By Ways Unseen

by Daniel Dydek

  Haydren shrugged. “I think so I could end up here,” he said. “Talking to you.”

  “Why?”

  “To tell you that you don’t have to finish whatever you’ve started,” Haydren replied. “You can walk away right now, start doing something else – rebuild what you can, give restitution as you can.”

  “I don’t think Quaran or Jyunta will let me do that; I don’t think you will actually let me do that,” Westin said, gazing first at Sarah, then Haydren.

  “But you don’t have to go forward with what you’re doing,” Haydren said, his voice edging on pleading. “You can stop. You have the choice.”

  “Perhaps I can,” Westin said, swirling his feet in the stream. He shrugged. “But I just don’t want to.”

  He muttered something, and a wall of flame exploded between the two of them and the bridge. Haydren leapt to his feet; the flames continued to race, encircling them in a broad ring. Without having to touch it, Haydren knew there would be a pillow of air containing the flames. He turned back to Westin; the boy rose slowly, becoming Lasserain as he stood.

  “Welcome, Haydren,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. “Do you like my little trick?” the mage asked, gesturing to the wall of flames with a smile. “I quite like it, personally. Fire has always been tricky to tame, even as a magic. Of course, the Keste did quite well with your sword,” he continued, looking at scabbarded Aerithion hungrily. “I would so enjoy getting to know your sword.”

  “I think most would be happy for me to acquaint you with its edge, for all the damage you’ve caused.”

  “The damage I have caused?” Lasserain said with a laugh. “You should have died twelve years ago, but you refused, didn’t you? And what have you done since?” He paced slowly to his right, and Haydren followed with his gaze. “There is not a step you have taken that is unmarred by the blood of my armies.” He held up a fist and began counting on slender fingers, his voice rising with each extended digit. “You killed my bandits; you slew the Cerberus that has defended my home for centuries; you destroyed Paolound almost as an afterthought, who took me weeks to revive; you forced me to burn down my own village, which I had sustained for twenty years; and you made me waste untold energy destroying Jyunta as retribution.” He stopped and waggled his hand. “I’ve run out of fingers! And we haven’t even gotten to the destruction of the Forest, and the Earl who was like a right hand to me.”

  “I didn’t ask for any of that,” Haydren said. “You stood them in my way, when I only wanted to escape Guntsen. You began it twenty years ago; I responded to your choices.”

  “Oh, but you’ve made some of your own,” Lasserain said, shaking a finger at him. “Because you’re here, now, instead of on your way to Rinc Na or somewhere you belong. By your actions now, you asked for all of it and more.”

  “I did not ask for my mother and father to be killed,” Haydren said quietly. “Nor did I ask for your Cerberus or your dragon to attack me and my companions; and if Haschina meant that much to you, you would have saved it instead of destroying Jyunta. But it means nothing to you anymore.”

  “Stop!” Lasserain shouted, thrusting a finger at Haydren. Suddenly, the air around Haydren’s body grew thick, and he found himself only able to move his head. “‘Nothing’? Haschina was everything! It was mine, but Melnor couldn’t stand having a corner of the world that he could not control. He sent the soldiers that slaughtered my people, and that after they had already subdued me. They could perhaps not be as responsible if I had only been hiding; but I was helpless as the soldiers went through my village, burning and killing. They made me watch, and I could do nothing!” Lasserain’s eyes blazed, and his voice echoed in the confines of the fire as a rushing wind ripped through the trees. Lasserain drew a breath, and the winds calmed; his voice, as he continued, lowered to a mournful pitch. “If you want stories of power and destruction, Haydren, read the histories of the Triumvirate; rife with power grabs and manipulation – as they manipulate you now to fight me. Is that justice? Pure justice?”

  Haydren blinked a few times, his head throbbing from the echoes. “It wasn’t your mother and sister, was it?” he said. “Because you kept forgetting to mention your brother again.”

  Lasserain gazed at him, but said nothing.

  “It was your wife and daughter.”

  “Your attention is wandering, Haydren,” Lasserain said, but he made no move.

  “Did they do more than kill them?”

  Lasserain drew a breath. “Yes,” he said.

  “Between you, your bandits, and your soldiers, you’ve done far, far more than kill my parents,” Haydren said. “But you will not see death by my blade.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you need to know you can do the same.”

  Lasserain looked at him intently. “Can I?” he mused. “Let’s see what your friends think of the idea.” He looked toward the wall of flames, where on the other side Haydren’s companions remained. He gestured with his fingers; Haydren heard exclamations of surprise; first Geoffrey, then Sarah floated over the wall and came to rest facing Haydren.

  “Welcome,” Lasserain said to them. “I am the mage, Lasserain, who has destroyed Quaran and Jyunta, and sent bandits and beasts all across Burieng. Haydren came here to fight me, yet now claims he does not want to.”

  “Release me and I’ll fight you!” Sarah seethed, struggling against her air-formed bonds.

  Lasserain laughed. “No, it will not do for me to die by a woman’s hand,” he said. “Nor by one who is short an arm; no, only Haydren is worthy to fight me. But for some reason, he will not.”

  “Haydren, what is the matter with you?” Sarah demanded.

  “You haven’t heard what has happened to him,” Haydren replied. “You don’t know what he needs.”

  “What he needs is someone to stop him from killing more people,” Sarah said.

  “See?” Lasserain asked. “Why can’t you be more like them? But she’s right; so let’s make this more immediate.” He drew his sword as he stood behind Haydren’s friends, and tapped each in turn on the head with the flat of the blade. “Which one will it be?” he asked. “Sarah? Geoffrey? Or will you fight me?”

  “Very well,” Haydren said with a sigh. “If it means that, I will.”

  Instantly, Haydren was free from his bonds. He stood and drew his sword, cursing himself for summoning Aerithion in his fight with Guntsen; he could sense it was too soon now to call upon its flames.

  Lasserain stepped forward, his sword cutting through the air with the sound of a mother’s switch – an airy hiss that terminated in an explosion of clanging metal. The force of the blow sent Haydren reeling backward, and he tripped and landed heavily on his back. He scrambled to his feet as Lasserain marched toward him; another powerful swing sent Haydren stumbling. He turned, slashing at the mage; Lasserain parried the blow and dealt Haydren another strike that sent him crashing back into a tree.

  “Oh, Haydren,” Lasserain said mildly, approaching no longer and only gazing at Haydren with his head canted a little. “Have you completely forgotten everything you’ve learned in the past year? I had truly hoped our fight would go a little better than this.”

  Haydren flexed his muscles, keeping his sword before him, and was silent.

  “How many creatures have you fought, hmm?” Lasserain asked, his sword held low by his side. “I counted off a few of them just a moment ago; but there were many more, I believe. Did all those victories teach you nothing? Did Sir Cullins teach you nothing? Have you forgotten EVERYTHING?!”

  His sword came up swiftly; Haydren parried it right, stepping behind Lasserain’s and turning his wrist to bring the sword across the mage’s back. Lasserain, for being off-balance, managed somehow to evade it, and laughed.

  “Finally!” he exulted, turning blazing eyes upon his quarry. “That was actually a good move – well executed! But clearly still not good enough. I have a plan, would you like to hear it?” His finger flicked, and
Haydren was again wrapped with invisible cords. He paced a little to the left, his sword dangling from his grip. “I’ll give you a refresher,” he said, his eyes downward as if in thought. “I’ll let you fight every creature across Burieng that you have already fought, just to make sure you’re really ready to fight me; okay?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Haydren asked.

  Lasserain stopped and pivoted toward him, his eyes glimmering. “Now,” he replied, holding up a finger. “Now I think you are beginning to understand.”

  The mage disappeared, and so did Haydren’s cords. Free, Haydren glanced around him, and briefly considered going back to his companions. But a rustling of the undergrowth caught his attention, and his sword came up reflexively.

  Glip? chirped a small voice. Haydren flexed his fingers as a gremlin crept out from the ferns, glistening eyes observing him.

  Haydren stood erect, and his sword drooped. “I never fought a gremlin, Lasserain,” he said wearily. “Pladt did. If you’re going to do this, get the facts right.”

  The gremlin paused, also straightening as it looked at him. A tiny blue tongue stuck out of its mouth at him before it turned and went back into the underbrush.

  In an instant, a wolf bounded toward him, jaws snapping. Haydren brought his sword up just in time to avoid the sickly teeth, but did no harm to the wolf. It turned, circling him a little; but now he was ready, and as it leapt Aerithion snapped downward: just before it would have been cleft in two the wolf disappeared and a fly pelted Haydren in the nose and slid buzzing into his eye. Haydren backed away, swatting at it, and managed to catch it; but before he could squeeze he had a kobold’s left arm clenched in his fist – but the right arm waved free and was bringing a spear to bear.

  With a shout Haydren leapt backward, his sword coming up in a wavering arc. The kobold launched his spear; Haydren managed to deflect it from his heart, but the sharp stone tip tore through the flesh of his upper arm.

  Haydren grunted, his knuckles going white for a moment before he advanced on the now-weaponless kobold. It hissed at him, balling hands into fists; two steps before he was within reach with his sword it leapt, wiry muscles propelling it with surprising speed. Haydren dipped his sword-tip to try to spear it, but was too slow; the sword fell along its neck, instead, but did not cut; bony fingers grasped as Haydren tried to duck out of the way. It had him by the shirt, drawing him close; Haydren reversed his grip, punching out with the dragon’s-wing cross-guard and pulping the kobold’s nose and jaws. It snarled, but its grip weakened; Haydren dragged the blade downward, but before it could cut too deep into the flesh the kobold disappeared and a chipmunk scurried away.

  Haydren gasped air, glancing down at the cut on his arm: it was bleeding, but not too badly. He wondered if he had time to bind it, until he heard a great snuffling and roaring.

  From around a great tree a Moorish goblin stomped, arms wide and swinging. It dropped briefly to its knuckles as it glared at Haydren.

  He wondered again about the cut on his arm, and if the poison secretions of the goblin were real, or as much a figment as the rest of the goblin. Its eyes observed him, then dropped to his wound, and the goblin seemed to smile. Haydren swallowed; it probably would be real, somehow.

  It leapt, arms wide to bear-hug him. He ducked out of the way: even if he managed to stick it in mid-flight, its weight might carry forward and he still might get poison on him. It seemed to know that as it turned and leapt again, as if it cared not for his sword.

  With a grunt, Haydren again leapt to the side. He caught his balance, and took two more steps to his left as nonchalantly as he could. It might not have mattered; the goblin caught himself, turned, and leapt again almost instantly.

  This time, when Haydren ducked aside, the goblin went head-first into the tree Haydren had positioned himself in front of. It shook its head, a little dazed, but somehow managed to duck aside and avoid Haydren’s thrust. It turned on him, backing away a bit with one hand on its head and a look of wrathful appreciation in its eyes. Haydren wondered briefly how much of Lasserain was in there: he seemed constrained, still, to each creatures’ ability for speech and movement.

  One final shake and it was advancing again, this time more slowly. Haydren adopted a different stance – one he had not trained as much with, but it kept his injured arm to the rear. If Lasserain the goblin could tell he was less practiced, he/it did not show it.

  A taloned hand shot out; Haydren twisted his arm, parrying easily. Another swipe; he did not like how intently the goblin watched his reactions. He advanced this time – two quick thrusts, then he kicked out to try to put the goblin off-balance.

  But Lasserain did have the musculature of the goblin, and grabbed Haydren’s boot and threw him to the ground. Haydren rolled swiftly, clenching his teeth as his arm struck the ground two and three and four times as he rolled away. When he made to stand, the goblin stepped on his sword, trying to pin it to the ground; with a mighty twist and heave, Haydren pulled it free: the skin on the underside of the foot was not, somehow, as tough as the top side and the goblin howled as mucus-like blood stained the ground. It limped away a few steps as Haydren advanced ruthlessly, then disappeared just as Haydren’s sword-point pricked its flesh.

  “See?” Lasserain’s voice came from nowhere – strained, it seemed to Haydren. “You’re remembering, and you’re getting better. We’ve still got one or two left to go, though,” he crooned. “Remember?”

  Haydren froze, and swallowed. The pain in his arm was subsiding, and though the skin pulled tight when he flexed it, it did not seem to hinder his movement. But the thing Lasserain appeared as next would test him much, much further than a goblin or kobold. He glanced down at his sword: no light flickered in the Cretal flames. He took another deep breath, and waited.

  When the Cerberus appeared, it did not move swiftly as the other creatures had – Lasserain probably knew he didn’t have to. Haydren watched closely, but there was no limp evident as the massive creature stepped fully out from the underbrush to face him. He must have healed himself, Haydren thought with a grim set to his jaw; must be nice.

  The Cerberus’ lips curled as the eyes began to glow and swirl. Haydren reversed the grip on his sword, preparing to shield his eyes.

  Attack!

  The voice startled him to the point he almost didn’t listen; it had been weeks since he’d last heard it, it seemed. But as soon as the shock passed, he lunged forward, bringing down Aerithion with both hands.

  The Cerberus screamed as its left-most head came free, backing away and shaking the other heads as though assaulted by a thousand hornets. Haydren pursued, Aerithion singing; the Cerberus dodged sideways, roared, and clubbed Haydren with its center head. Teeth snapped as he stumbled, taking a chunk of his right triceps.

  With a gasp, he dropped Aerithion, barely managing to catch it with his left hand as he hurried away from the beast; it still seemed preoccupied with accepting two-headedness. Haydren flexed his fingers, but nearly all the strength was gone from his last two fingers; he could not hope to bear his sword with only three working fingers. Still no flames flickered between the Bultum. Why was it not responding to Lasserain now?

  Well, he was left-handed for the rest of this fight, and probably unable to sever another head; he swung his sword a few times: he didn’t need to kill the Cerberus as he had before, did he? Perhaps just enough damage…

  The beast was panting, heads held low; was it trying to entice him forward? Abruptly the tongues went back in their mouths, and the panting stopped. Two heads raised swiftly to stare at Haydren with teeth bared and snarling. This time it moved swiftly, its legs propelling it toward him with incredible speed. He managed to step sideways, twisting the point of his sword just so as the Cerberus passed and drilling a long, trailing piece of flesh from the stump of its left head. Another quick flip, and though it did not cut deep a red gash appeared on its hindquarters.

  It was unbalanced, accustomed to running and pivoting with the wei
ght of all three heads. Lasserain nearly fell as he rounded on Haydren again, his faces pulled tight in pain and fury. This time when he lunged he made Haydren go right, where his outboard head remained. Seeing he wouldn’t dodge in time, Haydren turned the flat of his blade; Lasserain struck it, knocking Haydren backward, but low enough that he landed on his feet. He swept his right foot back and planted it, bringing Aerithion around in a cracking windmill; his aim was true enough, and the right-most head was rendered as useless as if it weren’t there.

  This time as Lasserain backed away, Haydren pursued violently, knowing this could mean his life. Aerithion darted forward, now bringing the pain to the image of the hornets. Amid snarls, snaps, and barks, the Cerberus finally disappeared, and after a few moments Haydren could hear Lasserain coughing and groaning.

  Not that Haydren was in much better shape; if Paolound emerged, Haydren would die. If only Aerithion—!

  And suddenly, it did; a red glow danced along the flames, and the sword fairly vibrated in Haydren’s grasp. He gazed at it for a few moments, not so lost in thought that he missed Lasserain’s sudden silence: the mage was healed again, and a dragon was sure to soon emerge. Did he simply use the destructive magic, as he had before? Would it remain in the sword until he used it, or could Paolound/Lasserain avoid him until it dissipated? Or he could heal himself; but there was no guarantee he would win without magic.

  Haydren pursed his lips, and blinked. It might be interesting to see what it did…

  The words barely left his mind when the dancing flames became a diffuse glow across the surface of the Cretal. He glanced at his right arm, eyes widening as muscle rebuilt and skin wove itself back over the wound; the laceration on his left arm sealed, the cut pinking and then quickly fading to normal flesh-color.

  But it did not stop there; weariness left him; his breathing slowed; he felt as if he had just finished a bath in a cold stream and had let the sun dry him. As he gazed toward where he knew Lasserain would soon emerge, even his mind hardened; there was no despair, no worry, barely a thought to distract him from his purpose. Aerithion became comfortable again in his grip, and he waited patiently – almost joyfully – for the opportunity to finish what Lasserain, in his pride, propelled him toward.