by T. H. Lain
"And I'm dying," Regdar said aloud.
"Yes," the wizard hissed, his voice even more than his words conveying perfect, pure confidence in that truth. "You are dying, Regdar."
The lord constable closed his eyes. In that moment, in the time it took for Vargussel to say those last words, Regdar wondered if it was true. Had he failed?
His patrol had been chopped out from under him to a man. Naull was not just dead but irretrievably so. Had he failed the duke, failed the city, failed the duchy, failed Maelani, failed Naull, and failed himself? The wizard was going to kill him. The next spell, whatever it was, would be enough. The wizard would kill him and be free to make up any story he wanted. He would convince the duke, through guile or spell, that it was Regdar who killed all those people. Vargussel would have Maelani, he would be duke, and ultimately, it would be Regdar who condemned all of Koratia to that fate.
"I don't think so," he said.
Regdar felt his left arm jerk, and instinctively he took a tighter grip on his sword. He opened his eyes and saw that it wasn't his sword he was holding.
Vargussel was trying to pull the rod from his hand.
Regdar coughed, then champed his teeth down. His body shook. He looked up at the wizard's triumphant, gloating, hateful grin, and a fire swept through his body.
Hate.
It was hate that warmed him, hate that made him look Vargussel in the eyes, hate that strengthened his grip, moved his arm, and thrust the platinum rod into the wizard's gut.
Regdar tensed every muscle in his body, drove his very blood forward. He let that hate, that pure contempt, flow from him and into the rod. He let his hate power the death ray.
Vargussel couldn't believe it.
He couldn't believe that Regdar could do it.
He couldn't believe that after all his sacrifices, it came to this.
He couldn't believe he was feeling the same thing the others had.
This is it, he thought. This is what it feels like?
There was a blinding flash of light that illuminated the rain and smoke around them so that Vargussel felt as if he had burst into flame. He heard a dull boom, like something heavy but soft hitting the ground after a long fall. Was that his soul?
Is that my soul falling? he wondered.
The wizard froze, no longer able to feel the rod pressing into his abdomen. It was as if a great, invisible hand had reached up from the ground, grabbed him, and was squeezing him from all directions. His breath was forced from his lungs, and he knew that he'd never draw another one. His flesh quivered and stretched over ribs that snapped under the force of his own constricting muscles. Vargussel felt every bone in his body snapping. He felt every agonizing, burning break, one at a time.
With lungs devoid of air, he couldn't speak, but his mind threw out a desperate call the same way he would send his thoughts, his commands, and his hatred into the shield guardian.
Master...help me!
Everything was dark and cold, and Vargussel was alone. He felt nothing but there was a whisper, as faint as the footsteps of a fly:
You have failed me, as you have failed Vecna.
Vargussel wanted to beg, wanted to say anything, argue...anything, but he couldn't.
He will be waiting for you, whispered his dark master, in Hell.
Epilogue...Maelani hoped she wouldn't have to attend another state funeral for a long time. Too many had been held of late, and Naull's was the saddest of all. Maelani took her turn at the casket and apologized to the young woman's still, lifeless face, but she knew that would never be enough.
Power had brought on all those funerals; not just the power to kill but the lust for power over others. She had always believed, as the daughter of a duke, that she understood power, but she had come to know that she never really had.
There were two men in her life whose example she thought she followed but had in fact ignored. Her father was comfortable in his power over the duchy because he understood the responsibility he bore to his subjects and to himself. Regdar, who never pursued power and who only reluctantly accepted the title of Lord Constable of New Koratia, had set that aside even before the woman he loved was buried. He had visited the depths of emotion and used the hate that he found there to save them all, but he also surrendered that power at the first opportunity.
Standing at the western gate, surrounded by a ring of elite guardsmen and a crowd of curious commoners behind them, Maelani took what she knew could be her last look at Regdar. The warrior was somber and serious, his face drawn and tight at the same time. His eyes were red but Maelani never saw him shed a tear. As a thousand souls watched in silence, Regdar checked the saddle of the warhorse given him by the duke and took a last stock of his supplies.
The duke approached him, and Regdar turned.
"You didn't fail, Regdar," the duke said, loudly enough so all could hear. "Leaders lose men."
Regdar nodded and said, "I never wanted to be a leader."
"I accept this only as a leave of absence," the duke said. "Return, when you can, and you will be Lord Constable again."
Regdar nodded, and Maelani's breath caught. She could see by his face that that would never be. He had resigned the post, refused the title, and he would never take it up again. He had lost men, like her father had, but Regdar had lost more. He also lost Naull, and Maelani imagined she could see a piece of him missing. When he walked it was as if he was both heavier and yet, somehow, less connected to the ground, less connected to anything—lost.
Regdar looked at her, and Maelani tried to hold his gaze but had to look away. Tears filled her vision but before that, she could see in his face that he didn't blame her. Maelani had a lot to regret and a lot to repair, but Regdar didn't blame her. She also saw that this man who she thought she loved...she didn't know what that word meant, and she was beginning to understand that she wouldn't until she found a love like Regdar had. And then, only if she was lucky.
Regdar mounted the horse and took the reins, turning the great beast to face her father again.
"Your Highness," Regdar said, "I take my leave of you, with your permission."
The duke nodded and said, "As reluctant as I am to do so, I grant you your leave."
Regdar nodded but hesitated, looking out through the open gate to the setting sun beyond.
"Where will you go?" the duke asked.
Regdar looked at him and shrugged. With a smile sadder than anything Maelani had ever seen, he said, "West, with the night."
Her father said nothing, and Regdar turned his horse away. When he passed through the gate and was clear of the mighty walls of New Koratia, Regdar spurred the horse to a gallop.
Maelani didn't watch him go. She couldn't. Instead, she drew a vial from her purse, a vial for which she had paid a pretty sum. It was the love potion she so foolishly planned to slip to Regdar. The sight of the witch's brew, much less the thought of it, disgusted her. The sickening potion was what she possessed. Regdar's heart was what Naull had owned.
Maelani opened the vial and poured the contents onto the gravel at her feet.
The duke stepped next to her and asked, "What is that?"
Maelani had to take a second to gather herself before she could answer, "Nothing." And that was true.