The Shattered Shards

by Stephen J Wolf

  “It’s true,” Randler chimed in. “They were attacking anyone they didn’t personally know. Once Dariak and the mages used their spells, they were confused by it, but then assumed it was a ruse by our king, and they fought back all the harder.”

  Dariak continued, “Ordren, Hernior, and the others protected us while we held their mages at bay. We probably could have taken over their outpost completely, but it didn’t make sense to remain there, especially with the jades pounding as they were.”

  Randler pulled out the air and shadow jades. “They were starting to sound like a mix of drums and wind chimes, they were vibrating so much. Even I could tell something was awry.”

  “We traveled along the border, blazing new trails and taking rests as briefly as possible while maintaining our stamina. Then today we came to one outpost that was already empty except for a token guard and the captain himself. We interrogated him, but didn’t learn much more than that he had sent everyone here to slay you all.”

  “He almost did,” Kitalla offered. “If you hadn’t arrived, I don’t know that we could have finished the rest of them.”

  “The jades propelled us,” Dariak said. “I used the earth jade in the negative, reducing my weight instead of increasing it, and that allowed me to join Randler in a hearty sprint, as he was empowered by the air jade. The other mages used what spells they had to stay with us, and the fighters all ran with utmost speed. You must have already taken care of the first wave and the Hathren mages because they were starting to retreat when we arrived. We joined in to help you and I could tell everyone was confused. The rest of our fighters arrived a little after that. I wish we could have gotten here sooner.”

  “We are certainly grateful you got here at all,” Gabrion commented. “And the healing you’ve been doing. That’s helping so much already.”

  “The nature jade is assisting me right now, which is why I’ve been able to do so much during this little reunion. But tomorrow, the other mages will finish the job and get you both ready for the march into Hathreneir.”

  The prospect of leaving Savvron so soon tore at Gabrion’s conscience. He had just returned home, deeply wounded with battles on the horizon. Plus, there was the news of his mother’s death, and leaving his father’s side didn’t seem like the right thing to do so suddenly. He didn’t say any of it aloud, but the others seemed to understand.

  “If you’ve cleared out a number of troops along the border,” Kitalla was saying, “then now really is a perfect time to infiltrate your homeland, Dariak.”

  “It’s funny when you say it that way, but yes. We need to pass through and then seek out the castle and the mage towers. The remaining jades are there and we must claim them so I can find a way to assemble them into one.”

  Randler spoke up again. “There is also your father’s laboratory to explore. He may have some clue as to unifying the pieces.”

  “Mira,” Gabrion whispered, then raised his voice so the others could hear him properly. “My father believes she is held captive at the castle. If the captain who led your original attack here, Dariak, was of your king’s guard then it does make sense she might be there. She—she could still be there, waiting.”

  Kitalla looked pained, but she agreed with him. “She will be waiting. And you will free her from her bonds.” She then turned to Randler and Dariak. “I can’t speak for anyone else, but this evening was thoroughly exhausting for me. Might one of you help me to sleep, either with a lullaby or a sleeping draft?”

  Randler took the challenge and escorted Kitalla to Klerra’s house next door. She didn’t explain why they went there instead of remaining at Gabrion’s home and he didn’t ask as he settled nearby and sang of flowing green fields on a sweet spring day.

  Dariak and Gabrion were also tired, but they remained awake a while longer, until Terrsian returned at last from the forest. He greeted his son with a deep embrace, after which he fixed his gaze on Dariak.

  “It wasn’t so long ago that you were at our mercy,” Terrsian stated. “I am grateful that Gabrion listened to his heart and did what he believed in.”

  “As am I,” the mage couldn’t help but reply.

  “And here you return, not to burn our village to the ground, but to support us in our time of need. You’ve healed my son, who should have died tonight considering his injuries and the fervor with which he left my side to defend our town. Mage, I thank you. Dariak, you have a home here, if ever you need it.” And as he had done to Gabrion moments ago, Terrsian grabbed Dariak in gratitude.

  Flustered, Dariak said nothing, and turned a bright shade of red.

  Terrsian laughed then and clapped Dariak’s shoulder with a mighty hand. Within seconds, the mirth left his face and he sobered completely. “What are your plans for departure?”

  “We aren’t welcome to stay?” Dariak hedged.

  “I just offered you a place in my home,” Terrsian rebutted. “But it’s clear you do not intend to remain here. Not with the forces at your disposal and this quest you two are on.”

  “The four of us,” Dariak corrected, “but yes. The longer we remain, the more likely the borders will close completely and make crossing into Hathreneir practically impossible. Right now, there are gaps through which we can penetrate.”

  “Then sleep tonight. Make your preparations. Venture out when you must.”

  “Father…” Gabrion started.

  “I trust you, my son. Your success is in your hands and I believe your hands are truly capable ones, especially with the friends you have at your side.” He stared deeply into Gabrion’s eyes as if trying to confirm his thoughts, then he nodded. “I will say this again, so that you do not ever forget. Along your journey, son, never forget who you are.”

  Chapter 13

  Into Hathreneir

  A day of recuperation and strategizing didn’t feel like enough, but if the group didn’t hurry, the Hathrens could fortify the border and their opportunity for a quick entrance into the neighboring kingdom would be lost. Quereth, Lica, and Frast, along with the other mages they had brought with them, completely healed the wounds Kitalla and Gabrion had sustained. They also offered their services to the badly wounded villagers, though there wasn’t enough time to heal all their injuries.

  The king’s soldiers who had joined the fight worked with the citizens to lay the dead to rest. It was a way of paying homage to their own comrades who were fighting on the frontlines further north, but it also brought the community together as a unit.

  “I will remain here,” Hernior decided that day, sharing the news late into the evening meeting with Dariak and the others. “A handful of my men will ensure that this town is secure from retaliation.”

  Gabrion gaped. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  “We will miss your support,” Dariak confessed, “but at least we won’t have to worry about this place when we go.”

  “It was my hope to ease that worry,” he said. “But also, I need a place to be now. I cannot spend the rest of my days scouring the countryside. I may send for my children to join me.”

  Terrsian clapped him on the shoulder. “Your family is welcome here.”

  “Along those lines,” Ordren cut in, “we may need to send a group to keep the northern outpost out of enemy hands. If we can establish a firm hold, the Hathrens will no longer be a threat in the vicinity.”

  Kitalla shook her head. “We can’t disband and thin ourselves out at this point. We have more to do first.”

  “She has a point,” added Poltor, her one-time mentor. They had spent a portion of their day catching up on their time apart, and the lure of new adventures in Hathreneir enticed the master thief.

  “We are over a hundred strong,” Ordren argued. “Sending even ten wouldn’t weaken us. Besides, won’t you need a way back in to Kallisor?”

  “Not if Dariak is successful, no,” Kitalla retorted.

  Randler released a troubled sigh. “What if there are complications and we do need to still come
back? I think it wise to err on the side of forethought and preparedness.”

  Quereth grunted. “We will spare two mages to join the fighters securing the line. That should give the Hathrens pause if they attempt to reclaim the outpost.”

  “Quereth, you’re not leaving, too?” Dariak asked, his eyes widening.

  The older man laughed. “And miss a visit to the famed mage towers of Hathreneir? I would not miss such an opportunity. But there are some among us who are reluctant to leave Kallisor and they would be perfect candidates for the post.”

  When Ordren’s gaze flickered away from the group, Dariak realized the impetus for the man’s suggestion. “Very well,” the mage surrendered. “It would be good to keep the door open, so to speak. I will leave you to the details, then.”

  The group slept fitfully that night, but they were on the move soon after dawn. The townspeople themselves had awoken early and prepared a veritable farewell feast, after which the village of Savvron returned to quieter times.

  The start of the journey began solemnly and with purpose. They had decided to head north toward the outpost in order to fully secure it before the western journey into the opening desert of Hathreneir, for if the Hathrens had received support from another outpost further along, then a small band might not have been able to claim it. When they approached, however, they found it abandoned completely. They made a cursory search of the area to ensure that traps hadn’t been set and left, but the place was ready for the reserve troop to take up residence and fortify the area. The remaining eighty or so fighters, mages, and rogues took to the road and stormed off.

  Randler noted the grim, uncertain glances from some of them and decided it was best to unite everyone and to give them a bit of hope. He didn’t have a lute with him, so he settled for tapping on his waterskin, and soon the men and women mimicked the beat.

  No one knows the future of the place we mean to go.

  And thus we travel onward, so carefully and slow.

  No warriors will stop us. No mages have their spells.

  No creatures there can harm us, wherever they may dwell.

  And so we travel onward, through the night and day.

  Nothing there can interfere as we head on our way.

  Our swords are ready, sharp and strong, to decimate our foe.

  They simply cannot stop us once we’ve chosen where to go.

  The power in our hearts is a beacon through the night.

  For we will find the strength to succeed in every fight.

  And so we travel onward, through the night and day.

  Nothing there can interfere as we head on our way.

  Light the fires, send the word, that we are coming through.

  I swear you cannot stop us; there is nothing you can do.

  United, we are strong with a purpose grand of mind.

  A stronger mesh of army you will never ever find.

  And so we travel onward, through the night and day.

  Nothing there can interfere as we head on our way.

  The song caught on and others in the troop created their own verses and sang them loud and strong as they pushed their way across the plain and approached the beige horizon that shimmered to the west. Dariak couldn’t help grinning and stepping to the beat of the song, but as he did so he kept his wary eyes open for the border guardians, whose whereabouts were elusive.

  Because the mages in Hathreneir were encouraged to practice their craft, they were able to make use of a wide variety of spells. It was a lure for an aspiring mage to enter the land and seek out a mentor willing to offer training. The unworthy, however, could be overpowered by the magic they tried so eagerly to control. A broken mage had a strange connection to the energies and could rarely control them again, thus they could never truly venture into Kallisor without being hunted by mage-haters. Yet they were also shunned by the Hathrens for being too eager, arrogant, and weak. Their means of survival were limited. They could scrounge for scraps around the lands, hoping for sympathy; they could surrender their bodies to study within the mage towers; but the majority opted—or were coerced—to join the order of border guardians.

  The guardians themselves were often solitary, and how they reacted to visitors was individual. Some welcomed passersby, eager for bits of news and gossip. Others fought off anyone who looked ready to approach. Others still encouraged people to pass across the border, only to then give chase and kill them when they weren’t expecting it. Their duty, however, was the same; keep people from passing. There were exceptions, of course, for Hathrens were generally allowed to freely cross their border in either direction, and those with proper writs usually made it through unscathed. A very few were able to sneak across undetected, but those were rare.

  As the group approached the sandy border, a hobbled old man crawled into view. One of the swordsmen pointed and laughed, but Dariak called an immediate halt. It was too late, though, for the man heard the laughter.

  Trembling, the old man rose up on his spindly legs and fire swirled around his belly. The guardian stamped his feet and the ground nearby rumbled ominously, threatening them as they faced his wrath. “You laugh? You laugh? You laugh at poor Arricon?” crooned the old man, the fire growing brighter and spreading to cover him completely.

  “We mean no harm,” Dariak called out regally. “I am Dariak, son of Delminor, and I seek to reenter my homeland.”

  “Not alone! Not alone! You are not, not, not alone!” The guardian bounced up and the fire blasted outward in all directions. The entire troop ducked low to avoid the ring of flames, except for Dariak who allowed them to crash into him. “Oh!” said the old man.

  “Please, allow us entry. We mean no harm to this land, good guardian.”

  The old man crouched back down to hands and knees and rocked from side to side. “Oh, what to do, what to do, I wonder?” he mumbled. “Surely I cannot let them all go.”

  Poltor stepped over and whispered in Dariak’s ear, “What’s the delay? Dispatch him and move along.”

  “Dispatch! Dispatch!” the old man cried. From his position it seemed impossible for him to have heard, but his expression grew from wary to angry. He rose up again on his feet and brought his feeble arms out to the sides, lifting sand from the ground as he did so.

  Dariak frowned. He had hoped to avoid an actual confrontation, but the man was incensed and the energies whipped frantically, filling the air with a strange tingling sensation.

  “What is this?” Kitalla asked.

  “Wild magic,” Dariak answered. The sand hovering in the air between the man’s arms and the ground suddenly changed. Some particles turned to fire, while others splattered as sludge. The fiery pieces flew out at random and more sand was brought up from below and likewise altered before being cast about. Dariak waited patiently, sensing that this was only for show, despite the sting of the fire.

  “Dispatch!” the old man cried, swinging his arms and pushing them forward. The majority of the troop dodged down again to avoid the next wave of attack, but the ice darts that left the guardian flew backwards instead, impacting the sand safely the other way.

  “Look out!” Dariak called, pointing to the ice darts. Where they struck the sand, odd creatures rose up and stalked forward. They looked like giant scorpions, complete with claws and tails; however, Arricon’s magic gave these sandorpions the ability to leap powerfully through the air, and the poor beasts didn’t seem to have any control over it. Two of them pounced overhead, but Dariak had to let the fighters tend to them, as the guardian was moving oddly again.

  The old man had knelt down, his knees and hands sunk into the sand, his eyes wide and unfocused, and his mouth hanging agape. Swinging side to side again, fire swirled up and spun in a growing whirlwind, bolstered by more sand. It wasn’t a particularly large firestorm, but Dariak could sense that it was powerful.

  The mage stepped forward as a few more of the ensorcelled sandorpions leaped about. He knelt beside the guardian and mimicked the man’s posture, p
ressing his hands into the soil on the Kallisorian side. “Border guardian of Hathreneir, I beg your forgiveness and seek entrance into the great and noble land. I bow to your graciousness and your power. Admit us through, for only you can see us safely to the other side.”

  The fiery whirlwind sputtered and vanished. “Well, that is true,” the old man cackled. “Why, without me, you couldn’t possibly go through, could you? Could you?”

  “We could not. Of course we could not. So I pray you let us pass.”

  The old man pulled his hands from the ground and stood up, gesturing for Dariak to do the same. They stared at each other for a few long moments, while the sounds of fighting continued behind the mage. Apparently the sandorpions were giving them a hard time, but he knew that if he turned to assist them, then they wouldn’t be able to pass this way. Not after failing the guardian’s initial challenge, anyway, if it could be called that.

  Then at last the old man started laughing. The sound echoed strangely in the air. The sun overhead darkened into a bloody crimson color, casting a strange ubiquitous glow. As he continued his laughing, the old man’s jaw widened and then he fell again to his hands and knees. Laughing. Ever laughing. The sound soon became irritating and louder, until everyone covered their ears with their hands. The guardian’s mouth opened wider and wider, and as it did, so too did the cackling increase, until the air shook as if it was full of thunder.

  Dariak stood as firmly as possible under the circumstances, but the ground shook and shifted underfoot. Gusts of air kicked up as well and Dariak realized that the border guardian was now permitting their entry. Staying focused on the guardian despite the peril to his comrades must have pleased the wild mage after all.

  “Hurry!” He stepped forward along the sliding sand with the wind propelling him from behind.