J’anda picked up his pace a little now, weaving out of the edge of the markets and onto the avenue toward the palace. He could see the dual waterfalls pouring out of the rock behind the palace on the walls, and put one foot in front the other as he went. He had intentionally bypassed the road that would have carried him by the Gathering of Coercers, not even wanting to see the building where it lay carved in the rock wall at the side of Saekaj’s chamber. I may see it up close soon enough, anyway.
He walked down the main avenue in silence, stone walls separating the manors on either side of him from the road. Ahead was the gate to the Grand Palace of Saekaj, the Sovereign’s own residence. He knew another cessation spell waited at the gate, one that was certain to break his hold on the three guards in the market. They were at a slightly more alert state than the ones he’d left outside and more likely to immediately report his disappearance, having been tasked with actually watching him by a superior rather than simply guarding a gate as the ones on the surface had been.
No, this was the end, this gate at the end of the road. He had evaded capture to make it thus far; while it was possible he could have lied and enchanted his way through the gate by barest luck, there was really no more need. This was the place the Sovereign dwelled, after all, five minutes walk from the entry point ahead of him. If he were imprisoned, it would be in the Sovereign’s own dungeon, where word would surely make it to Yartraak if he made himself plain.
And he meant to make himself plain.
The gates were ahead, drawing closer like a doom rolling upon him. He felt no dread, however. To him, it all seemed as though the moment were here that he had anticipated and feared all at once, as though something he had been long waiting on were about to be over. It was a rush of pleasant anticipation, the idea that regardless of how it turned out, he was now committed, could not walk away. Like an arrow flying from the bow, my course is set … and that brings a strange freedom.
The guards at the gate saw him coming but stood relaxed, for who could possibly be approaching the Sovereign’s palace but those who were already supposed to be here? He put on his smile once more and watched them grow slightly tenser within their armor as he drew closer and passed the last manor gates before the palace without turning.
The guards lowered their halberds in front of the gate in a diagonal cross to bar his passage. He saw the stiffness of their action, so formal, their armor clanking under the ceremonial motion; a youthful jump could have just about cleared their barricade. No, this was a symbolic block. The real one was the guards hidden inside the gate, probably a battalion’s worth just in the front of the grounds.
“You stand before the palace of the Sovereign,” the guard on the left said stiffly, his armor less ornate than the palace guard uniforms had been a century ago. “Explain your presence.”
“Oh,” J’anda said, stopping just before the halberds and lifting his hands in surrender. “Very well, then. My name is J’anda Aimant … and I believe the Sovereign would like my head on a platter.”
Their reaction was almost worth the entire journey.
16.
Terian
“This battle is lost,” Terian said, watching things spiral impossibly out of control.
The trolls had broken first, under a bombardment of explosions beyond anything Terian had seen before. Fire had lit the dusky skies, swallowing entire brigades in orange conflagrations. It had gone until Terian had ordered Bowe into flight to freeze one of the accursed machines that was slaughtering their trolls. That had worked, fortunately, prompting an explosion behind the Sanctuary lines that had heralded the end of their storm of fire.
Terian’s next move had been to try and flank the Sanctuary line with a schiltron, a small mass of soldiers carrying shields to protect them from the rangers who were showering his lines with arrows. That had failed, though, taken apart by perfectly aimed arrows that had rent great gaps in the formation, large enough for more clumsily aimed arrows to follow.
“Godsdammit, Martaina,” Terian had muttered.
As if that had not been enough, when the Goliath armies had rolled forward in a charge, all their use of magic had been completely ripped away from them by Sanctuary’s use of a cessation spell upon the field of battle. No wizard, nor druid, nor enchanter, nor—Terian looked at Malpravus, whose expression was of barely contained fury—necromancer could cast a single spell. Terian watched their dead fall without any recourse. Malpravus is less than useless in this instance, all because of that damned spell. He sits here like a dark abyss, waiting to swallow any hope I might have. Well done, Cyrus.
“I should have anticipated treachery from your brethren,” Malpravus said coldly, a touch of respect infusing his comment.
“Cyrus Davidon is no idiot,” Terian said, “especially when it comes to facing a superior force. We’ve probably got him outnumbered at least three-to-one, and he’s handing us a defeat.”
“We will overwhelm him,” Malpravus said, certain.
Terian studied the field of battle, drawing his gaze to the right. The lines of battle toward the back were less orderly, but he could see … Is that? Yes … Luukessian cavalry. He’s hiding them, waiting to deploy them until we’re fully exposed. You are a clever devil, Davidon.
“Move up the reserves!” Malpravus commanded, and the order went back, carried off by voice behind him.
Should I countermand him? Terian wondered. He sends out more of the Goliath regulars and some of the dead out on a charge, and Cyrus smashes them with cavalry … it’ll turn this orderly loss into a rout. Terian pursed his lips. I’ll take the middle ground. “I’m not sure that’s wise. Perhaps we should withdraw.”
“And cede the field to them?” Malpravus hissed, his usual cool lost in an instant. “Ridiculous! Our superior numbers will break them down.”
“They’re funneling us toward them.” Terian shook his head. “They pitted that path so we’d march right into their teeth, and we’ve obliged every step of the way. I don’t like it.”
“We will make up our losses once they’re all dead,” Malpravus snapped, “and we add the corpses of their officers to our army, with all their ability bent to my will.” He said it with a touch of greed, and Terian repressed a shudder at the thought.
“You’re in charge,” Terian said, keeping the lightness out of his voice. My ass is now covered; Cyrus, do your worst.
The cavalry charge came moments later, a hard drive out of the right side of the field that cut into the dark elven formation hard, like a sword biting into a throat. Terian watched with carefully concealed glee as the lines dissolved into the chaos of horsemen slashing down on unprepared and panicked soldiers like a reaper raised and lowered upon the harvest.
Yep. That’s a rout.
“We should withdraw,” Terian said again, prompting Malpravus to look back at him with stunned eyes, as though he could not take in all that he was seeing. It is rather a lot to take in—a lot of death, in any case.
“I can’t …” Malpravus murmured, raising his hands and casting a spell, red energy dancing off his fingers to no effect. “So many … lost …”
“Get us out of here,” Terian said, sidling closer to Malpravus as the lines in front of them degenerated into a fracas, the cavalry channeling toward them like hard-running water loosed in a muddy rut. He pulled himself tight to Malpravus as the necromancer blanched from his touch and threw a hand in the air, his spell falling upon them and carrying them away to answer for their failures.
17.
J’anda
The guards were peaceable, if suspicious, walking him through the gates without so much as clapping him in manacles. They did, however, have him surrounded the entire way, swords a mere inch from his skin. J’anda kept his hands out and visible the entire walk, as they marched him into the Grand Palace of Saekaj. It hadn’t been hard for him to guess there were no senior officers about, because a lieutenant had taken charge and his plan essentially seemed to be to take him to the Sovere
ign. Probably thinks he’ll get glory. Hopefully he’s right, but it could easily go the other direction.
The entry to the Sovereign’s palace was hardwoods shined to a luxuriant finish, almost gleaming even in the low light. As they entered the massive foyer, J’anda went automatically toward the throne room as the guards paused, the lieutenant leading him along having a momentary freeze of concern as panic welled up on his face. “It’s this way,” J’anda said, and started toward the entry to the throne room.
“Hold it right there,” the lieutenant said, “we need to check with—”
J’anda sighed and cast his mesmerization spell. The will of these men was stronger than he had encountered elsewhere, but he managed to slip through their defenses with relative ease. It took him something on the order of a minute to fully suppress the resistance of the last one, leaving them all standing there, exposed, in the entry to the Sovereign’s house, but J’anda did not concern himself overmuch with that particular detail.
All the smart ones must have been sent to the front; these men are green as a troll—and just as dumb. Forgive me, Vaste. Not checking the list to see who I was? Assuming I was not a spell caster? Not assigning a spell caster to me? They might as well have handed me a key to the Grand Palace and let me have free reign. In the days of old, this would not have been possible.
He threaded his way between the swords of the guards, pushing one of them aside to pass, opening the door to the entry into the throne room area. Here he encountered two more guards and greeted them with a smile, moving his hands as he cast his spell. “You,” he said to one of them, “will announce me.”
“Yes sir,” the guard said, nodding blankly.
“Is he in?” J’anda asked, pulling off his cloak and handing it to the second guard. He smoothed his robes, fussing with a wrinkle in his sleeve that stubbornly refused to depart.
“He is by himself,” the guard said. “He will be leaving soon for the night, but he has been waiting for—”
“Quite all right,” J’anda said, as the other went to open the door for him. J’anda looked beyond and saw a familiar sight; the throne shrouded in darkness, orange lamps glowing along the sides of the hall. “Announce me as Sir J’anda the Cunning, of Sanctuary,” he said with a faint smile. Using my elven-bestowed title will certainly wake up the Sovereign.
“Sir J’anda the Cunning, of Sanctuary!” the guard called, standing stiffly as J’anda entered the throne room, head held high. The guard withdrew and shut the door a moment later, leaving J’anda apparently alone.
J’anda did not hesitate, continuing toward the darkness in the distance. It was shrouded like a cloud around the throne, pooling around the massive wood chair as if it had been poured out of the air above. He walked at a leisurely pace down the lengthy room, feet shuffling along the thick carpet that lined the center path to the throne, and when he was roughly twenty feet away, he bowed his head low. “You’ll have to forgive me for not stooping lower; my old bones aren’t what they were when we last met.”
The darkness bulged, crackling with energy. “No, they are not,” the voice of Yartraak agreed through the shroud. “I had heard of your advancing years, your sacrifice over the sea, but I scarcely believed it. I scarcely believe it now, though at least I can see it for myself with you standing before me.” The shroud of darkness began to dissolve, and Yartraak’s grey face peered out of the dissipating cloud. “What brings you here now? Did you come to end your days where you began them?”
“As your grace wills it,” J’anda said, bowing again. “I think you are wise enough to discern my intent.”
Yartraak looked out at him through those red eyes, narrowed with intensity. “You have personally betrayed me.”
“Through my actions, yes,” J’anda agreed. “I left and did not look back. I realize now that my leaving was a full betrayal all its own.”
“Do you wish to die?” Yartraak asked, leaning forward. J’anda had forgotten how truly bizarre the God of Darkness’s shape was. His torso was comically angled, like nothing he had ever seen before or since. Even Mortus did not resemble him.
“I am going to die,” J’anda said, staring across the small distance between them. “But before I die, I wished to make my peace with my homeland. If that means dying here, so be it. But there is someone else here who, though innocent, was imprisoned for her contact with me, and I came to absolve her of my considerable crimes.”
Yartraak watched him carefully. “I gave you opportunities for redemption.”
“Your grace is munificent,” J’anda agreed, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise in him. It is all for the greater cause. “You were patient with me, and I failed to recognize it at the time.”
Yartraak sat in silence for a moment. “You Sanctuary fools are always so brave, as though they beat the fear of death out of you somehow. I should be interested to know how Cyrus Davidon inspires that from you people.” The red eyes burned. “I tried to correct your path,” Yartraak said, drawling. “The way a parent corrects a child when they step outside the bounds.”
“You were certainly merciful in that regard,” J’anda lied, keeping his head bowed so that the God of Darkness could not see the tightening of his jaw, the subtle flash of anger he knew crossed his own eyes.
“Indeed I was,” Yartraak said. “Some thought me too merciful. I had hopes for you, for your future here, which I have maintained these long years.” He snapped his grey fingers together. “At any moment, your life could have been mine. An assassin’s blade in the street, a wizard’s spell in the courtyard of your guild … and I held them back because I did not wish you dead … until now, as I look upon you again and realize you were perhaps the greatest betrayal I have ever suffered.”
“I am sorry to be such a disappointment,” J’anda said, remorseful only for the direction the conversation was heading. Damn. All this way, and I fail because I’m not willing, even after all this time, to wallow in the guilt he wants me to embrace like a pile of pig shit. Well, if it’s to end, then I’m not going to do this quietly—
The doors crashed open at the end of the throne room, drawing J’anda’s attention away from the God of Darkness just long enough for Yartraak to grasp him by the neck and lift him high in the air. J’anda was whipped upright, legs dangling beneath him, looking straight into the red eyes of the Sovereign of Saekaj—
—and he saw no mercy there.
“Your guilt is decided,” Yartraak said, “and your sentence will be carried out immediately, and with more mercy than you deserve.” He lifted J’anda further into the air. “You have said your last words.”
J’anda felt the squeeze as the feeling faded from his body. His eyes rolled into his head, and a darkness unrelated to the being in front of him swirled around him, dragging him into its cold and merciless embrace.
18.
Aisling
Aisling awoke on the morning after the battle at Livlosdald keep in Cyrus Davidon’s arms, his hairy chest pressed tight to her back and his warm flesh leaving her feeling oddly cold. She slipped from his grasp as easily as disappearing from a market after thieving from a stand, taking advantage of the man’s deep sleep to avoid stirring him as she made her escape. She’d been doing this for months and months now, and was no fonder of it now than she had been before.
Every day she sat in front of her desk with quill and ink, trying to summon up descriptions of emotions she didn’t feel to couple with the events she’d witnessed and rumors she’d gathered, creating a perfect story of a girl aswirl in events bigger than herself, witnessing things she was not prepared for.
It was exactly what was expected of Aisling Nightwind.
But it was not what she expected of herself, especially since her name was not even truly Aisling Nightwind. That was a secret she kept from all, though. All except Norenn, though even he didn’t know her true name. He’d never needed to, and as she’d judged by his state after her return from Luukessia, he hadn’t felt any compulsion
to share that information with Dagonath Shrawn. More than likely, Shrawn had never even asked. He’d decided the moment they met who she was, and everything she’d done since had been intended to play into that perception. It ran close enough to the truth in most cases that she didn’t even have to try very hard to pull it off. Most of the time.
She dressed quickly and left Cyrus’s tent. The cot he’d been afforded as General had been considerably more comfortable than the sleeping roll she would have used had she decided to keep to herself. But on the eve of a victory such as they’d just seen, she knew what was expected of her.
When she came out of the tent, she scanned the immediate area and found Verity nearby, lecturing a warrior on the proper care of her horse. It was a perfectly normal event in a perfectly normal place; elves were well known for their lecturing ways, their sense of superiority, and supposedly greater knowledge. Verity was not even close to the exception; she played her role as well as Aisling would have expected. The lie was only visible if one knew to look for it.
“You can’t do it that way,” Verity said. Aisling started to trudge past her, on the way to a different part of the camp, and caught her eyes for a brief blink before Verity continued her lecture. That was all Aisling needed to see. She knew that Verity would be along shortly, would try and catch her away from anyone. After an event like the battle they’d seen yesterday, Aisling could hardly expect any differently.
Aisling knew the expectations, played the expectations. That was the game at this point. It wasn’t the game she’d been looking for when she’d left home in search of another life, but it was the one she’d been presented when she’d been caught stealing the Red Destiny of Saekaj. She imagined the massive ruby in her hands again, a gemstone larger than her head. She could almost feel the weight of it. They’d been so close too, only to have victory snatched right out of their hands by the Sovereign’s own return.
Sanctuary 5.5 - Fated in Darkness Page 11