by S. Nileson
Archer smiled, looked at Ascilla, who viewed him in a different light since his identity was revealed, and then back at the Varangian. “The business with the Silver Stags, were you involved?”
“Only since you entered Parthan territory. I had to convince Prince Iolcus to release Qella and her silver sisters after your companion’s clever trap. They are an honorable and good folk, those thirteen, and they are not your enemies. This I swear on my honor.”
“Forgive me, Khatar, but in matters of friend and foe Ascilla is my guide.”
At Archer’s gesture, Ascilla added, “A Varangian’s word is as hard as diamond, I heard Duke Constantine once say. I would trust his word as if it was my own.”
Archer nodded. His newfound authority left him with a strange sense of duty that he could not ignore. It terrified him yet it made him incapable of allowing himself to show it.
“What of the blade you held to Keteus’ neck in the Warchief’s throne room? I can’t shake the thought that it adds a piece to the puzzle that is my father’s will.” It was a strange thing to say ‘My father’s will’ so naturally, Archer felt.
“That, Deliverer, is not for me to tell. When the time is right, I have faith, the Warchief will reveal all. He is a wise man, even though the quality is rarely manifested in those of strong Kolian blood.”
Archer did not like to have things held from him. That was why he had grown to cherish Balta’s company so much, for even though the Bersark had hid his true nature from Archer, it was all that he hid. At Khatar’s response he simply remained silent, ending his questioning and withdrawing into thought. They continued to roam the streets of Kol, Archer being escorted by a Walkyrien on one side and a Varangian on the other. Oh how ironic it was, he later came to see.
2
In the Kolian palace, built with two purposes, to defend against any invaders no matter how rare they were, and to show the world just how strong Kol was to be able to build such a bastion of power, Archer was given a chamber fitted with only the most basic of needs in a truly Kolian style that satisfied even the most wealthy of Kolians, as long as they remained true to their blood. He insisted that Ascilla, Balta and Keteus be given similar chambers nearby, an easy and quick arrangement to make, and even to have Khatar and his own small retinue just as close. It was important, he thought, that both parties get accustomed to one another and feel equally important in the role they had to play in Servak’s will.
After night has fallen, and the diligent group residing in the royal Kolian wing were all but asleep, Archer went to Balta and asked him if he would be interested in a drink of quench. It was a bitter beverage that quickly grew upon them, a transformation that happened so quickly that neither of them remembered how unpleasant they found it at first.
“You are the only one I can truly confide in, Balta.” They sat in the kitchen of the Kolian palace, silent guards stationed everywhere in spite of the late hour. Archer had completely accepted their presence and grown to speak without reservation around them.
“Trust me, the feeling is mutual. If it wasn’t so I wouldn’t have taken upon myself the burden of your journey back in Fort Pax.” He took a sip of the thick Kolian drink, making the stone chair he sat on feel less uncomfortable rather quickly. “This thing gets to your head quickly.”
“Indeed it does.” Archer took a sip himself, the pitcher purposefully left within arm’s reach for when he could see the bottom of his clay cup. “I’m afraid, Balta.”
“Aren’t we all?” The question was rhetorical and he felt no need to wait to add, “That’s why we’re all huddled up together like its winter. Even the Varangian and his crew of cutthroats.”
Archer smiled. “So you’ve met Kari and Kavis.”
“You forgot to mention that infernal beast too. You know he snapped at me when I tried to pet him.”
Archer chuckled. “Only you would want to pet such a terrifying thing. Have you met any of the Silver Stags yet? I hear they are quite a few.”
“Aye, I have. It was strange to see them so…womanly. I had the notion that the Emperor’s wardens had nothing left of their humanity within them, but I suspect it was because they felt similarly towards us. You know one of them prepared breakfast for us this morning.”
“No wonder it was one of the more pleasant-tasting meals I’ve had in Kol. My stomach had grown tired of all that salted meat and tasteless gruel.” Archer filled his cup with more quench. It was a small cup fitting for such a strong drink. “Where do you think we’ll be going next? Who do you think we’ll meet?”
“It’s quite obvious we’re going to Gallecia to reunite you with your brother. I just hope we don’t go with an army behind us. I’d much rather be behind the army.”
They both laughed and drank to the comment.
Archer looked at his cup absent-minded and struggled with himself to reveal a secret he had kept from Balta for some time. “You know, Balta, when we were looking for you Ascilla insisted on joining.”
“I know.”
“Have you noticed how she lit up when we found you?”
“I was not entirely myself when you first found me. But yes, I’ve noticed a change.” He started tapping his fingers melodically. “I have to confess, the feeling is rather mutual.”
3
“What are we to do next?” Archer asked of the Warchief.
Starkad sat on his throne, thinking carefully about his next few words and hoping that a new thought would come to him. There was nothing. He was still undecided about the details by which Archer would be sent to Gallecia, the inevitable conclusion of his journey. What was waiting for them there? He did not know and wished he did.
“The destination is clear. The means not,” Starkad said, squeezing on the arms of his throne just where the wood was slightly dented. Undoubtedly, Archer thought, the product of many squeezes from of the Warchief’s firm fingers.
“Gallecia?”
Starkad nodded. “I can tell you what I know, rather what I have decided. Khatar and his strange band will join you. They have been with you, in a way, since the beginnings of your journey, and I think no one is better suited to end it with you than they are. In terms of security, however, Khatar and I agree that within the walls of the Gallecian citadel you would be safe, for my Varangian Guards are there and they will not harm anyone under Khatar’s good graces. After all, he is their commander and they still follow his orders regardless of his current assignment.”
“So where is the cause of your confusion, Warchief? Why not set to Gallecia now?”
“It is no simple matter, Salus. Unlike the others that you have met on your journey, I have been told by Ascilla, the Demigod Emperor Servak left me no message to guide my actions. Perhaps he intended for you to go to Gallecia after meeting me and perhaps he did not. Until I discover what I was meant to do you are to remain here. Safe. Where I can look after you.”
“I see,” Archer said. He had been thinking a lot lately, spending most of his time in the prison that was his conflicted mind. “What say do I have in this matter?”
“Not much.” He was honest.
“Then tell me, uncle, of this blade over there.” Archer looked at a blade resting on a column by the right side of the throne room. It was the very same blade Khatar wielded when Keteus announced who he really was; the same blade that remained so vividly remembered by Servak’s son.
Starkad smiled and slowly got off his throne, walking towards the weapon and holding it as if it was an object beyond any value the material world could offer. He slowly, almost in a ritualistic manner, unsheathed it to show the red hue glowing at its center.
“It keeps changing,” Starkad said. “It never glowed in such a way before.” He appreciated the beauty of the weapon for some time before his attention returned to Archer. “This is a Named Blade, but I know not its name, Salus.” He offered it to Archer, raising it on open palms lifting it from each end.
Salus took the weapon. It felt comfortable in his grip, and lig
hter than he expected it to be. He held it firmly and swung it twice, not knowing what urged him to do so. “This is strange.”
“I feel it too,” Starkad said, “how familiar it feels and comforting it is to wield. Does it not feel like you are safe? Like everything will end up well somehow?”
Archer nodded. “I know this blade.” He held it up straight from the ground, as Ganis had taught him to examine blades so many months ago, and feasted his eyes on the marvel created by man – rather a very special woman called Thalia. “May I have it?”
“It has always been yours, Salus. I just held on to it for safekeeping till the day came in which you would arrive and ask for it. As I said, there is much that remains unknown to me still.”
“What do you suspect of its origin?”
“Nothing for certain, but I suspect a name.” He remained silent afterwards. Archer knew better than to ask for a question the Warchief was not willing to answer.
“I will take my leave now,” Archer said, “uncle.” He stressed the last word.
4
It was dark. A lone breeze came through the open window of Archer’s chamber, filling it with the fresh air of the Kolian night. He had grown to feel safe in Kol, where some of the fiercest fighters in the whole of Nosgard were a mere call away.
Yet there were a few who did not fear the reputation of those who dwelt in the desert city, and Anaria Shadestrike was one of them, in spite of her age.
She bore no ill intent to Servak’s son. It was simply in her nature to sneak into places with cunning, subterfuge and a lightness on feet matched by few others. As she had, many times before, snuck on his father, Anaria snuck on Archer as he slept.
When she entered within, steps lighter than the air which blew in from the desert, she took her time watching the young man sleep, remembering how much he had grown since the few years ago when she took him to some cabin in the wood as instructed by his father. In that moment her age no longer bore its toll on her body or mind. And if Archer had seen her then, in that serene moment, he would have not guessed that she was the same old woman who brought them to Kol from Alvissmal on her kamools.
As she extended her arm to shake Archer awake, she decided against it and withdrew into a corner of the room for some time until the young man woke unaided.
At first he was oblivious that there was someone else sharing his space, watching from the shadows like a stalker in the middle of the night. It was early, too early for the sun to rise, and Archer hoped to get some time of silence and peace before the others awoke and with them his worries.
A sudden shock consumed him when he saw a shadowy figure arise from the corner, stepping into the light and revealing that it was the old woman, clad in a rather unexpected attire of fitted leather which seemed especially suited to uses requiring subtlety. “Old woman,” he said, struggling to remember her name for a moment until finally he could, “Anaria, what are you doing here?”
“Dear Salus, I apologize for my earlier deceit,” she said, approaching the young man so gracefully and gently that he did not react. “I am not who I claimed to be.”
“Very few people are, I came to realize.”
“A wise thing to say, Salus.”
“You know who I am?”
“I have always known you were Salus, for I was the one who gave you the face you wear now.”
Silence.
5
It took Archer some time to overcome the flood of emotions that emerged after Anaria’s declaration. How dare she? he thought over and over again. It took some time till his wisdom returned, the little he had attained during his journey, and till his tongue came loose.
“Why?” Archer asked calmly.
“Because your father asked me to.”
“Did I have any say in the matter?”
“Few true leaders ever do, I came to understand.” Her voice was so tender and loving that it washed away all hate and anger that Archer had experienced when he was first told by Anaria that she was the reason his past was lost to him. He wanted to blame her for all the pain she had caused, but somehow knew that she had a little role to play, no matter how impactful.
“Salus,” she added, “you must understand that Nosgard is at the brink of another civil war. If we fall into such calamity once more, many will suffer in ways I cannot describe. Whether you chose to follow Servak’s will or not is your choice alone and I have little right to dictate it, for the time of my generation is over. This is your turn to forge your destinies as you will. All I am left responsible for, I feel, is to make sure you understand the consequences of our actions in the past.”
Archer withdrew into himself for a moment, thoughts rushing past his mind as he walked back and forth across his chamber. His feet were heavy and the slippers he wore dragged on the stone floor, their sound only muffled when he came to step on the few coarse carpets covering a small portion of it.
“This is bigger than me, Anaria.” Archer stopped. He was close to Anaria now, enough so to touch her should he extend his arm just a bit. “I am not prepared for such responsibilities. I don’t know if I ever will be.”
“That is why your father made sure that you would not be alone at the end of your journey. Starkad will be by you side, as will I, from the shadows as I have always been. You will also have brave Balta and noble Ascilla. Terketeus, the ancient, will also serve as a pillar for you to lean against, to put Teeban in check should he be so bold to attack you, or, worse, accuse you. Khatar, the Kolian leading all Varangians, will also be there with a battalion of the strongest military force present in Gallecia, so will Qella and her honorable Silver Stags.”
Archer smiled and said, “Much of what you say is true, but there is one thing you missed, Anaria, it’s that the path my father set for his successor is not only mine to tread. I’m starting to see it better now. The mists are slowly clearing.”
“What do you see?”
“That you’re not the only one who knows things unknown to others. I too, like my father, have plans of my own. And when the time comes, I will share all that I know with you and anyone else who wishes to know.” He looked away and his gaze fell on the blade given to him by Starkad. “Tell me one more thing. What do you know of this blade?”
“Everything there is. I know its name.”
Archer’s eyes widened in response to the last clue he needed to complete the puzzle that was Servak’s will.
“The name of this sword, Salus, is none other than the Demigod Emperor Servak. It is what you need to claim the throne from your misguided brother.”
Archer fell to his knees and wept.
6
“I thought this would make you happy, Salus. What is it now?” Anaria asked. She had waited for some time for Archer to cry out his sorrows and still Servak’s son had crumbled upon himself, a pathetic pile of broken man reverted back to a child.
“How can I not weep when my world has just ended?”
“Because now you stand to build a new one, Salus.”
“And take the blame for all what is wrong in it? It is a cruel fate drawn for me by my father. If only I had a say in it. If only—”
“Grow up, Salus,” Anaria spoke harshly. She had grown tired of his squabbling and sobbing. “You are nothing like your father, and it is expected considering that you were robbed of him by both his duty to the Empire and his premature death. Things are different now and you have to make do with what you got. You have no right to crawl into an abyss and shun the world to oblivion. If you do not possess the strength to walk the path of Deliverance then say it now while I still have some youth left in me to find one who would take your place.
“Your father was wise. Your father was strong. You are not your father and you will never be him. No one told you to be anything like him. No sane person expects you to be anything like him.”
“What would you have me do?” Archer looked up to Anaria to see her face contorted with the folds of anger and desperation.
“I w
ould have you draw strength from those who walk beside you. I would have you tell Starkad that you make way to Gallecia. Tell him those words in a convincing manner, with authority and zeal, so that when he hears them all doubt in his heart would wash away and find itself replaced by faith alone.”
Anaria turned away and walked towards the window, leaping on its ledge in one swift and graceful motion. “You will never see me again, but I will be watching you. From the shadows I emerged and to the shadows I return.”
Chapter 18: Are Always Shown
‘The seed of all corruption is greed, its soil moral decadence, and its nourishment power.’ Allmother Ganis from The Wolfiad.
1
The Warchief was eating when Archer came to meet him; when he told him convincingly that he was going to Gallecia, once the preparations were complete. It made Starkad hold still in his seat, arms dropping to the table still with large a piece of red salted meat held. He did not expect it, yet his heart felt welcoming to the idea that Salus had grown enough to start making his own decisions.
“Do you know what awaits you there, Salus?”
“No, I don’t. Yet I know it must be done, and now.” He spoke with such fervor that Starkad could not resist the temptation of following Servak’s son.
Yet the Warchief had to be cynical. It was his role, after all, in matters regarding both Kol and Salus, the rightful heir to the Empire of Nosgard. “How will you prepare for your meeting with Malus?”
“I do not know yet, uncle, but I know time is fleeting. It must be done now, and with haste. Anaria, do you know her?”
“She goes by the name of Shadestrike?”
“She does, I believe. She came with me here to Kol from Alvissmal, lending us her kamools.”
He hummed. “That explains Kari’s account.” The Warchief resumed his eating, taking small bites from the salted meat so as to wolf them down quickly whenever Archer posed a question or said something requiring a response.
“There is something else, Uncle.”
The Warchief hummed again.