by Tammy Salyer
Ulfric wasn’t going to listen to this mere boy. “You’ll show me where they are taking my daughter, or you’ll die alone in this maze. I’m not going to protect you if you don’t take me to her.”
Without a second of hesitation, he had Urgo glide over the boy’s back and reach his talons between his shoulders, careful not to further injure him, and grip Salukis by his clothing. The boy jerked, trying to escape, but the feeling of Urgo’s hard-as-stone claws dissuaded him quickly. He quit fighting and let his wings droop.
Urgo, to the mountains. Find us a secluded place to land.
A short time later, Ulfric watched as Salukis stared in unmasked disgust at Urgo and Yggo shredding and swallowing a pair of creatures that resembled Vinnr’s mountain goats, which had been unfortunate enough to be in the spot the bruhawks had chosen to land. When Urgo looked up, Ulfric was able to observe the surroundings from the curious dual vantage of both Urgo’s eyes and the memory keeper around Salukis’s neck. It made him feel present and was surprisingly easy to sustain with the pendant so close to his incorporeal self.
Unable to watch any longer, Salukis leaned back against a boulder and buried his face in his hands, distraught. “I didn’t want to leave her,” he whispered. “She made me go. The only way to help her now is to get to Maerria.”
He was mumbling into his palms as if no one else could hear him. Ulfric could see the boy was near his breaking point. He’d have to handle him delicately, despite the urgency and fear rampaging through his own mind.
“Boy, chin up, listen to me,” he began.
He paid Ulfric no mind, continuing his subdued raving. “And that Deathless soldier. The bird killed him, let him fall…”
Ulfric was flummoxed. “Of course I killed him. Would you have preferred I let him kill you?”
“Minothians would never…” The boy looked up. “What do you mean, you killed him? It was the bird—where are you?” He began looking around the high mountainside shelf the bruhawks had brought them to.
“It’s difficult to explain, and I’m only going to say this once. It isn’t important if you understand or not, or even if you believe me. The bruhawk before you, the one with the grayer talons, I am—sharing his body.”
As if to confirm, Urgo clicked his talons against the rocky earth, staring intensely at Salukis.
The massive bird’s gaze clearly unnerved the boy, and he drew his legs tightly up against his chest and wrapped his hands underneath them. “…sharing…” he said doubtfully.
“Yes. I see through his eyes, and through that pendant of my daughter’s. I am…not flesh. I’m bodiless.”
With a look of doubt, Salukis pulled the pendant over his head and stared into the crystal. Through Urgo’s eyes, Ulfric saw himself there. The sensation of being in a body but not his own, yet his visage visible to his own eyes, hit Ulfric like a battering ram. If he’d had legs, he would have staggered. He tore Urgo’s eyes from the pendant and took a moment to catch his disembodied breath.
“But I can see you,” Salukis was saying. “In this eyestone glass. You look…like a person. Is sending your spirit into others something you can do in your realm?”
“No, it definitely isn’t. It’s—never mind. As quickly as you can, tell me what’s happened to my daughter, and do you know what’s happened to Symvalline, her mum?”
Ulfric had to give the boy credit. Despite exhaustion, fear, and his obvious pain from his torn wing, Salukis was able to explain in concise and clear terms all that he knew and suspected since Symvalline and Isemay had been delivered to the starpath terminus he called Thallorn Valley. Ulfric’s family was in the hands of a set of rogue Archons who ruled their people through lies and a blasphemous false impersonation of their own Verity. In a few days, there would be a shift of power, and the more ambitious of the two, Tuzhazu, would undertake some kind of hostile domination of the divided peoples of Arc Rheunos, or so Salukis believed. Only one element of his story brought Ulfric some relief: the boy was certain Symvalline and Crumb, though prisoners, would not be killed. It seemed the Arc Rheunosians held life sacred and were not naturally given to war and conflict. Though he found this surprising, odd even, he didn’t dwell on it.
“What does this Tuzhazu have against your people?” Ulfric asked. “What does he gain by overcoming the—?”
“The Zhallahs. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because Archon Raamuzi knows the truth of the Archons’ deception.”
This made complete sense to Ulfric. Balavad was on a Cosmos-wide mission to stop the Syzyckí Elementum, and he’d already begun his conquest here sometime before coming to Vinnr. Had destroying Battgjald and Balavad’s army stopped that conquest? Or had it merely delayed it? If this Archon Raamuzi of the Zhallahs could expose Balavad’s deception and how he used the other Archons as his puppets, achieving his takeover would be more difficult. And Ulfric had already seen how easy it was to persuade people with power to follow the bidding of a Verity who promised them whatever their heart most desired. He’d almost fallen to this manipulation himself. What did he promise these Archons Tuzhazu and Raamuzi? Ulfric wondered.
“There are two Raamuzi Archons?”
Salukis nodded. “Sisters, Deespora, leader of the Zhallah people, and Akeeva.”
Curious, but not unheard of. In his time in the Knights Corporealis, Ulfric had known a few siblings and a few parents and their children who’d taken the oath.
The more exposure to the other realms Ulfric had, the more he saw Balavad’s grand plan. It seemed that either Vinnr or the fifth realm would be his last conquest. Himmingaze was a dying realm, crumbling nearly before the eyes of its people. He wondered if Balavad’s meddling had also caused their doom. Perhaps Bardgrim would be able to stop him, though…
Ulfric shook his incorporeal head. Right now, Himmingaze was too distant to even comprehend. “This rogue Archon Tuzhazu, what does he look like? Where will I find him? Beyond the power of Yggo’s and Urgo’s talons, will I need anything else to defeat him?”
“You—you’re going to Minoth?”
Ulfric blinked at Salukis with Urgo’s eyes. “Where else would I go?”
“You don’t understand. I want to help Isemay as much as you do. She’s—” He stumbled on his words and changed course. “The Minothians intend to attack my people. If we don’t warn them, they won’t be prepared in time, and you’ll never be able to save Isemay by yourself. They have an army, you have a…a bird.”
“Your enemies have your Verity’s vessel, and I assume Arc Rheunos’s Scrylle and Fenestrii. Everything I need to save my family and return to my own world”—and face the challenges of saving it…and myself—“is there. I understand your troubles, Rheunosian, believe me, I do. But there is nothing I can do for you.”
“They don’t have the Scrylle.”
Urgo’s predatory gaze fixed on Salukis once more. The boy did not squirm, seeming to find strength in the realization of his advantage over Ulfric. “Even if you find Isemay and her mother, you’ll have to come to Maerria to get back to your realm—with their army and Tuzhazu’s Deathless trying to stop you.” Salukis stood up, bringing the pendant level with his own eyes, unblinking. “What good will you do your family if you’re all captured?”
What good…and what about the Knights and Vinnr? And Jaemus and his Glisternauts. A wave of exhaustion, not of the body but of the spirit, struck Ulfric. What was one man, Stallari or not, supposed to do in the face of such insurmountable troubles? Who was his allegiance to anymore? Verity, realm, family, Knight companions? It seemed if he did not save one, he could not save any. And it seemed increasingly impossible that he could save even one.
All I have left is fight, but do I have any more faith? he wondered.
Distracted, it took him a few moments to recognize a strange prickle spreading through him, or was it through Urgo? Somewhat uncomfortable but also reassuring, like a much-needed fire against winter-chilled fingertips. Along with it came a pressure in his mind, Urgo’s own perceptive
thoughts pressing upon Ulfric’s. For the first time, it seemed he could understand the bruhawk, and he was pushing Ulfric not to give in, not to despair. Troubled times were always temporary—it was how we faced those moments that made us worthy of the peace and joy and love of family and friends that defined the rest. Urgo reminded him that no just fight was ever for one person’s gain, and who one chose as their allies were as important as what they were fighting for. The bruhawks would fly with him, but it was up to him to find the strength, and hope, to still fly true.
He studied Salukis. The boy was young, scared, and injured, but he was not a coward. After so many hundreds of turns, Ulfric was an expert on reading people, and he could see the admirable, even courageous man he would become, if given the chance. And he could see his fear for Isemay, hear it in the quaver in his voice when he spoke her name. The boy cared for his daughter. Ulfric himself had seen them…kissing, as little as he wanted to admit his daughter was old enough to. But if anyone knew the lengths a person would go to save the ones they most cared for, it was Ulfric.
As if he could see Ulfric’s indecision, Salukis spoke up. “You owe the Zhallah people nothing, but your own daughter was willing to risk her freedom to help us stop the Minothians from bringing further harm to my people. I don’t think she came by such selflessness on her own. If she were here and you were in danger, I think she would do the wise thing, not the reckless one.”
Ulfric snorted. “Isemay? Avoid recklessness? Clearly you and I aren’t speaking of the same girl.”
Salukis’s face froze for a moment as he looked at Ulfric. The smirk Ulfric wore thawed his expression, and he broke into a grin as well.
“Okay, okay, you’re right. But she’d at least consider the wiser course,” he said, and both men chuckled.
Their laughter dissipated quickly, but the moment had a clearing effect on Ulfric’s spiraling thoughts. His life was devoted to making hard decisions, and this was no different. Mum and I will be in Minoth, Isemay had said. We need your help. We need all the help you can bring. He asked, “You say they won’t be harmed, that we have time before this Tuzhazu makes a move against your people?”
“Three more days,” Salukis confirmed.
Ulfric finally relented. “Can you make it to Maerria?”
Salukis eyed the two bruhawks, who eyed him back quizzically. “I could. Perhaps with a bit of assistance?”
“It’s done,” Ulfric said with finality. “Yggo, would you—”
His words were cut off by the sudden shift of both bruhawks’ heads as they turned toward the labyrinth below them. A dozen or more small figures were visible, men flying over the walls of the maze in a formation that suggested coordinated hunting. They all watched for a moment.
“They’re searching for us,” Salukis said quietly.
“There are too many of them for Yggo and Urgo to handle.” Ulfric thought for a moment. “It’s too dangerous, and too far, to try to go through the mountain passes. So we’ll wait until dark, then make for your city. The bruhawks are swift, silent, and deadly. We’ll get there one way or another before tomorrow’s daystar rises.”
Salukis didn’t argue. Ulfric looked toward the horizon. Hours, half a dozen at least, until dark. He chafed at the idea of waiting, but there were too many things at risk to be rash or reckless. For now, they would wait.
Urgo fluffed out his feathers and settled, preparing for nightfall, and Ulfric focused on Symvalline, his love and life. Where was she? What was happening to her?
Had he arrived in this strange, unsettled realm in time?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Symvalline didn’t dip her toe in before taking the plunge into the frigid water streaming beneath the Cosmoculous Tower, but it wouldn’t have mattered. The water flowed as fast as a bruhawk could dive and sucked her into its depths, speeding her along in pitch-blackness. She didn’t need to hold her breath—the icy river had stolen it from her anyway.
She’d ripped strips of the shroud she’d been carted to the barrows beneath into long ribbons to bind her loose leggings more tightly to her legs and the sleeves of her undershirt to her arms. The remains of her shredded overtunic, used to make the petards and small bags for the sleeping agent, had long since been discarded. But she wanted nothing loose to snag on things in the water and hold her under.
Nevertheless, the clothing quickly grew saturated and heavy. Swimming and struggling to keep near the surface of the watery tunnel, she kept her Mentalios illuminated and her eyes open, more than ready to catch sight of the first well and a moment’s reprieve from the freezing journey.
It came soon. A lighter spot in the water ahead, and shortly the well cistern’s rough stone lip was just above her. She barely had a chance to snag it before the water was trying to force her onward, but fortunately, the well shaft contained a metal ladder bolted into its side, which she clung to with a death grip.
Though the well shafts reached below the ground’s surface, there was still a danger of being discovered. Agatha had explained that each well surfaced in a chamber that was large enough for several people to congregate, and held vessels and pails of all sizes for use by those who came for water. Though the shafts themselves were only a few feet deep, they were built wide and created small pools in the chambers so the river’s strong flow could not tug the retrieval vessels out of people’s hands. If she was unlucky enough to reach the well pool when someone had come for water, she would be found. All she had to defend herself was wits, her small dagger, and the bludgeon she’d taken from the tower guard. But she had no desire to hurt anyone.
She reached the first well quickly and hardly felt the lack of air. With that advantage, she pulled herself up the ladder rungs slowly, cautiously, eyes opened and fixed on the wavering light above her, searching for any sign of the chamber being inhabited. Seeing nothing, ignoring the chill settling in her limbs and fingers, she climbed until her head broke the surface and took in the space. Empty. The stone chamber was not roofed, and warmer outside air settled inside, prickling and tingling against her cold skin. She yearned to step out of the water and stand in a nearby shaft of sunlight but ignored the impulse. Drawing several deep breaths to fill her lungs, she gave the light one last lingering look, then dove again.
Six more to go.
The next three were much the same as the first. Symvalline had embarked in late afternoon, and Agatha had mentioned that most Minothians drew their water in the mornings and evenings. Undiscovered at each, her luck held on. But as she’d feared, her hands and feet were numb before the third well and the rest of her was rapidly following. Her struggle to keep close to the surface was strenuous enough to keep her blood moving, though it hardly kept her warm. As much as she wanted to, she dared not linger at any of the cisterns for any longer than she needed to replenish her breath, but even that was getting harder to hold for as long.
By the time she reached the fourth well, second from the last, she was starting to worry about her chances of remaining conscious and sensate enough to pull herself out of the last two. She would not die without breath. Her Verity spark would sustain her body for an unknown length of time. But she would lose awareness until revived—and there would be no force to revive her deep in the bowels of the Tyrn Mountains, she was sure.
At the fifth well, her luck failed. When she grabbed the underwater ladder rung to arrest her passage, the rusted metal snapped free. Scrabbling frantically at the tunnel walls, Symvalline realized her desperation, as ferocious as it was, would do her no good. She couldn’t feel the walls, couldn’t feel anything, and was swept onward, more than half-frozen and with straining lungs that pleaded for air.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Salukis had managed to carry Isemay a short distance back toward the labyrinth’s center before she’d made him leave her. Mercifully, the regular soldier who’d bound her had not made her walk the rest of the way out of the labyrinth and repeat many of the passages she’d already traversed once to the Minothian valley.
Binding her hands, he’d simply flown her back to the supply wagon she and Salukis had been trailing. Empty of anything save crates and bags, which were packed within each other, it afforded her space to sit and ride out the final leg of the journey.
When the daystar was a few hours past its midday zenith, the wagon stopped and she heard the guard shout their arrival to, she assumed, the Minoth Valley Gate guards. By then, she was so sapped of strength and vitality that she would have given in to being carried by a Deathless Guard. The idea of it made her cold, even more than she already was.
Soon, she heard a sound that could have been a heavy door opening, then people speaking outside the wagon. Lying on her side, her hands and feet bound—apparently her cheekiness had made the guard angry enough to ensure she’d enjoy no comfort—she picked up her head to listen but couldn’t make out what was being said. Struggling in her awkward restraints, she managed to pull herself to her feet and look over the tall wagon sides.
The gate on this side of the labyrinth was built much the same as the other. The pass through the mountains was narrower on this side, however, and only guarded from a singular tower instead of the two at the Aktoktos Gate end. It made sense to her. The Minothians were more concerned with people coming in from beyond the mountains than they were of anyone leaving.
Now that she could see the mountains rising to either side, she couldn’t help but scan them for any sign of Salukis. Perhaps he’d followed the wagon stealthily instead of doing as she’d asked. The idea both excited and vexed her. No, he had to go. Find her da and get help. He was enough of a practical sort that he would have. Still, seeing his familiar adored face would have given her at least some of the energy she was so badly lacking.
Keep that chin up, she told herself. Help will come. Soon.