by Clayton Wood
“But who would do such a thing?” Councilman Goran wondered. “We're the only ones who knew where the Arena was!” Then he frowned. “Unless you're suggesting that Xanos had his men killed?”
“Not at all,” Kalibar replied. “It wouldn't make any sense for Xanos to kill off his own army, unless it was a punishment for allowing us to escape. Even then, why would he let the children live? They'd been left alone in those dormitories for days by the time we'd found them.”
“So who then?” Jax asked. Kalibar shrugged.
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “But if it wasn't sanctioned by Xanos, it means that we may have an ally in this war.”
“Let's not get presumptuous,” Goran grumbled. “We can't keep relying on mysterious allies – and rings – to save us,” he added. “We need to concentrate on doing what we can do...starting with interrogating those children. The information we extract from them might be vital to the survival of the Empire.”
“Don't forget that we have one of those children in this room,” Erasmus countered, turning to the side to gesture at Ariana. Everyone at the table turned to look at her. While Kyle would have shrunk down in his seat at the attention, Ariana faced the Councilmen bravely, sitting tall in her chair. Erasmus smiled at Ariana. “She has been remarkably cooperative with us, and she's already made it known that the Dead Man kept his secrets...and Xanos's secrets...to himself. I myself doubt that these children will be as critical as you imagine, Goran.”
“Perhaps,” Goran retorted. “But remember that Ariana was an outsider...the other children shunned her for it. They may have kept information from her, information that could potentially save millions of lives.” He shook his head. “Allowing this civilization to crumble for the sake of a few children is a far greater evil than any cruelty suffered at the hands of an interrogator.”
“They will be questioned, Councilman,” Kalibar stated, “...but it will be done humanely,” he added firmly. “I will not compromise the ethics of the Empire by torturing children.” Kyle glanced at Ariana, and saw her smile. She'd hated the Dead Man for torching her village and killing her parents and friends. How would she have felt if Kalibar had condoned torturing those children? After all, if she hadn't been rescued, she would've been one of them.
“Of course,” Councilman Ibicus piped in. “The children will be handled with dignity. I believe Councilman Goran was simply expressing the urgency of the situation,” he added, his silver eyes locking on Goran's. Goran paused, then nodded.
“I think everyone is in agreement,” Jax declared. “Grand Weaver, thank you for your report. We look forward to the results of these interrogations. In the meantime, we have a third item in the agenda for today's meeting...his excellency the Grand Weaver's proposal for the consolidation of our legions. Councilman Goran, I believe you had some concerns about this?”
Kyle groaned, realizing that the meeting was about to become painfully boring...and that it wouldn't end anytime soon. He was suddenly desperate to get out of there while he still had the chance. He glanced at Ariana, who in turn gave Darius a pleading look. The dour bodyguard smirked, but stood, gesturing for the two to follow him as he made his way through the door. Darius led them down the hallway, back toward Kalibar's suite. When they'd made it through Kalibar's front door, Kyle let out a sigh.
“Thanks, Darius,” he said. “We would've died if we'd had to stay for that!” The bodyguard shut the door behind him, then glanced across Kalibar's huge living room, toward the Grand Weaver's bedroom. The door to the bedroom was open, and Kyle could see the motionless body of the assassin still lying on the ground.
“Don't get your hopes up,” Darius grumbled.
* * *
After a long while, the meeting adjourned, and Kalibar and Erasmus joined Kyle, Ariana, and Darius in Kalibar's chambers. Kyle was glad to see Kalibar; ever since the old man had won the election, he'd been too busy to spend much time with his adopted children. Kyle missed the old days, when Kalibar had all the time in the world to spend with him. Of course, that had also been when they'd been imprisoned, tortured, and nearly killed, but still, the moments of peace they'd had before all that had been some of the best days of Kyle's life.
Erasmus didn't seem at all pleased with how the rest of the meeting had gone. He stormed into the room, then began to pace in front of Kyle and Ariana, who were sitting on one of the couches in the corner.
“Obstructionist pigs!” he spat. “Even in the middle of a war, they can't stop with their political bull-”
“Ahem,” Kalibar interjected. Erasmus glanced at Kyle and Ariana, then sighed.
“Sometimes I just want to put my thumbs right over Goran's eyes, and just push, just to see what sounds he'd make,” Erasmus grumbled.
“You fall right into his traps every time,” Kalibar observed, although not unkindly. Erasmus shrugged helplessly.
“I can't help it,” he complained, staring down at his thumbs and making wiggling motions with them. “I swear, the bastard makes me ashamed to be an Elitist!”
“I know, old friend,” Kalibar replied. “But in the end, it doesn't matter. Goran and the rest of the Elitists don't have a majority vote for the Council. With half the Council on our side, and Jax's tiebreaker vote, we have enough support to get a majority when we need it.” And this was true; Kyle didn't understand much of what went on with the Council, but with each member having one vote, and Kalibar and Erasmus having six of the twelve on their side, voting almost always split 6-6. Since Jax was Elder Runic, he had a tiebreaker vote...and usually won them the day.
“The bastard had the gall to accuse me of deactivating your wards to let the assassin in!” Erasmus complained. Kalibar smirked.
“He insinuated,” he corrected. “And you know as well as I do that no one in the Council took that comment seriously.”
“Maybe I should change up his wards,” Erasmus grumbled, “...so that they fry him when he walks into his bedroom.” Still, the Grand Runic stopped pacing, and sat on the couch next to Kyle and Ariana. Kalibar sat on the couch opposite them.
“In any case,” Kalibar stated, his eyepatches pointing right at Ariana and Kyle, “I have some news for you two.” Kyle and Ariana stole a glance at each other, then turned back to face Kalibar.
“What kind of news?” Ariana asked, her voice wary. Kalibar smiled.
“I talked to Master Owens yesterday,” he replied. “He was very impressed with your progress...both of you,” he added. Kyle felt his cheeks burning, and stared down at his feet. Master Owens had seemed far from impressed when he'd spoken to Kyle earlier that morning. Luckily Kalibar couldn't notice Kyle's chagrin. “Master Owens was particularly pleased with your performance during your sparring match yesterday, Ariana.”
This time, it was Ariana's turn to blush. She'd had a sparring match with one of the other Weaver students the other night, and had beaten her opponent handily. When the student had shot a flaming ball of punk at her, she'd made a big gravity sphere behind the student. The sphere had sucked air into itself so powerfully that her enemy had been sucked back into it as well...along with his flaming punk. Luckily, Ariana had woven the water pattern soon after, dousing the flames even before Master Owens could stop the sparring match. It had been an impressive display of strategy...much more impressive than Kyle's match before that. Sure, he'd won handily...but only by virtue of his sheer magical power, not by dint of cleverness.
“Thank you,” Ariana replied. Kalibar smiled.
“Thank Master Owens,” he countered. “After all, he's the one who recommended that I grant you a waiver to start your specialty training earlier than the mandatory age.”
“Specialty training?” Ariana asked.
“Battle-Weaving,” Kalibar clarified. Ariana's jaw dropped open.
“Really?” she breathed. Battle-Weaving was a highly sought-after specialty, one that most Weaver students desperately hoped to get into. It took perfect grades – and a great deal of luck – to be accepted into the
program. And no one was accepted until they turned 18.
“Master Owens agreed to be your personal instructor until you graduate,” Kalibar explained. “Your training will be intense – all day long, instead of four hours a day. With such an accelerated course, you might graduate in a few years...and be able to start your Battle-Weaver training before you turn eighteen.”
Ariana cheered, then ran into Kalibar's arms, giving the old Weaver a big hug. Kalibar laughed, embracing her back, then gently pushing her away.
“It won't be easy,” he warned.
“I learned under the Dead Man,” Ariana countered. Kalibar chuckled.
“You've got me there,” he admitted. Then he stood up from the couch. “Now, I'm afraid I have to ask you all to leave,” he added. “Except for you, Kyle...and you, Erasmus.” Darius and Ariana stood up – Ariana giving Kalibar one last enthusiastic hug – and then they both filed out of Kalibar's suite, leaving Kyle alone with the Grand Weaver and Runic. Kyle had remained seated, as had Erasmus. Kalibar joined them, sitting down beside Erasmus. He faced Kyle, his expression difficult to read. Kyle squirmed under that eyeless gaze, dropping his own eyes to the floor.
“Kyle,” Kalibar began, then paused for a moment. His tone was far from jovial. Erasmus rolled his eyes.
“Oh, cut the crap, Kalibar!” the Grand Runic snorted. He shuffled up next to Kyle on the couch, throwing an arm around Kyle's shoulders. Kyle's back, which had been cut through to the bone a few weeks ago, still ached a little with the impact. “The greatest day of my life, and you're acting like someone died!”
“Erasmus,” Kalibar began.
“Oh, don't you ruin this for me,” Erasmus interrupted, wagging one finger at Kalibar...which of course Kalibar couldn't see. “It's about time we had a talent like Kyle in our ranks,” he added, throwing Kalibar a dirty look. “Your wartime heroics sent two generations of young talent straight into Weaving. Kyle's the finest recruit we've had in two thousand years...and I won't have you convincing him otherwise!”
“I was just trying to comfort my son,” Kalibar protested. “Are you okay, Kyle?” he asked. Kyle nodded, then blushed...once again, he'd forgotten that Kalibar was blind.
“I'm okay,” Kyle replied. And it was true...after talking with Ariana, and with Erasmus so excited to have him on board, he felt a tad better about his sudden career change. He'd much rather be a Weaver, but he wasn't completely devastated anymore.
“Good,” Kalibar replied. “I still don't necessarily agree with Master Owens,” he added. “I do think you'd make a fine Weaver...an exceptional one, in fact. But you may find being a Runic more to your liking. It's worth trying.”
“And I have just the teacher for you,” Erasmus stated. “One of my former students, in fact,” he added proudly. “His name is Master Banar...and I have a feeling you two are going to get along just fine.”
Kyle smiled at Erasmus, but didn't say anything. He really had hoped to become a Weaver, flying through the air and throwing fireballs at his enemies. But who said he couldn't still learn that stuff anyway? After all, he was really good at memorizing patterns...and he was pretty sure that Ariana wouldn't mind teaching him if he asked. He could be a Runic first...and a Weaver in secret. Only he and Ariana would know.
Yes, Kyle decided with a smile...it was a perfect plan. He could still become everything he wanted to be, do everything he wanted to do.
That is, if Xanos didn't kill them all first.
Chapter 4
Kalibar stepped into his spacious shower, feeling the magically warmed granite under his bare feet. The shower was powered by magic; with a thought, Kalibar could activate the sensor rune on the ceiling, generating a soothing cascade of water over his head. Activating a rune to the right of the center rune would make the water colder; the left, hotter.
He activated the center rune, feeling water spray down over his head, dripping over his bare shoulders. Though the shower made water by consuming air, there was no cold wind whipped up by its creation. Gravity-field generating runes in the shower stall dissipated the breeze, while others warmed the air, creating a consistent temperature. A miracle of modern runic technology, this shower. And yet it paled in comparison to the simplest trinket from Ancient times.
Kalibar sighed, feeling the weight of the day begin to lift off of his shoulders. He adjusted the temperature with a thought, the water turning from warm to hot. It felt good over his aching head, where he'd struck his temple on a rock fighting the Dire Lurker two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, but it already felt like the distant past.
Kalibar lowered his chin to his chest, letting the water course over the back of his neck. He'd naively expected the Council to be more cooperative during his second term. Imaged them setting aside their differences, coming together under a common goal, against a common enemy. Instead, they bickered as usual, letting old animosities and party lines dictate their allegiances. Goran had run against Kalibar for Grand Weaver almost twelve years ago...a vicious battle of the popular Elitist versus the legendary Populist war hero...and Kalibar had won handily. Twelve years later, Goran failed to secure a second nomination after Orik – also a Populist – had used his considerable influence and unlimited funds to ensure that Goran never got a chance to challenge him. Goran had never forgiven Kalibar for his successes, and had fought against him on almost everything since...and did so even now, when the stakes were at their highest.
Kalibar sighed, mentally nudging the sensor rune above his head. The water became hotter still, almost burning hot. He ignored the pain, feeling his heart thumping in his chest, and an increasingly familiar sensation in the pit of his stomach.
Fear.
He was going to fail, and he knew it. The enemy was too powerful, too organized. United under one ruler with one vision. The Empire, on the other hand – the Council with its dual leaders – had been designed to provide inertia, to ensure that no change in its laws was enacted without significant debate. It was an excellent system in times of peace, but terrible in times of crisis.
There was one way to get around it, though. The founders of the Empire had anticipated this very situation. In times of crisis, he and Erasmus could enact emergency powers, giving them full control over the military. The Right of Dictatorship, it was called. It was a sure way to win control over the Council, but it would make the rest of his six-year term – if he lived that long – a miserable experience. After the crisis, the Council would almost certainly block any future bills brought forth by himself and Erasmus, effectively shutting down the government until their terms expired. Then, once they were civilians, they could both be tried with war crimes for “subverting the government”...and even be executed.
It had happened before.
Another piece of insurance, that. The Right of Dictatorship could be wielded, but only if the Grand Weaver and Runic agreed together to enact them...and were willing to face the consequences if their actions were later deemed inappropriate. Only the truly desperate would ever resort to using them. Those with nothing left to lose.
Kalibar shut off the shower, standing there as beads of water trickled down his body. He stood there for a long moment, mulling it over. Certain failure, or almost-certain execution...with his reputation in shambles, as well as that of his closest friend.
He sighed again, stepping out of the shower, then reaching out blindly for the towel he knew Jenkins had left hanging to his right. He found it, using it to wipe the water off of his body. He winced as it brushed up against the innumerable half-healed cuts and bruises that covered him, being extra gentle over the ribs on his left side. He was pretty sure they had been broken. When he was done, he wrapped the towel around his waist, and felt for the runes Erasmus had placed on the railing next to the wall, the one that led back to his bedroom.
He stepped out of the shower, making his way slowly around the corner, turning right. After six years of living in this room during his previous tenure, he knew that his bed would be straight ahead...even withou
t the runes Erasmus had peppered all over the room. He let go of the railing, and walked forward carefully, sliding his feet forward across the floor with each small step. He could feel every object in the room...except the floor. Even though he knew it was level, and that Jenkins would never allow an obstacle to be left for him to trip over, he couldn't help being cautious. He could easily stop any fall with his magic, but a part of his mind refused to believe that. He was still human, after all.
He put his hands out in front of him, feeling his palms to touch soft bedsheets. He found himself tilting his chin up as he walked, and lowered his head. He would have to work on that.
He eased himself onto the bed, his body aching with each movement. His recent adventure had taken more from him than just his sight. Every breath hurt, and he still got awful headaches from time to time. He knew that, at his age, he would never fully recover. Pain was now, and would forever be, an everyday fact of life.
Along, of course, with the blindness.
He'd never told anybody, and he never would, but there had been times in those first two weeks after the Dead Man had ripped his eyes out of their sockets, dark times where he'd stared into that swirling blackness – that terrible nothing – and he'd wept silently. At first he'd been angry, angry that he hadn't just stayed at his home in Bellingham, angry with the fact that some kid from another planet had happened on his doorstep, changing his life forever. If only he'd pawned the boy off on someone else, or stayed in Stridon instead of running off to Crescent Lake, he would still have his eyesight. He missed seeing the morning sky, a brilliant painting that was never the same as the one composed before it. He missed colors, and textures. He missed being able to see people's faces. It was so hard to talk with people when he couldn't see their faces. So much about communication was visual, more so than he'd ever imagined.
In the first two nights, chained to his narrow cot in his prison cell, he'd thought about ending it all.