Silent Requiem (Tales of Ashkar Book 3)

by Kayl Karadjian

  “Are your lungs okay?” Halcyon asked. “Do we need to stop?”

  Incindir scoffed, though the boy was indeed intuitive. “I was fine in Kolaine. I’m fine here.”

  “But the air here is not only thick, but much colder,” the boy argued. “Your body is not used to it.”

  “It makes no difference,” said Incindir as he pushed forward. “Just point the way.”

  “The orb is below us now,” Halcyon explained. “There must be an opening nearby. A cave maybe?”

  Incindir looked about in search of the proposed cave. He spotted one not too far away, about a hundred feet down the slope to the right against the side of the mountain that they were traversing.

  “Over there,” pointed Incindir.

  Halcyon nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Incindir picked the boy up and placed him atop his shoulders, holding tight as he bounded down the harsh terrain. Soon they were at the mouth of the cave, its shelter a welcome contrast to the biting blizzards outside.

  “Let’s hope that those beasts don’t like to dwell in caves, or anything else for that matter,” Incindir said, peering down the deep recesses of the cave. “Who knows what’s down there. Doriel made mention of the Ancient Ones hidden somewhere in Falrethar.”

  Incindir waited for Halcyon to respond, and turned to face away from the cave in search of the boy, fearing that somehow he had gotten lost again.

  But Halcyon was just standing a few feet away, albeit unusually quiet. He was staring at something off in the distance. When Incindir followed the boy’s gaze he narrowed his eyes.

  Not too far away, in the exact spot that they had stood just moments prior in search of the cave, stood an unfamiliar figure sporting pitch black plate from head-to-toe, a cape that fluttered in the wind, and a double-bladed scythe that somehow seemed even darker than the armor.

  Dark like a shadow.

  _ _ _

  Vanessa watched from atop the rooftops at the quiet city bathed in moonlight around her. Her day had yet again proven fruitless, for she could still not find Kalic aside from remnants spoken of him by others.

  Some say that he had left the very night that six moon cycles had elapsed since his message was sent out. Others said that he had fallen during the war. Still more spoke of his feats beyond any elementalist—while having no elemental powers of his own.

  None of it made sense, and the more that Vanessa learned of her beloved the less she believed him to be the same man who she fell in love with.

  This was a man who, for his age beyond a century, was able to win the World Tournament against other elementalists. This was a man who in old age had fought in a full-scale war, an incredible feat even if he did not survive it.

  How comical, then, that Vanessa was far from the young, naïve girl who she used to be. They had been apart longer than they had been together. Could Kalic fathom what Vanessa had become, and better yet, could she accept him?

  Vanessa kicked herself for such a foolish thought. Like her, love was undying, and nothing in the world could break it. In the long years apart, she only hoped that Kalic still felt the same.

  She peered down into the alley, where the young man of bleeding heart would soon show. Lo and behold, like he did the same time every night, he appeared, scrambling with nary a regard of anything other than the girl who had captured his heart.

  From where she stood she watched the young girl step out from her home, and though many would see her stone face as a mark of indifference, it was as blatant a ploy as can be. But she still held the façade, and the boy was none the wiser.

  Like every other night, he handed her the flower that he brought with him, and like every other night, she took it and reciprocated with a half-smile, like an adult would do when handed something like a rock as a gift from a child.

  He bade her farewell—a gesture that she reciprocated with half the enthusiasm—and she disappeared, leaving the young man alone in the cold night. Despite the absurdity of their relationship, or lack thereof, he had the happiest smile on his face.

  His optimism reminded her of Kalic, and her eyes moved to the skies. Even thinking about him made her tremble with glee, a feeling that she never thought she would feel again.

  She glanced back down at the boy dozens of feet below her, though the smile on her face turned into a frown when she saw him no longer alone.

  It was not the girl who was in his presence, but rather a gang of hardy men who hovered over the boy, their shady faces and unnatural postures revealing an almost palpable ill-intent.

  Vanessa made a series of hops and landed atop an alcove just above them, close enough to hear their words but far enough to mask her presence.

  “A blacksmith’s apprentice, huh?” said one of them, his words slurred and his body swaying. The group of men, about five of them, passed around a bottle of something vile. “Bet he made a load off the war, huh?”

  The boy tried to move past them, but he could not penetrate their circle.

  “What’s the matter, huh?” continued the drunkard. “Can’t talk?”

  “Please, leave me alone,” the boy said as he shoved one of them fruitlessly. The man bounced back and give him a shove twice as hard, throwing him to the ground.

  “How much is he paying you?” one of them said as he reached for the boy’s pockets.

  “I need the money for food,” protested the boy with one hand covering his face and the other pushing away the hands that grabbed at him.

  “You think we were compensated for our service?” another grumbled, bringing up his arm and then pointing at his face. “I lost a hand and an eye, and you know what they gave me? A thank you.”

  “How is that my fault?” the boy replied, though the men would not hear him no longer. They all jumped on top of him, punching and kicking while he curled up into a ball.

  Vanessa leapt down from above, eviscerating one of the men and then kicking him away. Before the others could react she jumped atop another one, her legs wrapping around his waist as she ripped out his jugular with her teeth.

  They both fell to the ground, a look of surprise seared into the drunkard’s face as he bled out. Vanessa felt a bottle shatter against the back of her head, but she shook the pain off as she wheeled around and ripped off the man’s face.

  Shouts filled the air as the other two men, including the boy, broke in different directions, leaving Vanessa with three writhing bodies. She licked her lips, then looked down upon them.

  Vanessa could not remember the last time that she had the conscience to feast, but tonight her lips would be red until the morning.

  _ _ _

  Laralen held up his blade in the air, his eyes moving from the tip of the blade to the pommel and back. It was an elegant blade, light in weight but sharp still.

  Phoenix it was called, and like the Sol sector that was named after it, it burned bright and fierce. It burned with such power that Laralen had risen in both respect and authority among his people, even at a young age.

  Those who followed him knew his blade more than they knew him, and that was the same for his enemies. None of these things were a revelation for him.

  The revelation that dawned on him was for the first time his blade could not protect his allies.

  “You could have set me free,” Phoenix flared.

  Laralen closed his eyes. “We both know that would not have been wise. Even if we managed to take down Liberty and a thousand more after him, we would have been left defenseless after your power waned. The ghalier ambush nearly broke us.”

  Laralen’s gaze shifted over to Cad’s portrait, hung on the wall of the Arcadian Command Center. It was one of the only vestiges of him, and Laralen did not have the heart to remove it despite the grief that he endured every time he looked upon it.

  None of the four leaders of Arcadia had even come close to touching Liberty. They had been outclassed in every way. Strength. Numbers. Tact.

  Were they crumbling in old age, and was it time to pass
the mantle?

  “Ohrl’han the Supreme?” asked a voice to Laralen’s left.

  “Yes, Regent Dale?” Laralen replied to the man in charge of the Avanos sector for the time being.

  Regent Dale appeared uncomfortable where he sat, staring at the heaps of parchments laid out atop the table. “If I may inquire, how does one manage to lead an entire sector?”

  Laralen put aside his blade and walked over to the regent, who looked up in embarrassment. “Think of it the same way as leading an army. With your experience as an officer, I’m sure that you will be fine.”

  “I’m afraid it is far from the same,” Regent Dale replied.

  The door opened, Graeme’s face coming into view as he stepped inside. “Hello Laralen. Hello Regent Dale. How do you two fare?”

  “I was just asking Ohrl’han how to lead a sector,” said the regent.

  Graeme chuckled. “You will get used to it, and perhaps, you may come to like it. You may even be elected as the Avanos should you accept the people’s nomination.” Graeme then turned to Laralen. “Laralen?”

  Laralen only returned a silent gaze, and Graeme understood the gesture. The Grand Arcanist took his seat, looked around, and pointed at the last empty seat. “Where is Guy?”

  “I was hoping that he would appear with you,” Laralen said. “He hasn’t answered my summons in days:”

  Graeme frowned. “He told me that he was going to stop the drinking.”

  “Should I leave?” asked Regent Dale.

  “You are part of the Arcadian Council, Dale, even for the time being,” Laralen said.

  Regent Dale nodded. “I’m not used to hearing such sensitive news of Arcadia’s leaders.”

  “The burden of leading is heavy on Guy’s shoulders,” Graeme said with a somber face. He pointed at the table. “It’s not just dealing with papers.”

  “I understand,” said the regent.

  “The Eversong sector is already languishing,” Laralen said as he sat back and crossed his legs. “Even those serving in his abode say that they hardly see him, much less the rest of the sector. Crime is up and productivity is low.”

  “Could it just be the aftermath?” Regent Dale asked.

  Laralen shook his head. “It’s more severe than the other sectors. Even Avanos is faring better. Some under Guy are calling for a regent in his stead, also.”

  “Speaking of crime,” Graeme said, choosing not to respond to Laralen’s statement, “my sector has seen a rise in a series of gruesome murders that all seem to be connected. Missing limbs. Disemboweled bodies. Carved flesh. Each and every victim is drained of blood.”

  “Since when does something so specific reach your ears?” Laralen asked.

  “It’s unlike we have ever seen,” Graeme replied. “Rumors are that a monster lurks the streets. Many are afraid to stay out at night.”

  “That could curb the late night drinking,” said Regent Dale, catching disdainful looks from both Laralen and Graeme. Dale looked down in shame. “My apologies.”

  “Unfortunate, but I’m not sure the relevancy at this table,” Laralen said.

  “All of the victims,” Graeme said, changing his tone when he said ‘victims’, “appear to be criminals of their own right. This monster, or whoever it is, seems to be some sort of vigilante.”

  “Graeme,” Laralen said, eyeing the other in suspicion.

  Graeme let out a sigh. “Sorry, Laralen. Lately I’ve been searching for the things to get my mind off of what ails me. My mind is too troubled to even ponder the stars as of late.”

  A series of knocks came at the door, followed by the presence of two men, one short, oddly dressed creature of a man, and the other a man dressed in pure white. The two walked in, though before the guard outside could close the door behind them another pair of men filed in, taking place at the left and right of the door.

  “Only the emissaries may enter,” said the guard, but the shorter man raised his hand in defiance.

  “They come with me wherever I go, pal,” he said, then looked over at Laralen and the others expectantly.

  Laralen looked at the puzzled guard. “Allow them to stay.” He then turned his attention to the oddly-dressed emissary. “Do you really think that they can protect you?”

  “Pay someone well enough, and they can do anything,” the short man replied as he polished his vest as if to show his wealth. He then pointed at the two guards of his own, whose heads nearly reached the ceiling. “And let me tell ya, these two don’t work for free.”

  The three leaders of Arcadia exchanged looks.

  “Empress Ambrose sends her regards,” chimed in the other emissary, wearing a regal outfit bearing the mark of the Asmani Empire, a griffin, which was a large, flying creature with the head of a bird but a body that resembled a lion.

  “Empress?” Graeme said. “What happened to Emperor Ambrose?”

  “The late Emperor recently passed,” the emissary explained. “His granddaughter, Lady Ambrose, took his place as Empress.”

  Laralen pointed at a set of empty chairs. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Oh, finally some hospitality around here,” said the outspoken fellow as he marched across the room and almost fell into the chair. He took off his gallant hat and placed it atop the table, then gave Laralen a sneer. “I thought Arcadia was more accommodating to travelers.”

  “Arcadia was almost destroyed,” Laralen replied, though his face did not match the tone of his words. “The last time we hosted a leader of another nation, he waged war on us.”

  The short, absurdly dressed man folded his arms and looked offended. “Comparing me to a guy like Liberty?”

  “I’m sorry, what was your name again?” interjected Graeme as he leaned forward.

  “Have you done your research, sir?” he retorted, even more offended than before. “I am Flint.”

  “Well then, Flint, you are the emissary of Garabas?” Graeme continued.

  “Garabas, Dalir, Tren, and Merchant’s Keep in Makka,” Flint corrected proudly.

  Graeme wrinkled his forehead. “You are the emissary of all those kingdoms?”

  “I’m not just the emissary, I own them,” he boasted.

  Laralen reached for his blade, then made his way over to Flint and placed his weapon on the table in front of the emissary—right next to his hat. “Perhaps my comparison of Liberty wasn’t an incorrect one.”

  The two guards accompanying Flint stepped forward, but he held out his hand to stop them. He then looked up at Laralen. “The southern nations were a mess before I arrived. If not for me, they would still be quarreling with themselves. You should be thanking me for bringing stability to southern Arcadia.”

  “I would be thanking you if you had answered our call for help,” Laralen replied.

  “Believe me, I wanted to,” defended Flint as he raised his hands. “But I needed to focus my efforts on fixing the corruption within and consolidate my place. I was not in a position to lend my aid.”

  Laralen backed off, picking his weapon back up and retaking his seat. “Had Liberty won, you would have crumbled in his wake. Do you think he would have stopped with Arcadia?”

  “Listen, listen, listen,” Flint repeated, as if saying the word once wasn’t enough. “I want to be friends, do you?”

  “Friends, I’m not so sure,” Graeme said. “But allies, yes.”

  Laralen looked over at the emissary from the Asmani Empire, who was still standing to the side and had said nothing other than his greeting. “Would you like a seat?”

  “No, thank you,” he replied with a bow, then brushed aside his long, straight hair.

  “What does Empress Ambrose have to say in her defense?” Laralen asked. “The Asmani Empress did not come to our defense.”

  “You must accept our apologies, but like the missive that we sent, it was in a conflict of interest that we intervene between two human nations,” the emissary said. “The Empress extends her hand. We will do our best to lend our aid in Arcadia
’s recovery.”

  “As do the nations under the Trade Barons,” Flint said, giving the emissary from the Asmani Empire a leer. “Any type of material that you need, I got it. Lumber, iron, anything.”

  The emissary scoffed. “I didn’t know that this was a competition for Arcadia’s favor.”

  “I don’t believe that we got your name,” Graeme said to the Asmani emissary.

  “My name is not necessary,” he replied. “I speak for Empress Ambrose.”

  Flint jerked his thumb at the other emissary. “Get a load of this goon.”

  “There’s only one goon in this room, and I am not him,” replied the Asmani emissary.

  “Control yourselves,” Laralen warned.

  Neither protested.

  “Arcadia is looking forward to friendly relations to both nations,” Laralen continued. “Perhaps, one day, we all might come together and form a nation inclusive for all, as did Arcadia with its four leaders.”

  Flint grinned. “If there’s money in it, why not?”

  Laralen looked to the other emissary, who was not as moved.

  “Empress Ambrose wishes the best for both Arcadia and Garabas,” he said, “however, the Asmani Empire is as old as it is independent. It intends to stay that way.”

  “Very well,” Laralen said as he nodded. “You are welcome to stay in Arcadia for as long as you wish.” He turned to Flint. “Please enjoy our hospitality.” Then he turned back to the Asmani emissary. “Tell the empress that sometimes isolation is impossible.”

  The room grew quiet and tense when no one appeared ready to leave. Laralen, Regent Dale, and Graeme all exchanged quick glances. Flint raised his brows, and the Asmani emissary remained more emotionless than Laralen, something that irked him.

  “Empress Ambrose is curious about one thing,” said the Asmani emissary as he moved about the room like a snake in search of prey, his eyes moving from paintings hung on the walls, to Cad’s collections, and to the other items scattered throughout the room.

  “And what is that?” answered Flint.

  “I don’t recall you answering for Arcadia’s leaders,” lashed the Asmani emissary as he faced the others. “Isn’t your business here done? You may make your exit now.”