitement coursing through his being. After all these years he would meet the man who had brought him into the world and then sacrificed everything to ensure he would be raised safely. The gift of magic was not common in Valaar, so it had been necessary for Syrion to be raised by his mother in seclusion, away from the scrutiny and superstition of the common folk.
The doors to the throne room swung open and Syrion recognized his mother instantly. She had the sleek dark hair and the same steely gray eyes that she had passed along to her sons. Responsible for Syrion’s Astarii heritage, she didn’t look a day over thirty, though in truth she was well over four hundred years old. Like all Astarii so empowered by the Allfather, she would live until fate conspired to send her involuntarily into the life beyond.
Syrion rushed over and threw his arms around her. “Mother!” he exclaimed, relieved to see her alive. For weeks he had feared the worst. Tears sprang to his eyes as he embraced her.
“Syrion . . .” was all that escaped her lips as she was crushed by the embrace. After a few moments Elaina took her son by the shoulders and eased him away. “Syrion. This is your father, Marcus.”
Syrion turned to face the man before him and knew it was true. The same unmistakeably strong jaw line that both Tristan and he had been born with. “Father!” Syrion shouted, throwing his arms around the man he had never met. Separated from him at birth, Syrion had often longed to meet his father, but fate had conspired against them. To be afforded the chance to meet now was more than his heart could take and he wept openly.
Holding his son gently, Marcus fought back tears of his own. “Your mother has told me so much about you, son. You have become the man I always knew you would be. I am so proud of you.” Syrion simply stood there, his head pressed into his father’s shoulder.
When he had composed himself Syrion turned back to the empress, who was sitting quietly, observing the exchange before her. In a tone far different from his earlier address, he spoke: “For this kindness and in light of what you have shared with me, I will not trouble you further. Your people need you and this land needs stability. I would advise you to stay clear of the Dwarves. Compelled or not, you will not be forgiven easily--with Tharadin’s death their grudge is fixed in stone.”
“I would expect no less,” Yaneera replied. “I am sure the three of you have a great deal to speak about. Court is finished for today, and you may have the use of this room, should you wish it. If you require anything else, make it known to the guards and if it is within our power we will grant it. In the meantime, if you’ll excuse me I have other matters I must attend to.” The empress rose from the throne and swept out of the hall, her guards falling in behind her, leaving the Listars alone save for a single guard at the chamber’s entrance.
Chapter 7
When the door closed Syrion motioned to the chairs in the throne room’s gallery. “Can we sit? Much has transpired while you have been away.”
Elaina and Marcus helped to draw three of the chairs into a small circle. “I am sure it has; we have much to share with you as well, Son,” said Elaina. “A great deal has changed since we last spoke—changes that will affect our family, this world, and all of Creation.”
“Tell me everything,” Syrion urged. “But first, why would you come here to Andara? If they knew who you were before today, they might have killed you, or at least tried to. I do not delight in the bloodshed, but in the battle for the Everpeak I was responsible for the death of thousands of their countrymen. They have forsaken oaths, allegiances and the Allfather—you took a terrible risk coming here.”
“I know, Syrion. Believe me, I wish we had another choice, but when we left the Forests of the Diadri we struck out west along the Elkhan’s bank. With the Kairon force in tatters we thought it safest to travel in their lands to avoid detection. I thought we would find a boat and travel west to Vitaem, where we planned to find out what had transpired and seek you out. If we could not find you we would continue on to Tres Cidea, travel south to Khashish and make ourselves known to the Shah. From there we could return home to Valaar along with the slaves who have been freed under his agreement with your brother.”
“Why did you change your mind?” Syrion asked.
“Because the Plains of the Kairon were not as uninhabited as I had hoped,” Elaina replied.
“That makes no sense,” Syrion replied. “They sustained heavy losses at the Everpeak.”
“It wasn’t the Kairon, Syrion,” said Marcus. “There are others there—a race of beings we have never encountered before.”
“What were they like? Did they travel here through a portal like the disciples did?” Syrion asked.
“They are strange, Syrion,” said Elaina. “At a distance they may look human, but they are not. They are slender and graceful with finer features than a humans. At first I thought they must have ventured here through a portal but it seems they did not.”
“How do you know? Did you speak with them?” Syrion asked, his curiosity piqued.
“We didn’t dare. When we saw them, they were raising a city. Not building it, mind you, raising it. We watched as the buildings themselves grew out of the earth. Before our very eyes towers, walls, an entire fortress rose up out of the ground. Homes followed, creating a city. Whoever these beings are, they can command the elements as well as any Astarii, if not more so. There was only your father and I, and they are many. The power required to carry out magic on such a scale is unthinkable.
“But that is not all. Thinking them visitors to our world, I went among them as the wind. I listened in on their councils and conversations. They call themselves the Glaciadal and they did not come to Meldinar from another world, not recently anyway. Everything I heard indicates that they lived north of the Frozen Peaks and have since migrated south to take possession of the plains.”
Syrion shook his head in confusion. “If they came from beyond the mountains, wouldn’t you have known them from the time you spent serving as Guardian?” he asked. As an Astarii, Elaina had been tasked with protecting and watching over the world, ensuring it was preserved from harm and that the Allfather’s interests were protected. In the centuries she had served as Guardian she had come to know the lands and people of Meldinar as no other. For such a race to exist beyond her watchful gaze was a confusing prospect.
“Indeed I should, for I watched over those mountains also. No land was beyond my gaze. It appears these Glaciadal possess the means to hide themselves from me, and from what I could glean they have done so for far longer than I have been alive.”
“Why would they venture south now?” Syrion ask
ed. “Why are they not still in hiding?”
“We don’t know,” Marcus replied. “We discussed the local political possibilities that I am familiar with, and the otherworldly ones your mother knows, but we found no answers. There is much we do not know.”
“Then we must find out,” Syrion declared. “If these Glaciadal pose a threat, we must learn all we can of them.”
“Temper your curiosity Syrion,” soothed his mother. “They are dangerous. Do not forget the Fire Elemental you faced at King’s Court—your impetuosity almost got you killed, along with Althea. These beings are not to be trifled with.”
“All the same, we must learn more,” Syrion answered.
Marcus held up a hand. “There is more you should know, Syrion. The Glaciadal are why we are here in Andara, but you should hear what transpired at the Soul Forge. It is a greater cause for alarm than are the Glaciadal.”
“What happened at the forge? Clearly you succeeded in winning the Soul Smith’s favor . . .”
“Indeed I did, but it came at a cost.”
“Cost? I don’t understand. What could such a being possibly want?”
“Life. The cost was a life. Your father’s life for his. The Soul Smith stands as the gatekeeper between this life and the next. I did not know that the Soul Smith isn’t merely an individual but an office many beings have held since the dawn of time. The current smith sought his freedom from the forge, and I did not know who he was until it was too late,” Elaina said, her voice growing quieter until it was almost a whisper.
“I don’t understand,” Syrion replied. “Why would the Soul Smith wish to be free? “
“Because before he was the Soul Smith, Syrion, he was . . . a god . . .the God. He is Apollos.”
“Apollos is dead,” the young man asserted. “You told us his sons killed him and took control of his dominion.”
“No,” Elaina answered. “He is not. I spoke with him myself. There is no mistaking it. Never before in my life have I spoken to someone who made me feel so much like a child. For all that I have learned in four centuries of living, next to him I was infantile and ignorant. This was the being who, by his will, drew the heavens together and subdued the stars. All worshiped before the throne of Apollos. He filled the void left by the disappearance of the old gods. By the power of the knowledge he possessed he rose up and became one of them—a god—and I . . . I released him from his prison.”