The Aether of Night

by Brandon Sanderson

  The men around him were fairing much worse. They perked up when they saw Raeth, and that was what kept him going—the hope he saw in men’s eyes. But they were tired, and there weren’t many of them. Teams that had started as a dozen men were reduced to just three or four, many without even a High Aedin. The battlefield was littered with bodies—human and animal. That plan, at least, appeared to have worked. Many of the wounded human forms were still moaning, but there was no time to pause. There were more Forgotten to fight. There were always more.

  However, the worst sign was not on the ground. It was in the sky. The sun was growing close to the horizon. I waited too long to begin fighting, Raeth thought. When the darkness approaches, they’ll begin to heal. Then we have lost.

  If they hadn’t already. Darro barely moved any more. He would droop, leaning against his hammer for long periods, before standing to heave a silent blow at some random Forgotten. Then he would slump down again. Raeth had difficulty keeping them away from him, but fortunately the creatures seemed to realize Darro wasn’t much of threat, and they focused their attention on more dangerous foes. Like Raeth.

  He had gathered quite a team over the last few hours—a good twenty men fought with him, all remnants of groups that had lost their High Aedin. They fought quietly, without strength to yell, or even grunt.

  It’s over, Raeth thought. With one last heave of strength Raeth yelled and threw himself forward, blasting through a Forgotten. He stumbled forward, looking for another opponent, intending to strike them down until he fell unconscious from fatigue.

  But, strangely, he didn’t see any dark figures before him. Raeth blinked, clearing his sweat-blurred vision, finally comprehending what he was seeing. Nothing but flat plains. He spun. Fighting on one side of him, fighting on the other, but a long hollow corridor down the middle.

  “We’ve broken through!” he said with amazement. “The Forgotten lines are collapsing!”

  The soldiers around him looked up, as surprised as he was at the realization. “You see it, don’t you?” Raeth whispered, staring back toward the city—toward the War Counsel. “Pull troops from the eastern group and put the remaining soldiers there on defensive. Send everything we have against the western group of Forgotten. Surround them and beat them down. Then move back to the second group.”

  The War Counsel did see it. Troops immediately began to flow as Raeth predicted, men pulling back from the larger group of Forgotten to focus on the smaller one. “Forward!” Raeth said to the men with him, dashing toward the back of the Forgotten lines.

  Just as the previous few hours had felt eternal, the next hour passed in a blur. The Forgotten reacted poorly to being surrounded. Raeth had noted before that they had only a rudimentary grasp of tactics, and whatever knowledge they had didn’t lead to fighting defensively. They continued to throw themselves at the Imperium troops, exposing their comrades, letting their lines get sliced into smaller and smaller groups.

  They didn’t stop fighting, however. They continued to swing their weapons even if they were alone. Raeth would have admired their tenacity if it hadn’t made finishing them off frustratingly lengthy. He cringed every time he saw a man fall—in a regular battle, the surrender would have come long ago. It seemed ridiculous to continue losing men, but there was no other option. Raeth bid a silent blessing upon those men who died now, their strength finally giving out when the victory was so close.

  And then, it was over. Raeth stood, disbelieving. Yet, no matter where he turned, there were no more dark forms. There was no cheering from the men, many just slumped down, exhausted. The rest stared over the battlefield like Raeth, noticing how many of their comrades had fallen. The Forgotten didn’t leave behind bodies—every mound on the dimming field was an Imperium casualty.

  Raeth released his Amberite, letting it crumble. “We did our duty,” he said quietly. “The Imperium is safe.” Several men around him looked up, nodding weakly.

  Then Raeth sat down, his legs too weak to hold him, before slumping backwards and staring into the sky, his mind too weak to think.

  #

  He didn’t remember falling unconscious. His vision unfuzzed to a sky spittled by stars. Something obstructed his view of the sky, however. A face—one he was surprised to see, but one he had sometimes imagined waking up to find.

  “Lady D’Naa?” Raeth asked, his voice coming out as a weak croak.

  “I found him!” she said urgently, looking up.

  Raeth heard footsteps approaching in the grass. “Praise to the Ancestors!” a familiar voice said. A few seconds later Tarrinon’s round face appeared above him. “Oh, your majesty,” he said with relief. “Healer! Someone bring a healer!”

  Raeth raised a weak arm. “I’m all right,” he said, though his voice came out as a whisper. He forced himself to sit up, though both arms and chest were so sore he could barely manage it.

  “We didn’t know what happened to you, my lord,” Tarrinon said, his voice laced with emotion. It was almost like he were scolding Raeth for getting into trouble. “Some of the men remembered seeing you, but no one could say for certain what happened to you. We thought you might be wounded, but we’ve taken care of all those who answered our calls. With the darkness, it’s been difficult… .”

  Tarrinon trailed off as Raeth smiled, placing his hand on the Shorriken man’s arm. “I appreciate your concern, my friend,” he croaked.

  Tarrinon smiled, the lanternlight showing a tear in the corner of his eye. “Where is that healer?” he sputtered, climbing to his feet and stomping off.

  Raeth turned his head, focusing on D’Naa, who sat kneeling quietly, her face illuminated by the solitary lantern.

  So beautiful… . “How?” he asked. Then he noticed something—her sleeves were pulled back, small Verdant vines running up her arms. The vines were exposed. Then he understood.

  “Those weren’t Mahallen reinforcements that arrived halfway through the battle, were they?” he asked.

  D’Naa shook her head. “That Bud you gave us was a dud,” she said. “So, we came to demand recompense.”

  Raeth smiled. “You’ve saved the Imperium. After it turned its back on you.”

  D’Naa just shrugged.

  “D’Naa, I… .” Raeth said.

  She held up a hand, leaning closer. Raeth noticed, suddenly, the fatigue in her eyes. She had fought as well.

  D’Naa rested her head on his shoulder, sighing slightly. “I didn’t come back for the Imperium,” she confessed quietly. “Besides,” she added a few seconds later. “I realized something.”

  “What?” Raeth asked, his voice still hoarse.

  “Most of the time, Kavir is really boring.”

  Raeth chuckled quietly. The next words that left his mouth stunned him, however—perhaps it was the fatigue, perhaps he was tired of subterfuge.

  “D’Naa, I’m not Hern,” he said.

  She looked up. “What?” she asked, obviously confused.

  “I’m Raeth, his brother,” Raeth said. “Hern died on Saedin, during the initial attack.”

  D’Naa sat for a moment, then rested her head back on his shoulder, leaning against him with a sigh. “That explains a lot,” she mumbled.

  Raeth frowned. “You don’t care?”

  “Why should I?” she asked. “I never knew either one of you.”

  Then he was content to sit, his arm around D’Naa. It couldn’t last for long, however. He had to know how bad the damage was. As soon as he saw Tarrinon approaching with a the stooped form of a healer, he sighed and D’Naa pulled back slightly.

  Raeth took a deep breath, then began to struggle to his feet. D’Naa tried to help, but she looked as tired as he felt. The two of them barely managed to stand up just in time for the healer to arrive. He looked them over with disapproval only one of his aged stature could manage.

  “Sit back down,” he ordered. “We’ll have a Vo-Dari Send you to the hospital.”

  Raeth made a dismissive gesture, trying to grimace
at the pain the move caused him. “I will walk off this battlefield.”

  The healer rolled his eyes, sharing a look with Tarrinon.

  “But, before we go anywhere, I need to know one thing. Where is my brother?”

  The healer looked confused, but Tarrinon paused, his eyes betraying hidden knowledge.

  “What?” Raeth demanded, his voice strong for the first time since he’d awaked. “Tarrinon, where is Darro?”

  “As far as I know, we haven’t found him either, my lord,” Tarrinon confessed.

  Raeth cursed quietly. He turned, trying to orient himself. Fortunately, the city glowed with light in the near distance. He turned toward the north, the back of the battlefield where he had left Darro after breaking through the Forgotten line.

  Oh, Ancestors, he thought, if you hear any prayer, please. Don’t take my brother from me. He began to limp forward, D’Naa walking quietly beside him, Tarrinon following with worry, trying to convince Raeth to let others do the searching. Raeth ignored him.

  They passed body after body—only the living had been removed, the dead waited quietly in the night. Raeth felt nauseated by the carnage; it was odd that he would feel so sick after passing through so much, but in battle the death had been as a blur. Now he was forced to confront it, his conscience making him study each gruesome face to confirm if it was Darro or not.

  “Hern,” D’Naa said suddenly, “there.”

  Raeth looked up with trepidation. D’Naa was pointing at an object in the distance—a shadowed mound in the night. A man-shaped mound. A suit of Amberite armor.

  Raeth moved forward with an urgency, hurrying as fast as his body could go. How had he ever fought with an ankle so badly twisted, with muscles that hurt so much? If the armor belonged to Darro, that meant his brother couldn’t be dead. The Amberite would have fallen to dust.

  They found several Shorriken relief workers standing beside the massive suit of Amberite, staring up at it with concern. When they saw Raeth, they brightened. “My lord!” one of them said. “We can’t get through to him. He won’t move. Do you think he might be… ?”

  The suit had a hammer. Raeth moved forward with increased urgency. “If he were dead, then the armor wouldn’t be standing,” Raeth informed. He got up close to the suit, trying to look through its eyeslit, but it was too dark for him to see anything. “Darro?” he asked. “Darro! Are you in there?”

  “I should be dead,” a familiar voice whispered back, hallowly ringing from inside the armor. “I was supposed to die in this battle, to make up for it all. A lifetime of waste.”

  “Darro, you idiot,” Raeth said, relaxing.

  The armor crumpled, and Raeth stepped back. As it fell to dust, a slump-backed form stepped free.

  “Darro,” Raeth reaching forward to steady his brother. Then, however, he noticed his brother’s arm. The skin was an irregular color, and an enormous gash ran along its side.

  Raeth heard a curse from behind, and the healer jumped forward, moving surprisingly spryly for a man his age. He whipped out a piece of cloth and a length of wood and began wrapping it around Darro’s arm.

  “Darro, what happened?” Raeth demanded.

  “I couldn’t stop fighting,” Darro said, slumping down to the ground, “so I stopped the blood with my Amberite. I grew it very tightly around my arm. That way I wouldn’t die until it was all over. I needed to keep fighting.” The healer called over several aids, helping Darro to the ground and working at his arm with proficient dexterity. Raeth watched with concern.

  “Raeth,” Darro mumbled eyes unfocused, “why did you let me drink so much? I have one Twins-cursed headache. I feel so groggy… . I thought I told you I wasn’t going to drink any more… .”

  Raeth looked demandingly at the healer.

  “Blood poisoning,” the man explained simply, working quickly. “Step back.”

  Raeth stood, feeling helpless as the healer worked at Darro’s side. Unconsciously, Raeth reached our for D’Naa, and the two stood quietly until the healer pulled a bone saw from his equipment. D’Naa gasped slightly and turned away, and Raeth closed his eyes.

  A few minutes later, it was over. Thankfully, Darro had fallen unconscious. The healer stood, motioning for a Vo-Dari to Send Darro to one of the city hospitals.

  “He will live,” the healer explained, wiping the blood from his hands as Darro dissolved into light. “The tourniquet he made from Amberite must have been incredibly effective.”

  Raeth nodded thankfully, trying not to look down at the amputated limb on the ground.

  D’Naa pulled close to him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “It is better than the alternative,” Raeth said, turning to regard Tarrinon with tired eyes. “Who else? Who have we lost?”

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” Tarrinon confessed, “but I really don’t know. There was a lot of chaos following the battle, and when I heard you hadn’t been found…well, we bureaucrats have felt very useless these last few weeks. We were happy to do anything to help, even if it was just searching for survivors. I’ve been out here looking for you ever since the battle ended.”

  Raeth nodded, looking over the battlefield. Lights moved through the darkness like fireflies—men sorting the wounded from the dead. Occasionally, a line of light would shoot from the ground, a wounded man being Sent to the city. However, these were few compared to the number of searchers.

  There was a large gathering of lights on one side of the battlefield. Raeth nodded, and began to limp that direction. By the time he reached it, he half-wished he had agreed to let the Vo-Dari Send him.

  The light resolved into a ring of torches surrounding a group of soldiers organizing the relief effort. Raeth didn’t recognize any of the men. His first reaction on arriving was to let go of D’Naa, but resisted the thought. What did it matter now if his preference were known?

  He stepped into the light, and wasn’t prepared for the welcome he received.

  The men looked up, their eyes widening with surprise, then they spontaneously began to let out cheers. Several looked like they wanted to run forward and hug him, though all bore wounds from the battlefield.

  “Who is in charge here?” Raeth asked, cutting through the chaotic mirth.

  “I am, my lord,” a soldier said, stepping up. He was a young Amberite Bond, barely old enough to craft a sword.

  Raeth frowned. “Where is general Taenen?” he asked.

  The man paused. “The general didn’t make it, sir,” the soldier informed.

  Raeth closed his eyes, wincing slightly. “General Gaedin then?”

  The soldier frowned. “I’m sorry my lord,” he said slowly.

  “What?” Raeth asked, stunned. “But, the War Counsel… .”

  “About three quarters of the way through the battle, the Counsel decided that twelve men were redundant, sir,” the soldier explained. “General Gaedin and five others decided to join the battle. All of them died, sir.”

  You had more heroism in you than I thought, Gaedin, Raeth thought, still surprised.

  “There is more, my lord,” the solider said.

  Raeth looked up, frowning.

  “Seven senators joined the generals,” the soldier explained. “All either Amberite or Bestarin. Only one of them survived.”

  “A fifth of the Senate,” Raeth whispered. “How many of our troops survived?”

  “Counting the wounded?” the soldier asked. “So far we’ve found about seven thousand.”

  Raeth exhaled slowly, his mind stunned. The military had been well over fifty thousand just a month earlier. With all of the additions and reserves that had joined since then, there had probably been nearly a hundred thousand total.

  “Blessed Ancestors,” Raeth mumbled.

  “That’s not including the Kavir though, my lord,” the soldier added, nodding to the side. “Most of them survived. Those sheepherders know how to fight.”

  Raeth followed the soldier’s glance to nearby group of lights. Raeth could make
out the forms of several men standing at the center, one wearing a crown.

  “Your king?” Raeth asked with surprise.

  “Ala’D,” D’Naa said, nodding.

  Raeth stepped forward, moving from one patch of lights to another. Ala’D was a young man—perhaps Raeth’s same age. He was far broader in the chest, however, if a few inches shorter. He stood over the body of an elderly man who lay wrapped in a fur cloak, two torches illuminating his face.

  Raeth approached quietly.

  “He was like a father to me,” Ala’D said with a deep voice. “He watched over my country when I was too young to care for it myself.”

  D’Naa’s grip tightened slightly a she regarded the body, a tear in her eye. Ala’D stood, studying Raeth with eyes that glowed in the torchlight. “This battle cost much, your majesty,” he said. “More for you even than us.”

  “There is no you or us, your highness,” Raeth said. “There is only the Imperium. The throne will do more to remember that in the future, now that you have reminded us. The Imperium owes a strong debt to Kavir.”

  Ala’D did not dispute the statement. He turned eyes back on his friend’s body. “It is odd, in a way. Aedinor’s negligence is what made Kavir strong. Without that, we wouldn’t have been able to help this day.”

  “A poor excuse for what we did to you.”

  “True,” Ala’D said, turning back to him. “My people will want to return to Kavir as soon as your Vo-Dari are finished locating the wounded. We have news, some of it bad, to convey to our families.”

  “It will be done,” Raeth promised.

  Ala’D turned toward D’Naa. “I assume you’ll be staying.”

  She shot a look at Raeth. “Yes.”

  “Very well,” he said, then bowed. “Your majesty.”

  Raeth nodded farewell, letting the man go to confer with several of his attendants.

  “Your majesty,” a voice piped up behind him. Tarrinon stood, once again almost-forgotten, behind him. “We should return to the city. The Senate will want to hear of your survival.”