Already Thar was considering how to deploy the troops aboard the ships if he managed to manipulate their leader to do his bidding. If forced, he’d mindbend the man, but he’d much rather convince him to assist in the war. The ferocity and precision with which they’d defeated the other Farlander vessels was cause enough for hope. With securing an alliance in mind, Thar had ordered the capture of any survivors. A line of prisoners kneeled on the beach under guard.
“Is it me or could he pass for a Kasinian?” Thar asked.
“Thelusian or Farish Islander,” Sorinya said.
“An Islander, maybe,” Thar mused. “A Thelusian? Not likely. Not big or dark enough.”
Sorinya gave an exasperated shake of his head. “We aren’t all giants as black as midnight.”
Thar chuckled before becoming serious. “Is it arrogance that he’s coming to us with only six oarsmen? He’s not a melder, and they’re strong in soul but no match for you, me, or any Blade. I know he has the fleet and all, but they couldn’t fire on us before we killed him.”
“Confidence.”
“Like I said, arrogance … the type that gets men killed.”
“This from the man who sought out the most powerful melders, took on the most dangerous contracts others shunned, never once doubting he could be defeated.” Sorinya chortled. “Didn’t you once fancy yourself the Myth Killer?”
As Thar made to reply, nimbuses sprang up around two oarsmen. He tensed, ready to strike. They leaped from the boat moments before it ran aground, landed in the shallow water, grabbed the craft by the gunwales, and proceeded to drag it ashore with their backs to the beach. The other four oarsmen joined them. When the boat was completely out of the water, they turned to face Thar and his army with uncanny precision, three to each side of the rowboat, and dropped to one knee, heads bowed.
Thar frowned, wondering why the Farlanders would serve such a weak man. From all he’d seen, they respected and ruled by strength. What made the newcomer so different?
The leader stepped from the boat like a king descending a dais before his throne. He was even taller than he seemed at first. Strides languid, hands clasped behind his back, he approached.
“Extremely arrogant,” Thar said, “but I like it. I like him.”
“Me too, oddly enough. He has balls. Big ones. I never thought I’d say that about any Farlander.”
Thar strode to meet the man. “Welcome to Marissinia, territory of the Kasinian Empire. What’s your name, and what brings you here?”
The man stopped close enough for Thar to see into eyes as bottomless and blue as the sea. “Good day to you also.” He smiled broadly. His Kasinian was flawless, even his accent. “I’m Master Akari, and I’m searching for someone. Or should I say hunting someone?”
Thar frowned. “You’re Farlander, I mean, Jiantonese, aren’t you?”
“In essence, yes.”
“So who would you be hunting among your own kind? I assume it is one of them you’re after, if your attacks on the other ships were a proper indicator.”
“A man … Warmonger Vasys Balbas, also known as Cortens Kasandar. He’s about this tall.” Akari indicated his chest area. “Keeps the sides of his head bald and has dark braids that fall down his back. His eyes aren’t nearly as blue as mine but they’re blue enough. Has a penchant for wearing pale leather.”
Thar’s mind whirled as he considered the implications of Akari’s words. There was no way Vasys Balbas and Cortens Kasandar could be the same person. That would make the man thousands of years old. Only Dracodar lived to such ages. And yet was it so far-fetched? The man had named himself after one of Humel’s Swords. Supposedly the Jiantonese didn’t worship the Dominion, so why would he take such a name?
Miniature lightning bolts coursed through Thar’s body. He was reminded of his youth when he sought out foes said to be undefeatable. But this time, there was a difference: the fluttering edge of fear that curbed his excitement. He hadn’t felt it since Elysse. “Warmonger Vasys Balbas … can’t say I know the name, and your claim that he’s Kasandar is ridiculous. However, the description does fit another man … a Warmaster Seligula.”
“Ah, so it’s true then. When we captured one of his followers they said he’d assumed a different name for this endeavor. Where can I find him?”
Thar snapped his mouth shut at the urge to answer. “First, what do you intend with this army of yours?” He tipped his chin toward the fleet.
“What does any general intend with an army?” Before Thar offered a retort, Akari continued, “They needn’t worry you. They’re for Balbas. He brought an army here, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Where are they now?”
“Doing battle somewhere to the northwest, but he isn’t with them. I, myself, have been trying to garner the whereabouts of Selig—Vasys Balbas. He’s an elusive one.” Frowning, Thar considered his willingness to readily answer Akari’s questions. He searched within himself for any hint of a mindbend but found none. Akari certainly wasn’t melding. Even if the Farlander were using the quintessence , Thar would know. “You still haven’t said why you’re hunting Balbas.”
“For his crimes … because he’s my enemy. For his interference in things you wouldn’t comprehend, much less believe.”
“Try me.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
An easy smile graced Akari’s lips. “First off, Balbas isn’t a man any more than I’m just a man, or you for that matter, Tharkensen, once known as the Lightning Blade.”
Thar tensed. “How do you know me?”
“Come now.” Akari shook his head. “You don’t believe we haven’t had spies among your people the same way you had some among us, do you? Your reputation alone precedes you. As for what you are? It’s my job to know.”
“Since you’re so knowledgeable, tell me why I shouldn’t have the firebreathers up on those cliffs behind me blast you and your fleet right now. Seems to me you’re a problem waiting to happen. The best way to deal with such a dilemma is to eliminate the possibility before it becomes a reality.”
Akari smiled again in that relaxed manner of his. “A philosophy to live by. But I’m certain you won’t order an attack because you like your life and you’re smart. Obviously, my weapons far outnumber yours. And we’re far more skilled with them than your people. More than that, I’d say you wish for me to help with this war of yours, to stop the other Jiantonese.
“Lastly, and this may be hard to digest for a man of your renown, there’s no way in the worlds above, below, or beyond, that you or your queen can defeat Vasys Balbas.”
“If I had a thousand gold monarchs for every time I heard such a claim I’d be a very wealthy man,” Thar said.
“Indeed. As I said, your reputation precedes you. However, this time you would find things much different. Not unlike the first day you met your wife.”
A chill crept down Thar’s spine. “How could you know about that?”
“As I said, I’m as much just a man as you are. Or as Balbas is.”
“You’re a Dracodar?”
“Hardly.”
“Then what are you?”
“An agent. A servant. A servant not of this world. As is Balbas.”
Thar recalled a similar story from Envald as well as passages that referred to agents in the Word. “Not of this world. Do you mean beyond the Dragon Gates? So there really is another realm on the other side of them? Another part of Mareshna? Not the Ten Purgatories?”
“Not a part of Mareshna, and no, not the Ten Hells. There is another realm, or should I say, many realms. Balbas, myself, and quite a few others are remnants of an ancient war between the Divine, a war to conquer these places, a war between the Eternals and the Lesser Gods.”
“Are you speaking of the Dominion?”
“Yes and no. Your Dominion is just one of the many pantheons. Some of them were Eternals, the First Gods. Others are their Lesser counterparts. They created this
world and many like it as a means of sanctuary in that war. The Dracodar were their servants and protectors. As were the humans before your power was taken.”
“Why would Gods need protection? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of being Gods?”
“Even Gods must rest eventually. Even Gods can die.”
Thar nodded. “Continue with your tale.”
“Many Divine left this world to seed others, both for survival and to supply their armies when those seeds developed into powerful fruit. Of those who remained, the Eternals Hazline and Humel were the most important. He, for his influence on fate, and her, for her prowess in battle. They were lovers.”
“Her?” Thar uttered. “Humel is a Goddess?”
“Yes. Man’s natural bias toward warriors being male caused your kind to associate Humel with a man.” Akari shrugged. “Something went horribly wrong. Some outside power influenced Humel, addled her mind. She killed Rendorta and attacked Hazline while he rested. With his dying breath, Hazline unleashed his Thirty-two Winds, and while he immobilized Humel, they took their revenge. In turn, Humel’s Swords were freed. And so began a secondary war between the Swords of Humel and Hazline’s Winds.
“Balbas is a Sword. I am a Wind.”
“So you’re some kind of God?’ Thar raised a skeptical brow.
“No. As I said, I’m an agent … a servant to the Gods, not a full Divine. Most Winds play caretaker for worlds like this, waiting for those left behind, descendants of Eternal bloodlines like humankind, to come into their full power, to grow into Gifted or soulsworn as those from the west refer to you. Some like me actively take part in this development, playing the role of a herder, if you will.
“We also hunt those who don’t belong, who develop or display power contrary to that which a world’s people should possess. We place the Gifted among the Eternals’ armies gathering for a final battle, one to determine who shall reign once and for all. Some Winds search out any hint Hazline may be revived.
The Swords stalk the worlds, intent on disrupting the balance to favor their masters, the Lesser Gods. They slay or try to turn the Gifted ready for ascension. More often than not, they use others to do their work, lending power not of the current world to people or to a person to tip those scales. As was done with the Dracodar in the past and the Berendali High Kings.
In Balbas’ case, he provided armies with one of the few things capable of harming guardians like the Dracodar: the remains of a full Divine. He unleashed the Blight, first in Jiantona to assert his reign, and then again when Cortens Kasandar’s expedition crossed the Renigen Sea. After killing Cortens, Balbas returned here disguised as him to repeat the process. But unlike in Jiantona, he didn’t stay to control its effects.
We mistakenly thought the Blight was simply to kill off Gifted. Its purpose was far more insidious.”
Thar tried to take it all in, but the story was almost too fantastical. Yet, parts of it held true with things he’d read in Etien’s Compendium and more so in the Word and other sacred texts within the Grand Chantry. Still, doubts assailed him.
“According to someone I trust,” Thar said, studying Akari’s eyes for a reaction, “Balbas poisoned the Dracodar with a metal, kerin, not the body of some God. It’s the same metal they used to shackle myself and anyone else they caught. I tested it. It inhibits soul.”
Akari nodded. “Kerin is Hazline’s remains. In Jiantona he is called Azuth. As the God dissolved, his body scattered across Mareshna and was buried. You are more familiar with it than you think. It’s also used in Dracodarian-forged steel.
“I was there when Hazline was slain. I helped to spread his remains across the world. It was one of us who wrote your Word as a type of guide.”
Understanding struck Thar then, like a lightning bolt. “Akari. Your name. You’re the one Etien mentions in the Compendium.”
Akari nodded.
Possibilities raced through Thar’s head. With them, he considered the suffering he’d witnessed, the families he’d sacrificed, his people’s near annihilation, all the things Elysse must have endured. He wanted to cry. And yet a fire built within him. The lightning charges surged. Soul enveloped Thar. “With all you know, why didn’t you stop Balbas? Why allow him to bring my people to their knees?” His voice was a barely recognizable growl.
“There’s a reason Humel only had ten Swords,” Akari said, like a teacher delivering a lecture. “They were the most formidable warriors other than the Gods themselves. It takes three Winds to best a Sword. With only two, it’s an even fight, and neither side would risk it. Not with a greater war at stake. Until recently there have only been two Winds in Mareshna.
“When the third of us, Yeren Tenarel, passed through the Dragon Gates at the Tomb of Shattered Souls, Balbas fled to Jiantona. But he’d already accomplished much as Cortens Kasandar. He bound an echo of himself to the High Kings, bestowing them with a power to match or surpass the most potent melders. He bent countless minds to his will.
“You and your queen might think it was your work that caused Ainslen to do as he’s done. But Balbas was already influencing many of your monarchs through his minions within the Order and by use of the Word itself. He simply used that touch before I was aware of his intentions, before my counterpart found me.
“Your queen’s vendetta over the years, as well as my brother, Envald’s work, has rid the Order of much of Balbas’ helpers. Since he can no longer actively interfere with this world’s production, he’ll seek to strike a last blow. He’ll gather as much kerin as he can to take with him through the western Dragon Gates.”
“If that was his plan, I already foiled much of it by destroying his operation,” Thar proclaimed. “He has one mine left, and soon that too will be no more.”
Akari’s eyes became dull things, his voice despondent. “Normally I would laud such an act, but not today. You might have sealed the fate of many. If Balbas is aware of what you’ve done, he’ll kill Envald, who has been your queen’s caretaker for so long. Moreover, he’ll convert any Dracodar who have achieved their full power, the ability to touch the quintessence , including your queen. He’ll destroy any Gifted that he can’t convert. Anyone in their company will also perish.”
“Convert?”
“He’ll poison them with kerin, transform them into his Kargoshi, to do his bidding as weapons in this world or the next.”
“He’s creating a second Blight,” Thar whispered. Thoughts racing, he turned on his heels and dashed back to his men. Images of his wife, son, and nephew as Soulbreakers assailed him. He envisioned a field littered with dead Blades and Dracodar. Even if it cost his own life, he would do whatever it took to save them. By the time he summoned the derins, he was already formulating the message he would send off to the First-Born and to Envald.
B onds
O ver two weeks removed from the Bloody Corridor, Keedar stood upon Mount Kalinjil’s green-carpeted slopes, the final summit in the western range of the Whetstone Mountains. He was in the company of Martel, Envald, Leroi Shenen, Cardinton, Adelfried, and King Hanlin. Spanning west and northwest was the Upper Treskelin Forest, and beyond it, the striped blue expanse of the Banded Sea. Northeast, past grasslands and small forests, the cities of Melanil and Tocar were blotches on the horizon, the Vordon Sea a glittering puddle. Directly east lay the Silk Plains, verdant and vast for miles, ending at the dark blot of the Dreadwood, which in turn became the scar of the Steppes of the World and the Renigen Sea. Kasandar was a sculptor’s model in the southeast, the Golden Spires and Winds of Time like needles. The land this high was unblemished, the wind cool and fresh, a stark contrast to the effluvium at the mountains’ base and the churned ground and bloodied brown of the surrounding battlefield.
Thunder rumbled, bringing a frown to Keedar’s face. The sky was clear and blue to the horizon in every direction. Not for the first time he wondered after Thar’s reasons for sending him away. Was it truly to stall the Farlanders or was something else worrying the old man? Keedar co
uldn’t help but feel it was the latter.
Since his arrival he’d participated in two raids. They had lain in wait for a Farlander ereskar cohort and ambushed the men and animals. According to Envald—the towering man with sharpened teeth who dressed in strange old clothes—the cohorts were dispatched from the Parmien Forest. In all, Envald’s Blighted Brothers and Lord Marshal Shenen’s Blades had thwarted any attempts to bypass them. However, days had come and gone without a sign of the enemy.
“Are you certain there’s no way past us farther north, or south on the other side of the Whetstone, toward Kasandar?” Martel asked Envald.
“I have Brothers posted from the south near Kasandar, all the way north to Tocar and Melanil, around the Vordon Sea, to Bethgar in Thelusia.” Envald was dressed in a velvet jacket with matching britches. Despite the day’s swelter, no sweat shone on his corpse-white features. Neither was there the tan from daily exposure to Mandrigal’s one-eyed glare. “They are joined by all the Blades Lord Marshal Shenen could muster, as well as the Consortium’s remnants, some wisemen, Heleganese, and Caradorii. Their sole jobs are to maim any ereskars that did not succumb to Thar’s poison. As you have seen for yourself, when one of the creatures is hurt, the others stop running to tend to their fellow. At least until engaged in battle.”
Keedar had witnessed the occurrence. No amount of mindbending by the animals’ handlers could get them to budge. Such resistance had resulted in the slaughter of each Farlander cohort. Blades then dragged away the soldiers’ bodies and did their best to hide signs of the butchery. Medicos and chirurgeons tended to the ereskars, using herbal concoctions and melds to speed the healing. Hidden in one of the mineshafts not far away was an impressive collection of the animals and supplies, including spark-powder and firebreathers.
“Caradorii?” Martel arched his brow.
The Quintessence Cycle- The Complete Series Page 81