by Joseph Lallo
“Listen. I'm willing to lend you a few of my troops, myself included, if it will bring us to Myranda, but how do you expect to catch up with her?” she asked.
“We can't. But we can get ahead of her. I know where she's going to go next. If they have been hiding the others as they had been hiding me, then there is only one such place that she hasn't visited. After that . . . well there is only one target that makes sense. Northern Capital,” Deacon said.
Caya considered his words.
“What do you say, my brave warriors? Do we help the wizard? Do we go to the capital? Do we take this war to the very doorstep of those who prolong it?” she asked.
The earth shook with the force of the reply.
“There you have it, wizard. You have the Undermine. For now you can fix up the men and women that need it, and warm yourself by the fire,” Caya said, snatching up a bottle and placing it in his hand as she grasped him tightly across the shoulders with the other arm. “And put a little fire in your belly as well! And when the sun rises, we begin the march!”
#
The cold night drew toward its end, the faint glow that the people of the north knew as a sunrise beginning to hint at the edge of the mountains to the east. Myranda slept sitting up, enfolded in Myn's front legs. Ivy was left undisturbed on the shore of the lake to sleep off her outburst. Out of dead sleep came a sharp gasp of air as the malthrope's eyes shot open and her claws dug into the ground. Her mind had done her the disservice of picking up precisely where it had left off, and it took a few moments for her to realize that she was no longer plunging through the sky toward the ground.
When her heart stopped racing and she'd caught her breath, she climbed dizzily to her feet. Her eyes scanned her surroundings. There was the lake. She'd seen it from the air, so they hadn't gone too far . . . though it did look different. Myn and Myranda were sleeping beside her. But there wasn't anyone else. Had they failed to rescue anyone? She shook more of the sleep from her head and looked again. There was food for her and a fire. She squinted her eyes at an indistinct form in the flames, the sight bringing a frown to her face.
“It was you we rescued,” she said sulkily.
Ether stepped from the flames once more and resumed her human form.
“Who would you have preferred?” the shape shifter asked.
“Pff. Anybody,” she said, crossing her arms and looking away.
“The antipathy is mutual, I assure you,” Ether replied, scooping up the raw remainder of the meal that had been set aside for Ivy. “However, the resurrection of that beast has dispelled any doubt, or hope for that matter, regarding the Great Convergence. She is the fifth, and we had indeed been united. As such we are, by dint of poor consideration on the part of fate, partners until the D'karon are defeated.”
Ether held out the food. Ivy eyed it suspiciously. Hunger got the better of her and she took it.
“So does this mean you aren't going to be mean anymore?” Ivy asked, mouth full.
“I will behave as I have. I will merely no longer anticipate your death with eagerness,” Ether said.
“How nice of you,” Ivy said flatly.
“It is the circumstances that have changed, not I,” she replied.
“The circumstances didn't change. Myranda told you that the . . . “ Ivy began, struggling to remember the appropriate word. “ . . . Convergence happened way back when Myn died. If you'd have listened to her, you could have been not hoping I die for all of that time.”
“Indeed. Her insight into the course of destiny has been somewhat more accurate than I would have expected,” Ether admitted.
“Yeah, because she trusts people. She believes in people,” Ivy jabbed.
“A practice that continues to confound me with its success. I, for instance, would have never allowed your little experiment in constructive cowardice,” Ether mused.
Ivy furrowed her brow and ran the words through her mind again. If it had been spoken by anyone else she would have asked what was meant by 'experiment in constructive cowardice,' but she would not give Ether the satisfaction.
“When I fell from the sky, you mean!” she spouted triumphantly after a moment.
“Indeed,” she replied.
“Oh, yeah, I guess that worked. I'm glad she let me do it, but . . . I don't think I'll do it again,” Ivy said with a shudder.
They were silent for a few moments. Ivy looked about once more, her eyes locking on the lake, considering it as she finished her meal. She remembered seeing it when she broke through the clouds. The terrifying proposition of falling to her death in its frozen waters had managed to cement the image in her mind. As she looked at it now from ground level, she could not shake the feeling that something was missing.
“Didn't there used to be an island, a little one, right in the middle of this lake?” she finally asked.
“Something resembling one. Myranda's rescue destroyed it,” Ether explained.
“Really? I . . . I think that means that every place we've been held in, we've wrecked!” Ivy said, a smattering of pride in her voice.
“If Myranda is to be believed, the arena was still standing when she left it,” the shape shifter corrected.
“That's true . . . close though. Maybe we can get another shot at that one later,” Ivy chirped cheerfully as she shifted energetically. “I'm excited. I want to go now! Deacon's next, or Lain! How long have they been asleep?”
“Long enough,” Ether decided. She told herself it was because she wanted to waste no more time. The fact that it was not until Lain's name was mentioned that she felt the urge to move forward was irrelevant.
The shape shifter marched up to the sleeping dragon.
“Awake, beast,” she stated in a voice powerful enough for it to seem like a command.
Myn's eyes hoisted open sleepily, focusing on Ether and narrowing into angry slits. Myranda stirred and managed to pull herself from the dragon's grip.
“She has a name, Ether,” Myranda reprimanded.
The wizard crawled out from under the dragon's craned neck and found her staff. The sky was brightening.
“We can't travel during the day, we will be seen,” Myranda said, stifling a yawn.
“Now that you are not limited to the ground, there is always cover to be had,” she said, gesturing toward the clouds.
“Well, Myn. Are you up to it?” Myranda asked.
The great beast sprang to her feet and unfurled her wings. No sooner had Myranda and Ivy climbed onto her back than she was in the air. A moment later and the windy form of Ether was beside them. Myn wheeled and pumped her wings, spiraling higher and higher in a less than subtle attempt to out fly her airy rival. As she did, Ivy held tight and closed her eyes tighter.
“I thought you liked to look at the ground,” Myranda remarked.
“I do. I like the way it looks from up close and I like the way it looks from far away. It's in between I don't like,” she explained shakily.
The trembling creature didn't open her eyes until she felt the familiar damp chill of the clouds. When they emerged above them, she thanked the gods that she had. The sky was a tapestry, beginning in the deepest of star speckled blues and progressing to violet and purple, to red, orange, rose, yellow and blue. The feathery tops of the clouds were fiery yellow and radiant gold. And the sun . . . It had never been so bright and glorious. The biting chill of the rushing wind was tempered by the warm rays that fell upon them unfiltered by the dismal blanket of clouds. Only Ether seemed immune to the wonder before them. She looked upon her fellow travelers with mild irritation, finally breaking them from their trance.
“Why, might I ask, have you chosen to head in this direction?” said the shape shifter.
“I hadn't made an attempt to locate Lain or Deacon yet. I shall do so immediately,” Myranda said, realizing her oversight.
“No need. He lies in that direction,” the windy form said with a gesture.
“How do you . . . “ Myranda began, stopping when she
realized the answer.
She could sense him already, without even putting her mind to it.
“They aren't hiding him anymore,” Myranda said, her voice edged with concern.
“That's bad?” Ivy remarked in confusion.
“It means that they want us to find him. It means he is the bait in a trap,” Myranda said solemnly.
“Oh . . . “ Ivy replied. “Well, what do we do then? Find Deacon? Try to get more help?”
“The other human is meaningless and there is no one who could hope to offer aid. Lain must be freed,” Ether decreed, bursting off toward her target.
With a word from Myranda, Myn was after the speeding form. It required a good deal more effort than before, but the dragon managed to keep pace with the determined shape shifter. The golden sun rose slowly into the sky, but the beauty of it all was lost to them now. Tense minds were focused about the task at hand. Myranda ran a thousand possibilities through her mind, trying to work out what sort of dangers she might expect. Ivy breathed deeply and steadily, trusting that the others would know what to do when the time came. Myn's mind was a razor, the whole of her being focused on summoning all of the speed she could. She knew that Lain lie ahead and nothing in the world would keep her from him. Ether's mind was a torrent of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Lain's soul smoldered ahead of her, weaker than it had ever been, and yet she'd never felt anything so intensely. She needed to free him. The purpose, the one guiding constant in the eternity of her existence, should have been the first thing on her mind. It was the last. In its place, she felt a symphony of emotions, most for the first time, and all focused on him. Fear of what may have been done to him. Hatred for those who had done it. Vengeance, desperation, desire . . . A chorus of discord, but all in agreement on one single thing. Lain must be freed.
#
In the capital, the king lowered his withered form into the throne, the crown heavy on his head. He looked to the portraits that lined the hall. Paintings of his predecessors. Each head wore the same crown. For some it had been a symbol of their leadership of the kingdom. That was long ago. The land was ruled by no king now. There had been no ceremony, no coronation, but nevertheless, the power had passed to the generals long before his own time. He turned to the heavy door to his right. Raised voices echoed from behind it. Names he'd heard spoken more and more frequently, and with more and more fury, were again ringing out. One name rang out above the rest. Myranda. The door burst open, the general called Demont rushing out. His superior, Bagu, called after him.
“I don't care about anything else. Keep the Chosen from the capital! I shall punish you for your idiocy later, just make sure that they find Lain, and that they do not leave, understood?! Pull back your men from the front. Bring every available nearman to the capital immediately! We are too close to victory. There can be no more mistakes! I don't care about missing papers. I don't care about stolen crystals. Nothing matters but the gateway! Once it is open all else will be an afterthought! Now go, you imbecile! Do as I say!” the General cried.
A smile came to the face of the king.
“Is something wrong, General? Feel as though things have slipped from your grasp? As though you've lost control? Perhaps you should seek my council. It is something I've had much experience coming to terms with,” the King said.
“Silence, old man,” Bagu hissed.
“I held my tongue while you controlled my kingdom thus far, because at least the land was protected, but I can keep silent no longer. I have heard you order Demont to pull back his men. What of mine?” the king challenged.
“They will fight and die as their fathers did. They will learn what this war would have been if not for the aid of the D'karon,” Bagu fumed. “It was not so long ago that this was what you'd sought.”
“I'd sought for our men to lay down their weapons, not lay down their lives. If you will not aid in the battle, then the battle must be ended. If you will not support my kingdom, then what use are you? Get me a messenger! No, get me a carriage! I shall deliver the proclamation of surrender myself!” the king demanded, leaping to his feet.
“I cannot allow that. The war is a necessary distraction,” replied the General.
“The war was your only purpose! I will not leave my kingdom in your hands! I will not forsake my people!” the King raged.
Bagu's fists tightened.
“Your majesty, I've something to show you. Something that might make things clear to you,” Bagu smoldered.
He disappeared into his office, emerging a moment later with a sand timer.
“Do you see this, my king?” he asked, holding the delicate glass apparatus to his face.
There was barely a sprinkle of sand left in the top bulb, and it slipped through, grain by grain.
“This is your world, your majesty. Those are the final moments of your people drifting away. When the last grain of sand falls, a gateway will open, and through it will flow my people. This world will be ours. Were I you, oh mighty king, I would busy myself with the task of proving why we shouldn't crush your people in their entirety. North, South, Tresson, Alliance. You will all fall before us, and there is nothing that can be done,” Bagu explained with grim steadiness. “You can kill me. You can kill the other generals. It won't matter. The end is here.”
Bagu placed the glass on the ground before the throne and stalked back into his sanctum. The king collapsed into the throne, his eyes fixed on the silvery sand that remained. He'd known throughout his life that he had no real power, that his whole purpose was to give his people some comfort and hope. In his years on the throne he'd heard many whispers, collected much information on these men that had ruled in place of the crown. He knew they were not human. He knew the men they commanded were little more than shells. Somehow, he had managed to convince himself that it was as it must be. That the way things were now was the best he could hope for, and that they would not change so long as he allowed the generals to continue. He had assumed that control of the Northern Alliance was all that they sought. Never had he imagined that through his inaction he had doomed his kingdom and all others. For a few moments his anger and resistance persisted, but the weight of hopelessness could only be heaved aside for so long. He hadn't the strength to resist, nor did his people. The D'karon had seen to that expertly. All that was left was to wait for the end, and pray it was a swift one.
#
The cold gray noon shined dimly down upon a small ragged group marching north. In the sky was the unmistakable look of a blizzard. Deacon looked nervously at his new allies. The night before, there had seemed to be quite a few more soldiers. Indeed, there had been, but with the rising sun most had scattered in all directions carrying messages to be passed on to the others, and in search of others bearing messages. What remained were perhaps a dozen of the sturdier troops, an assemblage of men slightly past their prime, boys who had yet to reach their prime, a pair of women, and Deacon himself.
“We usually traveled at night, when I was with the others. To avoid being seen,” Deacon explained anxiously as he watched riders on a road at the far end of the field pause to watch them pass.
“Too many of our own runners looking for us. If we hide, they won't find us,” Tus stated.
“Tus is right. What we need most right now is information. The Undermine is not the most sizable force, and it is spread very thin. We can't afford to waste the time of our messengers by staying out of sight if we want to be able to coordinate. Besides, you said yourself, the generals aren't paying attention to us. 'Bout time to change that, I'd say,” Caya said with a grin. “Let 'em know who they ought to be afraid of.”
The comment met with a roar of approval that startled Deacon. He looked to the sky. He couldn't see anything, but he could feel it. Ether. She'd never made an attempt to hide herself before, and she certainly hadn't started. Even the most novice wizard would feel her presence from days away in any direction, and those they faced were no novices. The others were more subdued, requiring a skilled
mind and a bit of luck to spot. He could not be sure, but they seemed to be traveling just slightly behind the shape shifter. It wouldn't be long until they'd reached the mountain in the distance, the place from which Lain's soul suddenly began to shine like a beacon just hours ago.
“Have you ever fought any of the generals? They are formidable,” Deacon reminded.
“As are we. We've got soldiers and a wizard. That makes us a match for anything that they can throw at us,” Caya said.
“Except more soldiers and more wizards,” Deacon corrected.
“What happened to your courage, man? Don't tell me you are afraid to die for this cause!” Caya said, slapping him on the back.
“I don't mind dying for a cause. I just don't want to die beforehand,” he said.
Deacon tried to calm himself. He was unaccustomed to fear. It had never occurred to him to be afraid of something before. Things were not to be feared, they were to be understood. We were to learn from them. Now anxiety burned in his chest. He was not fearful for himself, or even for Myranda. He was fearful for the world. In the time since his escape he'd felt a rhythm in the air. A barely detectable frequency at first, but as time passed it grew. Now it buzzed in his head, like the whole of the world was resonating with it. It was a power he couldn't identify, and it was massive.
The first flakes of the blizzard began to fall and the group shifted its path to a nearby town. A figure standing at the city gates disappeared inside and reappeared a moment later, on horseback. He galloped toward them, slowing only when, at a word from Caya, bows were drawn and angled at him. He sat silently and sized up the group before him as Caya returned his calculating stare. He was dressed oddly, in that the ubiquitous gray cloak that served as the national garment was conspicuously replaced with a long rider's coat accompanied by a scarf wrapped about his face. His horse was not a farm animal but a beast of rare breeding. Everything about him screamed wealth and privilege, save for the fact that he was in the middle of a field in a quickly mounting blizzard. His steed was weighed down with a number of cloth wrapped bundles.