by T. A. Miles
“Die!” the demon commanded, and Tristus thought that he might oblige it, before the creature’s head suddenly flew off its shoulders.
The body slumped forward immediately afterward, driving the Night Blade into the wet earth beside Tristus’ head while it retained its grip on the weapon, even in death. The tip of Aerkiren struck Tristus’ breastplate, but did not penetrate.
Tristus was thanking God, even as the demon’s reeking life fluid washed over his armor, staining it black. He realized when a shadow fell over him, that God was not who he needed to be thanking just at the moment—not God alone, at any rate.
Guang Ci stabbed his sword into the earth, jerked Aerkiren out of the demon’s back with a determined twist, then placed the Blade down and silently began lifting the dead shadow beast off of Tristus.
Tristus helped when his limbs were free, and accepted the bodyguard’s assistance to his feet after they rolled the foul corpse into the bog. Something, presumably the worm, rolled just beneath the surface afterward, perhaps to claim the remains of the demon for itself.
Tristus bent over when his stomach protested the excitement along with the stench of the bog and of the demon. He braced his hands on his knees and concentrated strictly on breathing for several moments.
“Guang Ci,” he said eventually. Even knowing the guard’s understanding ended there, he continued. “I owe you my life. Please accept my thanks.”
The guard scarcely regarded him. The Fanese man swiftly picked up a sword and placed himself in front of Tristus while several dark shapes sank through the fiery haze that had been cast just above them by the torches.
Tristus straightened slowly, still finding it difficult to breathe normally. The fear that had never left him renewed itself full, though it was swiftly being overshadowed by utter exhaustion. “God...have mercy.”
God did not seem to be listening. In a heartbeat, the Keirveshen were on them.
Tristus searched for a weapon. He was about to reach for Aerkiren when its rightful bearer hollered down at him from the balcony. Tristus looked in time to see Dawnfire soaring in his direction. He reached out and somehow managed to catch the weapon single-handedly. He considered returning the favor, but when he looked back to the balcony, he saw Alere vaulting over the railing.
The elf landed lightly, almost catlike, on his feet. Tristus threw Alere his Blade, just in time for him to wield it against an eager pair of winged demons. A quick glance let him know that Shirisae would be facing her opponents on the balcony. Tristus wished he could be up there to help her, but he realized quickly enough that she did not require his assistance—and he had his own troubles on the ground, besides.
The yard in front of the house quickly filled, as though every shadow cast by the flickering torches had suddenly come to life and all were bent on avenging their master’s death. Tristus set to work surviving the upcoming moments, praying that his friends would be able to do the same.
XU LIANG OPENED his eyes, but did not move. He clung to the dream as it left him, thinking of the details deliberately, storing them away before they could escape forever. Much of the nightmare had already fled, and gone to the deeper parts of his mind that he could not summon by will. He held onto what he could, even closing his eyes again to retrace his steps after his forcing back of the dark entity inside of Tristus, that had howled at his touch. He’d been drawn away in those moments the angry spirit had protested, by a vision that terrified him as much as it intrigued him.
Returning to those moments, Xu Liang found himself suddenly in a blackened chamber that felt cold and vast, like a cave. He could not tell if it was a cave. He saw no details beyond the torches just ahead of him, mounted on thick, coarse pillars, carved crudely from rock. He was drawn toward the dim light, toward the uneven surface it scarcely illuminated. It looked like a bed of round stones.
Xu Liang remembered kneeling before the peculiar rocks, placing his hand upon one, feeling heat...and movement. He withdrew, staring with a curious frown. And then he took the object up in both hands and stood, carrying it the nearest torch. He held the stone—which was no stone at all, but a thin casing for something else—against the orange light and gazed upon the silhouette of a curled form within, moving.
“An egg?” he wondered, even as the figure within kicked, showing the claws on its tiny hands and feet, lashing its tail, and weakly flexing its wings. “The shadows are born from eggs?”
Something about that did not seem right. Xu Liang continued to stare at the creature, convinced that it was a demon. He recalled the bat like Keirveshen in the Hollowen. They may have been bat like; he hadn’t really taken a close look at them. They may also have been...dragon like? But those in the Hollowen had been so small. Perhaps they were bats once. And if bats were not immune to the dark affliction, as people were not...then perhaps dragons...
The thought terrified Xu Liang so greatly that he was unable to finish it. He dropped the egg, incidentally smashing it at his feet, where the incomplete form of an infant demon writhed a short time before expiring in a puddle of dark fluid and fragments of the egg’s shell.
Xu Liang felt a presence suddenly behind him. Something great and terrible...filled with so much anger, its body and soul in chaos. Slowly, calm in spite of his fear, Xu Liang turned to face the beast. The dragon bowed its sleek black head to look at Xu Liang through yellow eyes slit with a narrow pupil of utter blackness. From snout to crested forehead, the dragon’s head was twice as tall as Xu Liang stood. Teeth as long and sharp as spears glistened in the torchlight.
Xu Liang should have been afraid, but somehow he was filled with a peculiar reverence—deference perhaps, as he looked upon this ancient and powerful creature, whose demonic eyes gleamed with intelligence. Overcome, Xu Liang pressed his hands together and bowed.
And then he heard a familiar voice, though the strangled tone was nothing he had heard before. “He has the Night Blade!”
The doors to his dreams slammed shut. Xu Liang opened his eyes. He felt sick. Sick with dread, sick with fear, sick with helplessness.
A peculiar sound in the room distracted him from the sudden onslaught. It sounded almost like growling, but then he realized where he had heard the sound before and reminded himself that the only fearsome noise a dwarf produced in his sleep was his snoring. Xu Liang sat up slowly, confirming his suspicions by seeking out Tarfan’s shape in the darkness. He found the curled, squat frame sprawled at the distant foot of the bed and sighed with a helpless note of sentimentality for his small friend.
Shortly afterward, he frowned, noticing another shape closer to him. It was Taya, curled near the edge of the mattress to his right. Xu Liang could have expected the dwarf-maid’s company along with Tarfan, but when he heard a deeper snore than the dwarf’s, one which also sounded out of synch with Tarfan’s breathing, he knew that circumstances were even stranger than he could have ever guessed.
Fu Ran appeared to be sitting on the floor to the left side of the bed, his back to the frame with his head fallen back over the mattress. Xu Liang didn’t have to look to know that his bodyguards were probably nearby as well, sitting rigidly on the floor, sleeping in shifts. Xu Liang felt momentarily peeved at all of this uninvited, unannounced company and at the absurdity of it as well, but then, suddenly he felt touched by their deep concern. He took three of the excess pillows piled at the head of the bed and distributed them to the dwarves and Fu Ran.
Without waking them, he managed to convince them to accept the cushions. Taya moaned incoherently and simply hugged hers, while Tarfan rolled onto his stomach on top of his. In Fu Ran’s case, Xu Liang simply nudged the pillow against the man’s bald head until he lifted it enough for the cushion to be slid beneath, to support his neck, lest he awake with an immobilizing cramp.
Finally, Xu Liang lay himself back down, convinced even as he drifted into a dreamless slumber that he would be unable to sleep listening to Fu Ran and Tarfan’s snoring.
TRISTUS HAD NEVER considered hims
elf proficient fighting with a halberd, or any other pole-mounted weapon, but somehow each strike he made with the platinum spear currently in his grasp came smoothly and almost naturally. He slid his grip nearly effortlessly from one part of the shaft to the next to compensate for the ever-changing reach required for each opponent as they came in droves, one immediately after the other with no pause between one’s departure and another’s arrival.
They swarmed at him, oblivious to fear, even as their fellows fell beneath the glowing blade. Tristus was aware of their nearness—their claws narrowly missing his face as they lashed out at him, their wings beating the air as they fluttered about for position—none willing to wait for the one before it to either die or claim victory. Somehow Tristus didn’t panic. He fought with poise he’d never had in any battle prior to it, even as his heart thundered in his chest and his muscles ached with the effort required. He felt confident, not necessarily that he would live, but that he would fight well before he died. It was a strange, foreign sensation, but one he welcomed while he continued to fend off the demons.
And it was in this unnaturally collected state, that Tristus suddenly, finally came to understand Dawnfire. Almost as an instinctive reaction to the swarm of demons charging through an opening that was created in the melee, he lifted one hand off the shaft and spun it once in the other, creating a brief disk of energy with a circumference equal to the length of the spear. The spinning, golden light made a deep, ringing sound when several demons collided upon it and were promptly thrown back. In the freer space he’d created, Tristus was able to kill three of the beasts, rather than simply slicing at them without hope of delivering enough mortal blows. He felt his strength renew itself and added the newfound tactic to the battle wherever it seemed appropriate.
Above him, Shirisae sent bolts of crackling silver light racing toward the demons, burning holes through their wings and through their bodies, eliminating several opponents at once. The others were promptly dealt with on a closer level. Her phenomenal skill and careful balance between magical and physical attacks allowed no demon to touch her.
Alere typically had no trouble slicing through victims with blade as well as magic, though he was forced to cover more ground in his maneuvers in order to keep the demons away from him and to keep the projectile light flowing from Aerkiren.
Knowing both of them were there with him gave Tristus hope, as did recognizing the manner in which Guang Ci had taken up the weapon available to him. He fought as one inspired or guided by his master. It was probable that he was both.
GUANG CI WAS scarcely aware of the weapon he had picked up, that he wielded with enthusiasm against multiple attackers. He was loosely alert to the fact that the blade was not his own, that it was heavier and that a bruised, vaporous light trailed each strike. He heard a voice in his mind, telling him that the demons were no match for him, that they feared him, and he believed that voice. He fought with more efficiency and accuracy than he’d ever exhibited in battle before, and when it was over, he felt a deep satisfaction course through him, a strength that troubled him as much as it had excited him during the battle. He contemplated this, staring at the strange weapon, and then at the dead bodies surrounding him.
He heard his name and looked away from the blanket of demon corpses at his feet, at the man with blue eyes, whom he currently protected as he would have Lord Xu Liang. He recalled the instructions his master had given the others, about protecting the dwarves as they would him, and he had carried those instructions through to each new ally Lord Xu Liang acquired, so long as they didn’t threaten Lord Xu Liang.
Guang Ci assumed when the blue-eyed man began to speak, grinning with appreciation and praise, that he was commending him for carrying out his duties well and honorably. He bowed humbly.
“HE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND you,” Alere said in a quiet, irritated tone.
Tristus didn’t believe anything was truly bothering the elf—after all, they’d won the battle against terrible odds after surviving horrendous manipulative nightmares within a haunted manor house—but he regarded him seriously, even as his own excitement scarcely kept the smile from his lips.
“You’re wasting your breath when you should be recovering it,” Alere continued.
“You realize he’s taken up the Night Blade,” Tristus said, disliking the elf’s continued frown, but still managing to smile. He sighed patiently afterward. “Don’t you understand? Not only have we discovered the Night Blade, but it appears that we’ve also discovered its bearer.”
“To what purpose?” Alere asked, malcontent edging his voice. And then he turned, walking away while Tristus stared after him.
“Alere, what’s the matter with you?” He glanced at Guang Ci apologetically, then followed the elf toward the horses, who were still huddled in the doorway of the manor. “Where are you going? We came here looking for you, to ask you to come back with us.”
“To Vilciel?” Alere asked, wiping his blade with the edge of his stained cloak, apparently taking the pale garment for ruined after another gruesome battle. “I told you once already; I will not go there.”
“You said more than that,” Tristus reminded, frowning now at the elf’s stubbornness. “Your words gave me hope that Xu Liang’s quest would go on, even if he did not. That his purpose in uniting the Swords would not go unfulfilled. I thought you—”
“He is dead, then?” Alere asked, before Tristus had even finished speaking.
“What?”
The elf repeated himself. “The mystic has passed?”
Tristus glared, hurt now as well as angry. He had finally reached his limit with the elf’s coldness. “You know his name, Alere. Don’t speak of him as if he were a stranger, whom you care nothing for. And, damn you, look at me when I’m talking to you!”
The elf did not. He sheathed his blade and went about checking his gear that was strapped onto Breigh, readying to leave. He said, far too easily, “You have my condolences.”
Tristus felt the entirety of the night’s victory drain out of him with that statement. The loss was not apparent until just then. “I see now. You don’t care. You don’t care about anything, except your personal quest for vengeance. I suppose it’s back to your mountain lair now that it’s over.” He felt tears stinging his eyes while Alere continued to ignore him, but he did not let them into his voice. “Keep your condolences. I am not the one who needs sympathy. My heart may bleed from time to time, but at least it has not turned to ice.”
“Speak carefully,” Alere warned. “You tread upon unfamiliar ground.”
“Yes, I do,” Tristus admitted bitterly. “And it is much to my regret. I had come to hope that we were friends, Alere. You were prepared to count me as such before you left. It grieves me that you would treat me with such disdain now. Have you no love in you at all, for any—”
Alere turned suddenly, and grabbed Tristus by the shoulders. He pushed him roughly into the shadows, against the wall just inside of the front hall, where he stood silently glaring at him for a long, confusing moment. At first Tristus was convinced the elf meant to attack him for aggravation. And then, not too quickly, Alere kissed him full on the mouth.
Tristus flushed and felt his heart thrumming in his ears, shocked beyond speech or movement at this discovery.
When the kiss ended, the elf’s gray eyes searched Tristus’ face, as if looking for something. And then he said angrily, “My heart has not become ice. It has become rebellious, and I would deal with it in my own way.”
He moved as if he would step back, so Tristus grabbed his arm, detaining the elf because—Tristus believed—he was willing to be detained.
“You would deal with it by running away? Alere, I did not…I could not have known how you feel, and knowing now doesn’t change my mind. I seek your friendship and I appeal to your sense of honor and righteousness when I ask you to return with me, to complete this duty that was given to you when you took up Aerkiren.”
Alere continued to glare and slowly,
Tristus released him.
He held the elf’s smoldering gray gaze, and said quietly, “Xu Liang lives, but his faith is shattered. He believes he has failed. I...” Shame filled Tristus, strangling his words while they were forming. “I stole Blue Crane, and came to find you…to bring you back and prove to him that all hope is not lost.”
Alere looked over his shoulder at the sleek gray steed, then back at Tristus. Then he turned and walked away. “You are a proficient thief,” he said, and Tristus couldn’t tell whether or not he was serious.
Tristus decided not to ask what he meant, following him at a distance. When he recovered his courage, he asked, “Will you come back, Alere?”
“Have you told him?” the elf asked suddenly, glancing at Shirisae when the lady elf finally made her way to the front hall from the upper floors, having decided against Alere’s method of reaching the ground level.
“Told him what?” Tristus looked at Shirisae as well, knowing in spite of her apparent disinterest that she was listening.
“How you feel,” Alere said bluntly.
Tristus went to Blue Crane and stood close to the animal, as if he could hide himself in its shadow. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable discussing this, particularly with the warmth of Alere’s lips still fresh upon his own. “N-no.”
Shirisae took her own horse by the bit, and led the black beast outside, casting Tristus a peculiar look of compassion when she walked by. He wanted to follow her, to not be left alone with the white elf, who was not only extremely bold, but also damned handsome. Of course, Tristus couldn’t actually betray Xu Liang—there was nothing shared between them—but he felt somehow as if he had, and he didn’t like the sensation. He didn’t fully trust that he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. He’d gone too long without affection. It felt good...too good. He wondered at the irony of his situation, that he should have the love of two of Dryth’s most reclusive, elitist peoples and he could scarcely get a second thought from someone as understanding as Xu Liang seemed to be.