by Steven Drake
Darien put a hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples. “I do understand, but not completely. I don’t think there’s anything you can do to help me.”
“So why was I able to revive you the first time? Something has to be different, because you were getting better, and now you’re not. What’s changed? What’s different now that you’re awake?” Miri raised her voice and pressed hard. She was not about to let him give up so easily, not after putting so much work into his recovery.
“Well, I honestly don’t know. Perhaps because I’m using my magic, though I honestly haven’t done that much…”
“What days did you use the most magic?” Mirisa had paid close attention to the wound each day, and remembered the worst days. As Darien went over the days he expended the most power, when he broke the door to the old mage’s quarters, and the following day when he had made the new door, but those were two days when the darkness was weakest. The worst days had been more recent, but according to him, all he had done was remain in his quarters, reading.
Darien grew silent while Mirisa wracked her brain to come up with ideas. She recalled everything she knew about the strange wound, how it felt to heal, how it felt when it opposed her the most, and then something occurred to her. The wound always felt cold, malevolent, angry, despairing. It was worst on the days when Darien himself was in one of his foul moods.
“It’s you,” she finally said with wide eyes. “You’re making it worse, when you sit in here brooding. I think it’s feeding on your pain. Does that make any sense?”
Darien’s eyes opened wide for a moment, then he shut them tightly and Miri detected a slight shiver, though he didn’t appear to move. It felt like perhaps the light inside him was shivering, rather than his physical body. “Yes, actually, that makes perfect sense, believe it or not.” He sighed deeply and managed a weak smile. The darkness seemed to fade slightly. “Thank you for telling me this. You’ve given me much to consider. You may go.”
“Well, not yet. I mean, I haven’t…”
“Oh yes, of course.” Darien laid back down on the bed and shut his eyes. Miri knelt by the bed and lifted his shirt. The purple lines were creeping across his chest. It was bad today. She lowered her hands and concentrated, but before she could begin, Darien spoke. “I’m not sure if you’ve ever attempted this before, but physical contact can help the flow of energy, like when I held your hand, I was able to perceive the enchantment on your mind.” He sounded almost apologetic in his tone, but at least his mood had improved.
“I know. When you were asleep, I always did it that way, but well, you don’t seem to like being touched.”
“Hmm, well you’re right about that. Through years of training, I was taught to instinctively resist physical contact, but I was also taught to endure suffering, so I will endure.”
Miri couldn’t help but chuckle. The idea of someone having to endure physical contact seemed utterly absurd. What was the point of teaching something like that anyway? When she looked again, he was staring curiously. He had not meant to be humorous. “I’m just, well, I’m sorry I guess. It just seemed funny. Anyway, let’s begin.”
She lowered her hands onto the dark purple skin, and let the energy flow out of her. The contact did seem to help, but his skin was cold, far colder than it had been, and she could almost feel the darkness, wriggling, like a snake struggling in the talons of an eagle. Whatever it was, it was something unnatural, alien, definitely not a part of the man himself. That evil looking sword seemed to be related to it. Perhaps both of them were feeding off each other, killing him slowly from the inside out. There still had to be more to it, things he had not said. He knew more, much more. The question was how to wrangle the information out of him. Mirisa decided not to push for more. She had gotten some answers out of him at least, enough for today. She elected to remain patient, and get more later.
She spent perhaps an hour fighting the wound, longer than usual, pouring all her spirit into the effort. Her conversation had filled her with new determination. She had finally made some progress, and begun to learn more about the power she held. If it didn’t come from demons, she didn’t have to worry about using it, she didn’t have to hold anything back.
She kept fighting, far beyond the point she usually stopped, until she felt a sudden wave of weakness and nausea. Her vision blurred, her limbs gave way, and she swayed like a windblown reed. Suddenly her strength gave out and she fell to one side. She expected to hit the ground, but instead she felt two strong arms grip her about the shoulders and steady her. When her vision cleared, she saw Darien sitting upright on the bed with a look of profound concern on his face. She smiled. It had taken her nearly passing out, but she had gotten him to show some emotion.
Darien sighed and shook his head. “Silly girl. You pushed yourself too far. You should be more careful. Just as running a long distance tires your body, magic tires your spirit. It’s dangerous to overexert yourself, especially if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Miri bristled at being called a ‘girl’, and tried to object. “I know…” She yawned, and blinked the weariness away. “I know what I’m…ah, I’m doing.”
Then he laughed, just a bit, an amused chuckle. It felt good to hear him laugh for once. “Well, even so, I think I’ll escort you back to town. I don’t want your brother or your ogre to blame me if you pass out halfway back.”
“I’m fine.” She tried to stand, but the room spun, and her legs wobbled. She felt Darien’s arm around her shoulders again, guiding her through the narrow passage then outside.
The walk back to town blurred as she drifted in and out, never more than half conscious, completely dependent on Darien to keep her going. He stayed remarkably gentle, and stopped to give her rest several times. She thanked him several times, or at least tried to, but he said nothing.
At some point, she became aware of the blurred sights, sounds and smells of town around her. Darien handed her off to Kellan, who took her up in his strong arms, and cradled her about the shoulders and under the knees. She became dimly aware of Darien and Kellan speaking to one another about something. The big man then escorted her to bed, and laid her down gently. He gave her some hot tea, lifting the cup to her chin and pouring slowly. It tasted good, and when it was finished, she felt the warmth flowing through her. Then Kellan sat in a chair over by the wall, watching. She felt comfortable knowing that he was there, and slept most of the rest of the day.
Chapter 16: The Harvest Festival
As the weeks passed, Darien adjusted well enough to life in Exire. After years of roaming, and then being feared and avoided by the elves of Kadanar, it felt strange to actually be accepted, even treated relatively normally. Though some were wary of his power, most of the people accepted him easily. After all, Darien was not so out of place in a town of exiles, refugees, hunters, mercenaries, and former criminals.
He fell into a routine, sparring as he could during the day, mostly with Garok, as a way to pass the time. The ogre was a good match for Darien so long as he restrained his augmentation. The ogre possessed enough strength and quickness to at least let him sharpen his fundamentals. Kellan found several further uses for Darien’s unique talents. Darien didn’t object, as he felt he owed something of a debt to Kellan and the people of Exire. Using his earth magic, he helped the townspeople dig a second, deeper, and wider well for the town. He held the earth aside as the townspeople laid bricks around him, one layer at a time. It took several days. He also uprooted several trees to clear a farmer’s field outside of town, burned the ruined building with the empty cellar, and helped with several other minor tasks. The people often expressed their gratitude and their hope that he would stay in Exire. Darien knew he could not, mostly for their sake, but part of him wanted to. Having focused all his life on combat, infiltration, and assassination, Darien found these more mundane tasks refreshing. He understood how one could easily settle into the life of a simple village mage.
The short northern summer drif
ted by, and he grew stronger, though not quickly enough for his satisfaction. Mirisa visited each morning, to work her magic, and he became accustomed to her presence, even genuinely enjoying her company at times. She often teased him about one thing or another, and Darien quickly learned to exchange barbs with her quite easily. He did as much as he could to help with his condition, following her recommendations as much as he could stand, and tolerating the extended physical contact that allowed her healing to be more effective.
He also tried to be more open to Mirisa without revealing too much. He spoke as generally as possible, avoiding revealing any information that might reveal his true identity. Though Exire was isolated and remote, the Demon King was known even here, mostly as a rumor of distant fear. Though unlikely, it was not impossible someone could have heard of Darien the Executioner. Darien placated Miri’s curiosity by answering her questions about magic, and speaking openly of his companions, Tobin, Jerris, Niarie, and Rana. He avoided giving any details of places, times, and his quest, instead focusing on their personalities and his time spent with them.
Darien found after a few weeks that he actually even became accustomed to the physical contact of her healing powers. He often held her arm and tried to feel the currents of magic as she worked. The energy transferred was immense, far more than he had expected, far more like the brute force of elemental magic than the subtle currents of force harnessed in augmentation or the direct willpower used in domination. Oddly enough, it reminded him most of his own shadow voids, a paradox he could not explain. How so much energy could be transferred into a living person without damage remained a profound mystery, yet he learned enough to give Mirisa a few pointers.
Frustratingly, however, the wound did not heal. Though Miri would banish it in the morning, it always returned, sometimes slowly and other times quickly, but it required daily treatments. It seemed to get worse on those days when he tried to plan for his return journey. He often spent such days poring over the books he had found, brewing a few useful potions, or creating some enchanted items. He tried to stay busy with other tasks, but there was only so much to do, and he needed to prepare for his return. He became frustrated as autumn drew near and began to wonder if it would heal at all. He fought stray thoughts of wandering into the wilderness to quietly die, dispelling them with the knowledge that Miri could, and would, follow his power, and drag him back to Exire. She was far too stubborn, a quality that made her admirable and frustrating at the same time.
In spite of his continued determination not to take on another apprentice, Darien found himself teaching a great deal of magic to Mirisa. She pestered him constantly, and he found it difficult to refuse. After all, she literally kept him alive. He focused on teaching her the most basic concepts, and answering questions, the same way he had started teaching Jerris, though this tactic proved less successful with Miri. While Jerris had enjoyed listening to Darien’s sometimes tedious explanations of magical theory, Miri possessed a different sort of curiosity. Enthusiastic but impatient, she bored quickly and constantly pressed for practical demonstrations. Strangely, she enjoyed the destructive magics most. She watched with wide, eager eyes, as Darien set trees ablaze with balls of fire, broke them in half with gusts of wind, or shook the earth beneath them until they toppled over.
He taught her a few basic skills, conjuring fire, pulling water from the air, summoning currents of wind, just enough to keep her busy. She managed to manifest some talent with all the elements save earth, which he withheld for a time, as earth by its nature was far more difficult to control and dangerous to use. He had no doubt however that she would eventually possess the skill required.
She showed her greatest affinity for ice magic. Ice was an unusual affinity, and it was one of his own as well. Darien had to carefully temper his excitement at the possibility of training someone with affinities much like his own. In some ways, he could teach her more, and more quickly, than he had Jerris. She quickly mastered Darien’s trick of freezing a sheet of ice on the ground, and used it quite humorously on Garok more than once. She delighted in freezing small objects like plants and cups and then shattering them, something Darien vaguely recalled enjoying himself as a youth. She seemed to share his own enthusiasm for the primal thrill of destroying things in spectacular fashion. He thought that strange for someone who also showed such compassion for others and possessed the gift of healing, but her enthusiasm made her much easier to train.
As time passed, one other issue troubled Darien. Since his battle with the demon, he had not heard from Ezra. It might mean nothing. Ezra had disappeared for five years after their initial meeting. However, those years had been relatively unremarkable. The battle of Kilnar, the discovery that Nia was actually his sister, the fight with the demon, Traiz’s treachery, Rana’s death, all these events were important, and Ezra had always shown himself at times of need.
Darien began to grapple with the possibility that Ezra had abandoned him. After all, he had been dying in an empty wilderness. Ezra might have broken the enchantment of observation, thinking it no longer useful. That thought was troubling, as he had come to depend on the old man’s counsel. Even when vague, it had always been somehow comforting, and always helped him choose his course. Ezra seemed the most likely person to know why Mirisa seemed able to perceive the demonic energy surrounding himself and the Demon’s Blade.
Ezra was still missing when the chill north winds of autumn began to blow, and when the first snow fell a few days later. It was a meager snow, just enough to cover the ground, but Kellan marked the early snow as a portent of a hard winter, and immediately set the people of Exire to bring in the harvest, an activity that occupied the better part of two weeks. Darien aided as he could, and though his magic had limited uses for much of the process, it greatly shortened the task of burning off the harvested fields. His magically augmented strength on the other hand, proved useful in a number of ways. Kellan commented that it was like having another ogre. Darien wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or an insult.
Though he held no objection to the work, the reality that he would now have to spend several months in the town weighed heavily on him. He had lived many years in the Red Mountains region, nearly as far north as he guessed he was now, and he knew the problems associated with winter travel. At full strength, he would be able to travel in any weather, but only when necessary. In his weakened state, he did not dare take on such a difficult journey.
After the harvest ended, he retired to his quarters, mostly reading, resting, brewing potions, or enchanting new trinkets. The tedious, slow, and solitary work kept his mind busy while allowing him to rest. He reverted to much the same sort of life he had lived when he wandered the Red Mountains years before.
It was during these days, while rummaging through his old belongings, that he came across the vial of poison that he had collected from the arrow of Kalien the Scorpion, remarkably undamaged through several battles and a very long fall. He had intended to study it, but subsequent events had intervened, and he had forgotten about it entirely. Strangely, the poison had not affected Rana. Now it occurred to him that the poison was intended for him, and him alone. That arrow had clearly been aimed for him, and it would make sense to use the first shot, as the element of surprise gave it the greatest chance of actually hitting. Perhaps it was the same poison used by Traiz.
He set up Severin’s old and meager alchemical equipment to analyze the poison, taking great care not to allow it to touch his skin, as, for all he knew, the poison might react to even slight contact. His investigation uncovered nothing substantial, but only doubled the mystery. The strange poison did not react to any compound he could find or create, and it could not be dissolved or diluted, not with water or any other agent he tried, nor could anything else be mixed into it. Strangely, it could not be separated either. No matter how he tried to cut or divide it, it always cleaved back together, stubbornly unchanging, a blob of thin blue gray liquid.
This firmly established the
substance possessed magical properties, either inherently or as a result of an enchantment. He had seen such substances before, things used in the darkest magics used by the Demon King in the creation of chimeras, but why this substance exhibited such a quality was confusing. It seemed counterproductive in a substance intended as a poison, as someone had to absorb the full dose or none at all. Though it had to be magical, the substance had no aura that he could perceive, a disturbing contradiction.
He let the investigation drop, but he kept the poison in a small vial sitting on the alchemy table. Many times, he found himself staring at it, wondering what it was, how it was made, and where it came from. During one such interlude, just at that point where afternoon turns to evening, his speculation was interrupted by a knock at the door, a rare occurrence at that time of day. He opened the door and found a smiling Mirisa on the other side.
Garok stood a few yards behind with his arms crossed, a stone sentinel silhouetted against the setting sun, but with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. Garok was a puzzle Darien had yet to solve. It was curious that an ogre would so dutifully serve an elf, or any other non-ogre for that matter. The ogre divisions in the Demon King’s army had always had their own ogre commanders, as they were known to be stubborn, willful, and disobedient to those who they did not respect. They respected strength, fortitude, and endurance and few Shades ever won such respect. Darien wondered if Garok was under some sort of contract. He had asked once, after a sparring session, and rather than answer, Garok had thrown an unexpected punch that would have killed an ordinary man. It left a bruise that Miri had asked about the next day. Darien had not asked again. Now the ogre was smiling broadly. Just what was he so happy about?