The Shattered Shards

by Stephen J Wolf

  Soon, everything was black and Dariak knew nothing more.

  Chapter 35

  Gabrion’s New Quest

  Mira’s body lay motionless on the floor as all watched the last moments of her life drift away. The king, holding his only son, knelt slowly down to his queen’s side, tears streaming in hopeless agony. He touched her cheek gently, caressing her one last time before her carcass would be carted away. Everyone stood so silently, only their breathing could be heard. Time seemed still, threatening never to resume.

  The mages had finished their attempts to save her life, but they stepped back to give the king a wide berth. No one dared offer to hold the child, for the king clutched the boy to his chest in a locked embrace they feared they could not break. He would not release the infant and it would have been worthless to try.

  Gabrion’s eyes echoed his own immense pain. He barely knew who he was at that moment. He was no great warrior, no hero swooping in from the sagas to save his beloved. He was merely a killer. A useless murderer whose single-minded quest destroyed the one thing that, to him, had been worth living for. Yet there she lay, cold on the stone floor, gone. Irrevocably gone.

  He had felt such anger at her betrayal. Such rage that she would turn her back on their past life together. It made no sense to him that she could deny the attack on Savvron to Gabrion’s face, as if she truly believed that the fight had been staged.

  Perhaps it was, he considered for a moment. Perhaps it was all a falsehood. The people who had died that day hadn’t truly been killed, but maybe drugged and then escorted away. And perhaps Dariak, the one mage who had remained, son of the one man who had brought the last major incursion to its bitter end, had been planted. The entire quest could have been a farce to distract Gabrion from Mira so he would forget her and so she could accept her new life wholeheartedly with no thoughts of ages past.

  It was absurd, he knew, but how he wanted to believe that this too was a ruse. For, if all the killing in Savvron had not been real, then perhaps this moment was also false. Her shattered arm, her emptied corpse, her lifeless eyes; they were all part of an elaborate scheme to release Gabrion’s obligations, so that he would be free to live life on his own without some errand leading him on.

  His body shook in revulsion. How could he try to rationalize this moment? How could he even attempt in any way to ease his own suffering after killing her?

  And he knew he had indeed killed her. It hadn’t been her fault for striking him. He couldn’t even blame the jade. His anguish caused this destruction. At first he knew of only one recourse. He was clearly unsuited to this existence. His quest would have to end now, this very instant. Her death should have meaning in that the monster in his own heart would also be slain. He would free the land of his own evils, the kind that had decimated countless men and women in battle, the kind that ended the lives of free-roaming creatures in both Kallisor and Hathreneir, the kind that rose up in fury and channeled the jade’s power into such a terrible force that Mira’s mere touch destroyed her.

  He turned his gaze to the king, unaware of how long the monarch had been staring at him. Gabrion opened his mouth to speak but he couldn’t find any words. The king merely held his gaze and waited. The guards and mages tensed in anticipation of what would come after this grievous act, but those who had witnessed Gabrion’s invulnerability kept back in fear of what else this strange warrior would conjure about himself.

  He knew what he had to do. Gabrion reached into his pocket and everyone tensed with the motion. He withdrew the shard of jade and held it in his hand, staring at its striations for a time, turning it over and trying to remember anything about himself that wasn’t connected to death. He thought of the elder of Gerrish who had tried to guide him by offering a philosophy he could follow if he so chose. The three paths: Perseverance, Patience, and Pain. None could exist for long without the other two, the elder had said. Gabrion had been vastly patient, hoping and dreaming of Mira. He had been incessantly perseverant, meeting every trial head on with the will to survive so that he could save Mira. He had never expected that it would end with such pain.

  He held the shard out to the king. “Take it,” he croaked.

  The king already knew what the object was based on how it had protected the young man. He had no need to break his gaze. He held Gabrion’s eyes in thrall and hissed, “Why?”

  “Take it. I am not worthy of it. Take it and slay me. You won’t be able to do more than scratch me if you don’t take it.”

  The king’s eyes narrowed. “What would be the point of killing you now?”

  Gabrion glanced down at Mira’s body. “I deserve no less for what I have done.”

  “You certainly do not deserve an easy release from your pain either.” The king’s lip curled into a snarl. “You have come into my home and you have slain my wife and destroyed any hope our son had of a full and happy childhood. He will forever wonder about his mother and how she died. And I will have to either confess to him that I was weak and could not defend her, or I will have to lie to him and craft some wild tale. Either way, he will feel that I am not competent, for he will seek to challenge my power or he will discover my deceit and lose trust in me forever.”

  The king paused for only a moment to let the words burn into Gabrion. “No, you have not just killed this dear woman. You have ruined her son as well. He may rise up one day against the Kallisorian who infiltrated the castle and slew his mother. He may well become a tyrant like your own king and neglect reason and honor.”

  “Honor?” Gabrion croaked. “Where was your honor telling me you knew nothing of Mira when I arrived? When I asked about the prisoner from Savvron?”

  “Mira’s past had little relevance here and the name of your hometown was meaningless to me. Also, you asked for a prisoner, and as you may realize by now, she was no prisoner here.” His tone was biting but he did not raise his voice as he spoke.

  “It’s all too convenient,” Gabrion muttered. “No word from her. Her belief that the fight was staged. But none of it matters now.”

  “People choose to believe what suits them best,” the king pronounced sagaciously. “She could not bear to think of pain in her past, and why should I encourage her to? As for her letters, I already informed you that there was no preclusion on her sending them. I know not why you failed to receive anything she sent.”

  Gabrion stared at the king angrily. “You imply she never sent any.”

  “I imply no such thing,” the king returned.

  “You altered her somehow. Changed how she thought.”

  The king’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you killed her?”

  A surge of emotion overwhelmed Gabrion and all the pain fought its way to his face again. He wanted to end this moment and have no more moments afterward.

  “Ah,” the king said. “There it is again, young warrior. Your agony. Your furious, burning pain. That utter loathing of what you did. Yes, that is why I will not kill you. Doing so would be a petty revenge for me and my son and our land. But that self-detestation you feel—that is a more fitting punishment.”

  Gabrion shook his head, unable to think. He set the jade down on the ground and backed away from it. “No. I deserve death.”

  The king, still clutching his child, leaned forward and lifted the jade from the floor. He then stepped over and slapped Gabrion hard across the cheek, completing the strike Mira had intended to give. He then shoved the jade into one of Gabrion’s pockets. “Take that sting from Mira. Leave Hathreneir and never return. You have harmed us enough.”

  The king then addressed the rest of the people in attendance. “This warrior and those with him are to be escorted from the lands unharmed. If he provokes a fight, you are to flee, not engage him. Make no attempt to kill him. Let misery be his quest now.”

  He turned back to Gabrion, whose face was creased in utter dismay. “Leave this place, murderer. You have caused enough harm to my family. Begone.”

  Gabrion stood up slowly and w
avered. “What’s to stop me from finishing what I started by killing you as well?”

  The king met him eye to eye and challenged him. “Go right ahead.”

  But the king knew Gabrion’s anguish well enough. He had dealt with enough men in death and war to know the haunted look in Gabrion’s eyes. He would likely never kill again, even in self-defense. No, the king sensed a noble heart beneath the horror of what took place that day, and he knew that Gabrion would now suffer terrible inner tribulations that would keep him docile, unable to stand and strike down the men around him. In essence, by releasing him now, he was sending a strange sort of ally back into the world. Or, at least, someone who would harbor no more hostilities to his people.

  Gabrion’s shoulders sank with the weight of it all. He saw no escape other than the one made for him by the guards. He looked at the king one last time and focused his gaze for a fleeting moment on the infant in the king’s hands. The child had wailed so shrilly at first, but the strength in his father’s grip had calmed him, though the baby fussed as if it knew something was still amiss.

  Then Gabrion stared down at Mira’s mangled body and he traced the lines of her corpse, closing his eyes and burning the image into his mind so he would never forget. All his questing had done was shred apart anything that had mattered to him, and damn this king for forcing him to live and suffer the pain.

  But the king was right. He deserved to suffer. Death was too easy and Mira, befuddled though she must have been, deserved more.

  Gabrion turned at last to start to trek away from this place. The baby moved and let out a gurgling cry. It was just a normal baby sound. It meant nothing.

  But it haunted Gabrion.

  Chapter 36

  Ervinor’s Sacrifice

  The hours passed slowly as Ervinor waited for Gabrion to return. A messenger had come to inform him that there had been an interruption in the audience, and he bore one of the agreed-upon missives that meant Gabrion was safe. Ervinor’s edginess did not subside, however, and he bided his time checking on the others and returning to his signpost to watch the entrance.

  Then Morrish came running from the castle and chaos ensued.

  The rogue shouted at the top of his lungs, calling his comrades to arms. Ervinor rushed over to him for an explanation, looking over the man’s shoulder for Gabrion and Quereth; or worse, for the king’s soldiers.

  Morrish panted frantically. “Gabrion! He went back in! Guards and mages! We have to help him!”

  “Calm down and speak clearly,” Ervinor demanded in a voice that summoned years of experience that he didn’t possess.

  Morrish’s panicked eyes flickered for a moment and then he pulled himself together. “The king met with us, then he took other news while we waited. Then Gabrion… he went sort of mad. The girl he has been looking for. She’s here! She’s the queen! She wouldn’t listen to reason and we were going to leave, but then Gabrion decided to go back and talk to her. Fighting broke out everywhere. Quereth and I were running to escape but the mage turned back. I had to get here to warn you. Rally the forces! Gabrion needs us! Hurry!”

  Ervinor closed his eyes for a moment and strained his ears, hoping to hear anything in the distance that would validate Morrish’s story. There was nothing. He didn’t doubt Morrish, but if Gabrion had since quelled the fighting inside, then arriving with armed troops would not bode well.

  “Come on!” Morrish implored. He then turned and shouted to the courtyard. “Kallisor, march!”

  “Hold!” Ervinor interceded, angry now. “We can’t infiltrate the castle. We’ll be slaughtered.”

  “There’s no time!” Morrish then called to the rest. “Who’s with me? Charge!” And he drew his sword and ran back toward the castle.

  The men and woman looked at Ervinor and then at Morrish. The young leader shook his head, but some of the feistier Kallisorians took Morrish’s lead and charged inside. There was little Ervinor could do to stop them. He feared that this would be the end of their chance for a peaceful visitation. With a heavy heart, he lifted his sword over his head and then pointed it toward the castle.

  With a rushing cry, the hundred men and woman left their positions and made a mad dash forward. Ervinor ran as fast as he could, trying to catch Morrish and the few who had gone with him. They broke through the main gates without any resistance, for Morrish had taken care of the door guards upon his exit, and then they entered the main entryway.

  Several bodies already lay on the floor, including some oversized spider carcasses. The ceiling was dripping from some magical defenses that had been expelled. Ervinor directed the forces to split up along the smaller corridors to fight off additional guards, while the rest of them made their way forward into the throne room.

  The throne room, however, was loaded with warriors and mages alike. The entrance of the Kallisorian forces distracted them from whatever held their attention and they went into a battle stance at once. Mages threw protection spells around themselves and the warriors, and then they shifted into the rhythm of casting offensive spells. The oversized throne room played host to over twenty fighters from each side.

  Ervinor kept his sword moving at all times. He cut high toward one guardsman and then ducked low with a short spin to avoid another’s attack. He did his best to disable one guard while making his way toward the half dozen mages at the back of the room. If they could interrupt the mages, the rest of the fighting would be easier. It was the first battle tactic anyone ever learned.

  The ground in front of Ervinor grew sharp spikes and he sprang to the left to avoid them, crashing into a guard who was righting himself. Ervinor turned swiftly and cracked the man on the side of the head with his hilt, then pivoted, pressing onward. A quick glance showed him that most of his army members were also trying to reach the mages, though a few engaged the warriors out of necessity. It was good they had practiced these tactics.

  Soon the room was filled with various spell effects, including a freezing rain that stung the skin on contact. Ervinor didn’t care; he pushed onward, trying to get past the defenders so he could take down the spellcasters.

  A dagger cut into his arm and he spun around to deal with the assailant. She parried his attack and kicked at his kneecap, but he pounced back and avoided it. He brought his sword down into her shoulder but her armor deflected the blow, though it set her off balance. Ervinor then spun clockwise and crashed his sword into her midsection, cutting deeply and felling her instantly. He continued his spin until he faced the back of the room and lowered his head as he charged forward.

  Fire blasted at him from the side but the special armor reduced the impact so that it was only irritating. However, the mage seemed to know that his armor was shielded against magic, for the fire dart was followed by several more, each targeting the same location on the armor. Enough hits would surely break through the antimagic enchantment and then the fire would cause its intended damage. To protect himself, Ervinor had to turn his body as he ran so the darts would impact him in different locations, but it greatly reduced the effectiveness of his charge.

  Two guards intercepted him and he enacted a trick he learned from Kitalla, dropping down and cracking the fighters on their thighs, then leaping up and bashing them in their faces. Stunned, the fighters fell backward and Ervinor pressed onward, reaching one mage and throwing him down, where his head cracked on the marble floor and knocked him out.

  Ervinor disentangled himself quickly, rolling to the side to avoid an overhead sword strike. He kicked up a foot and connected with the attacker’s wrist, but it wasn’t strong enough to loosen the blade. Ervinor then pounced onto his feet and sprinted toward the next mage, jumping over a water trap and catching the mage by her shoulders. He punched her in the face until she stopped fighting back.

  He was weary but he kept pushing onward. His troops fought bravely but he could already see some casualties. Three other Hathren mages had been taken down, and the last mage responded by trying to summon a firestorm. Ervinor co
uldn’t reach the mage so he threw his sword with all his might. The blade cut into the mage’s protective barrier and interrupted the casting long enough for another warrior to get to the spellcaster.

  Weaponless, Ervinor had no way to defend himself from the fighter who leaped upon him, dagger swinging wildly. Ervinor grabbed the man’s arm, trying to deflect the blade, but he was outmatched. They wrestled, with Ervinor trying to push off the ground with one leg to roll over and disengage himself, while also keeping a firm grip on the ever-encroaching dagger arm. The blade came terrifyingly close to his jugular and he tried to wriggle aside from under the massive guard, but he couldn’t get away. The dagger came down, cutting into the side of Ervinor’s neck and erupting a fiery blast of pain and a thick wash of blood.

  Help came too late as the guard was attacked and pushed off of Ervinor. The young warrior heard a bandage hurriedly ripped and he felt it pressed against his neck, which only added to his agony. He then heard incoherent babbling, after which a strange warmth permeated his body. Moments later, the pain reduced and he was able to focus his eyes on old Quereth, who chanted frantically to quell the bleeding.

  The fighting was still going on and they were not safe. Ervinor saw a dark shadow approach from behind the mage and the shine of an ax flashed in the air before it came crashing down. Ervinor grabbed Quereth and shoved him aside, saving the mage’s life, but taking the attack himself instead. The blade struck deeply into his right shoulder, cutting through bone and sinew.

  Time slowed for Ervinor as he took a detached look at the result of the attack. His eyes turned toward an object on the floor beside him. He saw part of his own tunic and armor. It was roughly cut off and it— He looked again. Yes, it was covering something. Something that was twitching. And as he continued to look at it, he slowly came to realize that it was his arm. He didn’t understand—his arm shouldn’t be lying on the floor. He was vaguely aware of Quereth’s panic and increased summoning of the magical energies. But still, there on the floor was unmistakably his own arm, completely severed from his body.