by B. A. Scott
Daro adjusted his towering posture. “Your words flow too freely, Dexius. And they dishonor me.”
Dexius forced the subtlest of compulsory bows.
Once Daro was satisfied with the gesture, he continued. “Vexen’s actions have dealt a great blow to us all,” he said. “I would have her here, to be made an example of for all to see, rather than let her keep company with the faithless, spending her life in some reckless act of martyrdom. But she has chosen her path. I will never forgive what she has done.” He paused. “However, though it pains me to say it, I understand why she did it.”
“What!?” Dexius belted. “You condone her betrayal!? You understand why she deserted us after murdering our mother in cold blood—your Queen!?”
“Be silent!” Daro ordered, shocked at his son’s audacity. “I hold no such empathy. I simply understand your sister’s nature better than you.” He turned away. “I am proud of you, my bloodchildren. Of all the things I’ve made, all the things I’ve forged, you are my most precious. And each of you is singular, driven by qualities I value supreme. Hadaan, by honor. You, Dexius, by spirit. And Vexen, by conviction. Why do I understand what drove her to such madness? Only a father would pity the horror. For, you see, I have always seen myself most in her.”
Hadaan’s head lowered and Dexius hissed with fierce jealousy.
“Vexen is nothing like you, Father,” Dexius said. “Unless you are a fool!”
Daro’s gauntleted hand moved too quickly for Dexius to anticipate the blow. The Dark Lord struck his bloodson across the face with the back of his hand, causing Dexius to lose his stance.
Daro looked upon his son with anger and surprise, for Dexius had spoken with unbridled disrespect. And not to any faithless recreant of Adoran, but to him.
“You asked to be a part of these discussions, Dexius,” Daro said, his voice shaking with rage. “That you would accept this privilege graciously, and witness my plans. But you bicker and contest and whine and slur, disrespecting me with every word that so freely vomits from your mouth.”
Dexius shrank under his father’s displeasure, covering the left side of his throbbing face.
“You dishonor my leniency with shame and frailty. I have indulged your request, despite my better judgment. And it is clear my faith was misplaced. Leave us.”
“Father, no—”
“You are unworthy of this position. Be gone from my sight.”
“Father, please!”
“And never again ask to take part in these matters. I will decide when you are ready. And by my count, it will be long after this war is over. Leave my sight at once.”
Dexius looked to Hadaan, who glared down upon him menacingly. He turned and scampered from the chamber.
“Well, now,” Finwynn spoke from above. “That was heartwarming.”
“Silence,” Daro halfheartedly demanded.
“My Lord,” the still-kneeling Fated addressed Daro. “Have you further need of me?”
Daro’s anger faded slightly at the remark.
“Scapses,” the Dark Lord spoke tenderly. “Your loyal service, exceeded now by noble devotion. You may go. I will call on you, should you be needed. Let this honor fuel your resolve. And may others,” he paused, placing a hand on the Fated One’s head, “aspire to serve as you have served.”
“Thank you, My Lord!” the Fated spoke graciously, bowing so low that its head touched the floor.
“Rise and depart,” said Daro. The Fated stood and left the chamber. As it did, it passed a skulking figure, hiding just beyond the open doors.
“Prince Dexius?” spoke the Fated. But Dexius motioned for it to be silent. His eyes burned with jealousy, and once the Fated continued on past him, his attention returned to the chamber.
Daro stood quietly, pondering everything that had just happened.
“Your Dexius has quite the nerve, doesn’t he?” Finwynn spoke. Daro glanced up at him hatefully, but did not speak. “Don’t act so surprised,” the Sage continued. “Your bloodchildren aren’t like your other slaves. They carry your obstinacy. Your defiance. Your ambition. Does it really shock you to see it in them?”
Daro remained silent, though his stomach churned.
“Your daughter, Vexen, denounces your ways. Your youngest, dear Dexius, has quite the insolence in him. I wonder, does your eldest bloodson—”
But Finwynn could not finish, for Daro’s rage abounded. The Dark Lord filled himself with magic, and engulfed the Sage in Flame. Finwynn roared as the fire seared his flesh. Though enraged with hate and loathing, Daro suddenly feared he might kill the Sage, were the torture to persist. Yet only when Daro had heard enough screams to sate his ears did he relinquish the flames, and observe the Sage’s charred appearance.
Finwynn’s nearly incinerated robes barely clung to him. His skin appeared as islands of boiled flesh amidst a sea of bloodied ash. His dry, wheezy breath came in stilted gasps, and his hair was singed to its roots.
“You abhor their defiance,” the Sage spoke, to Daro’s surprise, “but it came from you.”
Daro looked from the Sage to his eldest bloodson, who remained as still as stone, his face filled with scorn. Yet when Hadaan looked upon his father, he saw fear and doubt in his eyes.
At once, Daro tore his gaze from Hadaan’s, and left the chamber. He flicked his wrist as he stormed away, sending a healing spell back toward the Sage. Hearing his father’s footsteps, Dexius tucked himself behind one of the open doors, and watched as Daro strode past him.
Hadaan’s eyes were wide in astonishment. He’d never seen his father act in such a manner. He looked to the charred, hovering Sage before him, and was instantly overcome with abounding revulsion, when Finwynn, despite his terrible, gut-wrenching wounds, managed a wry smile.
Chapter 11: Mind-marked
At dawn, the gates of Estimus swung open.
Upon the summit, Gabrel, Kaven and Kade waited nervously as Ayden spoke with the Enchanters. Every face was stern, even those of the countless onlookers who eagerly awaited Ayden’s judgment.
Fatigue wore on Gabrel and Kaven heavily. Using their magic well into the night drained them, and what little sleep they managed barely sufficed as enough to hold them upright.
Eitherian approached the brothers, Ayden at her side.
“News of your endeavors last night has spread, ambassadors,” she said. “The other Enchanters and I wish to thank you for your services to our sick.” For a moment, Gabrel felt relieved. “However,” Eitherian continued, immediately dissolving Gabrel’s elation, “it does not change the fact that you are what you are, Gabrel Caladen. And the law must be upheld.”
“Gabrel and Kaven cured five of our most diresome cases last night,” said Kade. “Five souls marked for suffering and death were saved by the magic these men possess. Would you really kill one of the only three people in this world who can cure such diseases?”
Kaven watched Kade with revelation in his eyes. She’s standing by his side against her own kind, he thought. She genuinely wants to protect him.
The Enchanters regarded Kade disapprovingly. “We will stand by the decision of Queen Ayden Mercer,” Eitherian said. “We share her passion for justice, and will trust in her judgment.”
All looked to Ayden, who stepped forward.
“If she’s decided to kill you,” Kaven whispered to Gabrel, clenching his fists, “they’re in for one hell of a fight.”
“After much thought, I have come to a decision on the fate of Gabrel Caladen,” Ayden said for all to hear. “The sin committed was not Gabrel’s. He is the product—the outcome of his parents’ crime.”
Gabrel’s heart raced as Ayden let her words sink in. “Now, we all know that by law, his life must end to ensure the purity of our great races,” she continued. “But as with all things, there is an exception to every rule. And I find myself in a precarious position.
I need him.
The Erygian Sage spared his life. Now, so will his own Queen.”
; The crowd voiced their discontent.
“But only under one condition,” Ayden silenced them.
Gabrel couldn’t blink. His mind was a furious storm of anticipation and dread.
“That he swears to let his impurity die with him,” said Ayden. “He must never bring life into this world.”
“How can you be sure he will do this?” Eitherian asked heatedly. “Will you castrate him before us all?”
“There’s no need for that,” Ayden said. “Only for his word. But Gabrel, know this: if ever you should break your oath, the same courtesy I afford you now will not be made to your offspring. And I will execute the full extent of the law upon you, the child and its mother. Believe me when I say I will see your life taken last, and theirs before your very eyes. Do you accept this condition for your life?”
“Absolutely,” Gabrel said without a moment’s thought. “The only woman I would ever have brought life into this world with is dead.”
“The Enchanters still seemed displeased,” Kaven mumbled to Gabrel, noticing the suppressed rage on their faces. “I think they wanted to see you bleed.”
“The matter is resolved,” Ayden said. “Gabrel Caladen, the half-breed wielder, will be the first and the last of his kind. Now, we’ll depart.” She turned to the Enchanters. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she told them.
The Erygians provided not only horses for travel—a gift Ayden greatly expressed her gratitude for—but ten Erygian warriors as well. Each bore white and black winter armor—full suits that offered more protection than what Gabrel and Kaven remembered the lightly clad warriors of Allestron wearing.
“Though we find some of your company less than desirable,” Eitherian told Ayden, “you are our ally, and we wish for your safe passage to Benevar.”
The escorts, Gabrel and Kaven knew, would help ensure their safety. However, the brothers felt somewhat guilty for just how great the gesture was, given the current state of Estimus. The Erygian city was already sparse on warriors, and to lend even a handful of soldiers humbled Gabrel and Kaven greatly. Though, regardless of the Erygians’ graciousness, a fierce loathing still shone in their disdainful eyes.
“Is there no convincing you to stay?” Eitherian asked Kade once they reached the city gates.
“This is the path I have chosen,” said Kade. “Though, I did not come to the decision lightly. I’ll return when I am able. I promise.”
She turned her horse, and led the others through the gates. Behind her, she heard Eitherian call out for all to hear.
“Our Sage leaves us when we need her the most,” said the Enchantress. “Let us hope the next to be chosen comes quickly, and proves a wiser, more worthy soul!”
Kade froze her horse in its step.
“What the hell did she just say?!” Gabrel gasped.
Kade stared forward, feeling hundreds of eyes burning upon her back. She dared not turn around to face them. Shame and embarrassment consumed her. With a soft kick in her horse’s flanks, she proceeded through the gates, and left the city of Estimus behind her.
The group followed in silence, but after a few moments, Kaven brought his horse to a stop. The others continued past him, giving him curious glances. Kaven stared blankly at Kade, who rode further away, attempting to hold her chin high and fight back tears.
He turned his horse, and galloped back into the city. The others halted their departure, and turned as well, though they did not follow. They watched as Kaven’s horse skidded to a dust-billowing stop just before the Enchanters.
“Kaven, what’re you doing?” Gabrel said under his breath.
“How dare you,” Kaven growled. “How dare you all. Your Sage is not abandoning you. She’s trying to save you.”
“She is young and foolish,” said Eitherian. “And clearly unbefitting as a leader of our people.”
“You’re wrong,” Kaven berated them. “We’re trying to organize an alliance—a task fit for a Sage, if ever there was one!”
“You could not perform this task yourselves, ambassador?” asked the Enchantress.
“Kade knows a hundred times over what my brother and I do of other cultures. Of foreign relations. And what courage she must have to leave this city without your blessing. But you won’t see that. You won’t see past your own needs to what greater purpose she’s serving.”
“Our own needs,” Eitherian said cynically. “Look around you. Look at their faces.”
Kaven observed the crowd.
“How many of them will perish in the days to come, because she was not here?”
The civilians cast each other nervous glances.
“How many mothers. And fathers. And husbands and wives. How many more farms will burn? How many more soldiers—sons and daughters—will be lost to the attacks?”
Kaven noticed an Erygian woman, clutching her bundled infant closer, suddenly all the more fearful of her child’s future.
“Our own needs, you say? These are peoples’ lives.”
“And she’s trying to save them,” Kaven remained resolute. “I bet you wouldn’t be so opposed to Kade leaving if she was tending to another Erygian city? If she was headed for Allestron instead of Benevar. Would you still disapprove then?”
Kaven directed his attention to the crowd. “You are not forsaken,” he told them. “Your Sage is trying to end this war. Not to remain and fend off patrols.” He looked back to Eitherian. “If you can’t see that, then she’s more a leader than you will ever be,” he told her. With those final, bitter sentiments, he turned his horse, and sped from the city.
When he joined the others, he did not make eye contact with any of the Erygian warriors.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“What was all that?” Gabrel asked as Kaven rode up beside him. “What’d you say to them?” Kaven did not answer. He simply met eyes with his brother for the briefest of moments. Gabrel, surprised by thickness of emotion in Kaven’s eyes, opted not to press him on the matter.
Kaven slowly brought his eyes to Kade, and was surprised to see her staring at him, wide eyed. Pools of tears gathered beneath her sparkling blue irises.
She knew he’d gone back to defend her honor. She wanted to thank him. Yet she wanted to scold him as well. It was not a Human’s place to meddle in Erygian matters. Her eyes reflected the tearing of her heart.
“To Benevar,” Kade forced the words from her stifled throat, then turned her horse, and left Estimus without once looking back.
They traveled all day, westward, across the Agorian Plains. Without trees to shield or shelter the group from the harsh bite of winter, cold, wet wind blasted against their racing horses, causing constant shivers, and curses behind rattling teeth.
At nightfall, the group made camp in a cave under the crumbled ruins of a once massive statue.
“What is this place?” Gabrel asked, noticing half of a cracked stone face partially buried before him.
“I think a better question would be, ‘what was this place?’” Kaven added.
“It was a marker,” said Kade. “To let travelers know they were entering an Erygian realm.”
“Let me guess,” Gabrel said. “Destroyed during the War of Ages?”
“Yes,” Kade confirmed. “But I cannot say if it was destroyed over a dispute of lands and lines, or for another reason. There were once many other statues like this one, spread across the land—most have also fallen to their ruin. It is rumored that, together, they could be used to find one of the junakothari. Perhaps they were decimated to conceal its location.”
“I’ve found that most Erygian rumors usually hold some amount of truth,” said Ayden. “As to how much, exactly, that’s hard to say.”
“There is much history in this stone,” said Kade. “So much is lost.”
“Ayden,” Gabrel whispered. “I want to thank you for what you did in Estimus.”
Without a response, the Queen motioned for Asos to help her dismount. She left the others without a word.
“Well
alright then,” Gabrel mumbled to himself.
“Why is there steam coming from the cave?” Kaven asked.
“There’s a spring within,” Kade answered. “It should offer us some warmth tonight.”
“Anyone fancy a hot bath?” Gabrel chimed in.
Everyone settled into the camp, and prepared for the cool night ahead. One of the Erygian warriors made a fire, while others gathered wood and distributed food. As Kaven unburdened his horse, he was slightly startled by a soft, unexpected touch upon his arm. It was Kade. She’d strode over to him quite silently, and spoke for only him to hear.
“Kaven,” she said, “about what you did in Estimus—”
“Look,” Kaven interrupted her. “I know I shouldn’t have. But they were wrong.”
“Thank you,” Kade whispered.
“Ahem,” Gabrel coughed, not three paces from them. Both Kaven and Kade looked to him. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” said Kade. “What’s the matter, Gabrel?”
“Well, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought,” Gabrel said. “And I want to do something tonight—before we’re all tucked in.”
“Do what?” asked Kaven. “I’m completely exhausted, Gabe.”
“Mind-marking.”
“Are you serious?” Kaven asked, completely surprised by Gabrel’s decision.
“Yeah,” said Gabrel. “I mean, I’d rather you didn’t know my every thought, but one thing keeps bugging me. Dareic. I don’t like the fact that I had to walk into a bloody bonfire just to see if he’s still alive. But you and I, Kaven, we wouldn’t have to do that.”
“I suppose not,” said Kaven.
“There’s just one thing,” Gabrel told him. “I want you to know that I’m not proud of everything that runs through my brain. And for you to know those things—”
“Look, Gabe, that goes both ways,” said Kaven. “But if you’re willing to go through with it, then so am I.”
Gabrel nodded, then looked to Kade. “Will it be permanent?” he asked.
“The connection can be severed, if ever you so wish,” said Kade. “Either by magic or damage to either of your markings.”