by C. M. Hayden
“My husband died for you. You and your damned Sun King.” She reached into a satchel and pulled out a scroll with a broken wax seal, shoving it toward the warder. Sir Deridane took it, and Era continued to speak as he inspected the document. “We’re receiving a stipend for his death, see? So if you know he passed away, you must also know where his remains are.”
Sir Deridane’s throat rasped. “The families of fallen warders do not receive stipends. Not from us, at any rate.”
Era tapped the paper. “It says ‘Order of the White Sun’ right there! That’s you, isn’t it?”
Oblivious to what was going on, an armor-clad man entered the room. His helmet was tucked under one arm, and he held a sheathed sword in the other.
“Come on, Treytin, y’old shitfire. Rumor is that they’re calling the banners down south, you know what that means—” When he saw Deridane was meeting with an obvious widow, he recoiled ashamedly. “Apologies, m’lady. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Brend, wait,” Sir Deridane called, waving the scroll at him. “What do you make of this? It’s a stipend writ for a fallen warder.”
Brend entered and plucked the paper from Sir Deridane, looking it over. “Gods below,” he whispered. He took Era’s hand gently. “I’m so sorry for your loss. We’re honored to have you here.”
“What’s all this about?” Sir Deridane said, one eye arching.
Brend gave him an incredulous look. “Are you that thick? This is Taro’s mother. The one who rescued the Sun King.”
Era’s heart sank at the mention of her eldest boy.
“I saw it me own self,” the man said. “I was aboard the Eventide when we picked him up. And you’ve been giving her the runaround?”
“Well, how was I to know?” Sir Deridane blustered.
“A stipend for a warder? How often does that happen?” He let Era’s hand go and stood. “It would be my pleasure to answer any questions you have.”
Era nodded, wiping an errant tear from her cheek. “Thank you,” she said, relieved. “Have you seen my son?”
Brend shook his head. “Last I saw him, he was speaking with the Sun King. He asked His Majesty for this.” Brend held up the writ. “So that his family would be taken care of. Mind you, he could’ve asked for anything. A lordship for himself. A magister’s commission. I have no doubt the Sun King would’ve granted him just about anything. Says a lot about your boy’s humility that he thought of you. You must be very proud.”
“Yes. Very proud.” Era kept her voice carefully blank. “Do you know where my husband’s remains are?”
“He fell in Helia during the escape,” Brend said. “If it were a proper war, I have no doubt the Helians would send our men’s remains back. But this Helian witch, Vexis, she has no honor.”
Era put her hand to her face, covering her mouth and nose. She whimpered softly. “I understand. Thank you. Could I impose upon you one request, if you’re able?”
“Name it and see it done,” Brend said.
“I need to get into the Magisterium.”
Brend winced. “My lady…that’s beyond me.” He pointed to his rank insignia. “I’m just a simple warder.”
Seeing her expression drop, Brend thought for a moment. “But I’ll speak with my commander about it, mention your name.”
Era hugged him. “Thank you, so much.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Brend said, patting her in a comforting gesture. “I can’t guarantee anything. The Magisterium’s abuzz right now. The Imperator has issued a Magisterial Summon, and magisters abroad are returning to Endra.”
Decker tilted his head. “What does that mean?”
“The Helians kidnapped the Sun King,” Brend said. “They killed our men, your father included. If I were a betting man, I’d say Endra is gearing up for war.”
Chapter One
A Vision of Light
Wind kicked up dust in the dry, cool night air of the Helian desert. Praxis didn’t remember how he’d gotten in the back of a wagon. He didn’t remember how his hands had been bound with magistry cuffs, or who the unmoving body beside him belonged to. All he knew was that he was in a horse-drawn wagon and could see the stars overhead.
The coachman was familiar to him, a minor noble in his service. Praxis tried to get his attention, but the man pointedly ignored him. Praxis forced his head up over the edge of the wagon so he could see better.
There were men on horses following the wagon, and Vexis was at the lead. They were very far from Helia Edûn, and around them were enormous bones stuck into the hard ground. The caravan came to a halt beside a valley thick with broken spears, ancient armor, and frayed banners sticking up from the dry, cracked earth.
Vexis dismounted her horse and looked into the wagon with a smile. “Oh, good. You’re awake.” She snapped her fingers at one of the men. “Prop him up, I want him to see this.”
Praxis practically snarled at the men. “A thousand shekels to the man who strikes her down.”
Vexis glanced around to the others. “Anyone want to take him up on that? It’s a lot of money,” she said glibly. The Endran girl, Nima, was standing beside several others. Her cheeks were red with tears, but she looked at Praxis with indifference. Nobody moved or said a word.
“You think the Netherlight will protect you from Father?” Praxis spat, turning his attention back to his little sister.
“Oh, I have more than that.” Vexis beat against her chest and coughed a few times. She looked as though she’d throw up; when she hit her chest once more, she coughed up a small, rounded crystal into her palm. She held it up to the night sky. It glowed white with its own inner light, shining like a star.
“I’ve been saving this for a long time.” She held it to Praxis’ face, and he felt his pain disappear and his bruises faded.
“Is that…”
“A fragment of the Arclight.” Vexis nodded. “Wonderful, isn’t it?” She held the Arclight and the Netherlight side-by-side.
“What are you going to do?” Praxis asked as Vexis approached the dragon bones sticking out from the ground. “Kill me out here where nobody will know?”
Vexis sauntered beside the immense dry ribcage of a dragon, running her fingers along the bones. “Why would I kill you? A dead man can’t learn any new lessons. A dead man can’t be made to regret his past. A dead man can’t fear anything. And a dead man can’t bear witness to the birth of a god.”
Vexis held the Arclight and Netherlight together in one hand, and the two chunks of crystals crackled and sparked. She pressed her other palm against the dragon bones. “What would you do with the power of life and death in the palm of your hand? Something small, no doubt. Think bigger. Dream bigger.” The crystals glowed in her hand, and shadows intermixed with the white glow of the Arclight. “Rise, Craetos.”
The shadows and light expanded from her hand like wildfire. They touched every bone before her, and the ground rumbled and cracked underfoot. All at once, bits of dry flesh pulled toward the bones and, piece by piece, a dragon skeleton became whole again. The muscle and meat grew back and the dragon, once dead for a millennium, stirred in the sand. Its eyes glowed like yellow embers, and it shook the earth with each step. Its wings flapped hard, kicking up a hurricane of dust and knocking Praxis onto his back.
The final bits of gnarled sinew and cracked scales came together in a cobweb of mismatched flesh, and the dragon snarled. Vexis ran her hands along its massive frame and exposed leg muscle.
With the undead dragon looming nearby, Vexis approached Praxis and held her hand lovingly to his cheek. “Shall we begin?”
Praxis felt his heart clench. The undead amalgamation of flesh and bones loomed nearby, its eyes glowing menacingly. Before Praxis could speak, a dark, hideous laughter called from nearby.
It was his father, the S
hahl. The ancient man was looking worse than ever. His frail bones barely supported his weight as he hunched over the side of the wagon. Despite his obvious discomfort and the lack of his breathing medicine, he cackled with delight.
“You stupid girl,” he said, wheezing into his hand.
Craetos set one claw forward, shaking the ground and forcing Vexis to back away. Her calm confidence evaporated as the dragon bellowed out a roar so loud and terrible, that even when he pressed his hands hard against his ears, Praxis could barely stand it.
Following the roar, Craetos’ chest glowed red-hot, as if a fire had been lit from the inside. Praxis tumbled out of the way just as flames erupted from Craetos’ mouth.
The heat was so intense that Praxis felt the sweat from his skin turning to steam, and smelled his hair burning. The flames hurled in a straight line, incinerating a wagon, the horses pulling it, and three nearby soldiers in a tremendous fiery inferno.
Vexis seemed to have lost all control of the beast, and when it swung its tail around, it struck her to the ground. Praxis crawled through the dirt by his elbows, trying to get behind a rock jutting up from the desert floor.
Again, fire erupted from Craetos’ mouth, burning guards and horses at random. Chaos ensued as Vexis’ men broke ranks and fled. Nima was the only one to go to her side and try to pull Vexis to safety.
“Why isn’t it working?” Nima shouted.
Vexis had sprained her ankle. Nima held her up by the shoulder, walking her along to safety.
The Shahl, meanwhile, continued to laugh as rampant destruction engulfed the area. He seemed more than slightly manic, shouting and waving his thin fist at the fleeing men. “Yes, run. Run, you traitors. Run and hide. Flee!”
Just as Craetos’ destruction reached its zenith, and the last of the guards were scattering, the monster paused and tilted its head toward the sky.
Its wings opened like a patchwork canvas, eclipsing the light of the two moons. Their flapping was as strong as a hurricane, and tossed the wagons back, sending what few men remained flying. Despite the fact that its wings were ragged and torn, hardly skin and bones, Craetos took to the air.
Just like that, he was gone, leaving little more than corpses and destruction in his wake.
There was a still silence as Praxis tried to regain his bearings. He shook the dust and sand off him and checked his limbs for injury.
Vexis’ face and hair were covered in sand, and she had a look of abject confusion about her. She shook Nima off her and stormed over to the Shahl, seizing him by his thin, ragged arm.
The wagon the Shahl had been in was overturned, and he’d fallen out onto the hard ground. He was in awful shape, but still wore a wide, spiteful grin.
“What’s wrong, little girl?” the Shahl said, speaking through a mouthful of blood. “Your little pet didn’t work out like you thought he would?”
Vexis wiped some of the sand from her eyes. “Why won’t it obey me?” she snarled.
“You’re trying to control forces well beyond you,” the Shahl said, wheezing. “You think I’ve been experimenting with the Netherlight for over seventy years just for my own fancy? You’re missing the most important piece of the puzzle.”
“And what is that?” Vexis asked, shaking him by the collar.
The Shahl choked out another cackle, and blood spilled from his mouth as he breathed his last breath. His head tilted back, and Vexis continued to hold his limp body for a long moment.
“Valros?” she said, shaking him. “Father?”
Vexis’ hands were visibly shaking as she set his thin body down. She knelt opposite of him, her elbows on her knees, looking at his body with a vacant expression.
Praxis approached the Shahl’s lifeless body, regarding him for a second, then looking at his sister with disdain. “Was it worth it?”
Vexis’ eyes snapped in his direction, and Praxis saw a fire burning inside her. When she spoke, there wasn’t a hint of remorse or sorrow. “It will be,” she said. “Soon enough.”
Chapter Two
Consequences
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
Nima repeated this phrase in her mind the entire ride back to Helia Edûn. She had a long, straight cut going down her upper left arm, and several small fractures that ached incessantly, but these small pains couldn’t be further from her mind.
Vexis’ injuries were more severe. She was bleeding from her upper thigh, and could barely limp along under her own power. As their horse trotted down the sand dunes into the city, Vexis was stuck in a contemplative silence.
Nima pulled her horse to a stop, and looked back at Vexis.
“Where should we go?” Nima asked.
For a moment, it seemed like Vexis didn’t hear her. She stared into the distance with a sour look on her face. When Nima asked again, Vexis spit out a few words. “Keep to the back roads,” she said. “Take Mooring Road, there’s a side entrance to the Aculam.”
“We’ll be safe there?” Nima asked.
Vexis shook her head slightly. “We’re not going to be safe anywhere. Just ride.” A hard edge crept into her voice, and Nima knew better than to press the issue.
They rode in silence, passing through the still, empty back alley of Mooring Road. It was a narrow pass that cut behind fish markets, taverns, and two distilleries just off the River Cardaeros. Full of rotten garbage and a smattering of homeless people huddled in makeshift tents, few people came back there, letting Nima and Vexis get to the Aculam without incident. Everything was quiet—almost dreamlike—as they ascended the stone stairs.
Vexis’ chambers were on the fourth floor, overlooking the eastern side of the city. Despite her low standing amongst her family, her chambers reflected her once high station: it was lavish, opulent, and spacious. There were seven rooms in all, each decorated with silk and brass finery, tall candles, and beautiful hand-woven tapestries. A thin layer of dust caked the windowsills, furniture, and even the doorknob. Nima concluded that Vexis didn’t spend much time here.
They stumbled in together, Nima sweating and panting, hot tears running down her cheeks. Vexis looked more annoyed than anything, cursing her wounded leg and hobbling to her four-poster bed. When she removed the makeshift cloth bandage Nima had wrapped her cut in, blood spilled out onto her white sheets, and she moved to apply pressure to the wound.
“The Arclight could heal that,” Nima said.
“I can’t waste it for a cut. I daresay I won’t be getting another one.”
Nima moved like a ghost, walking in circles around the sitting room.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, she repeated in her mind over and over again until her thoughts became voice. “This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. I killed my own dad.” Her words dissolved into sobs, and she knelt against the door, pounding her fist into the wood.
“So did I. You don’t see me whining about it,” Vexis said. She’d taken one of a dozen knives from her bedside drawers and cut her white sheets into long strips. She used them to wrap her leg. Her comment was so casual, so flippant, that Nima couldn’t bring herself to respond at first.
Nima stood, wiping the tears from her face with her sleeve. “How can you say something like that? I thought we were friends?”
Vexis tightened the knot on her bandages, wincing from the pain. “I am your friend, which is why I’m going to tell you what you need to hear.” She looked out the window. “I’d say we have another hour until first light. It’s not going to take long for the guards to realize my father’s missing. They’ll start asking questions, and someone’s going to talk.”
Nima sniffled, trying to hold in her sobs.
Vexis continued. “Go find Lord Ricarn, he should be in the chapel downstairs. We need a doctor, we need supplies, and we need to quietly disappear. We’l
l regroup and return when—”
“I-I-I—” Nima stammered. “I don’t know if I can do this. I need a minute to think.”
Vexis stood with considerable difficulty, and sat Nima on one of the armchairs, one hand on each of the smaller girl’s shoulders. She leaned in and whispered into her ear. “Listen,” she said gently. “Let me level with you, love. Without Craetos, my plan’s not going to work. I’ve got no support, no more men, and my brothers and sisters despise me. I’ll be executed when they find out what I’ve done.” She ran two fingers across Nima’s neck. “And your head will be sitting right on the spike next to mine. If you think they have a problem executing a sixteen-year-old girl, think again. In fact, they’ll probably sell tickets.”
This didn’t help or motivate Nima at all. Rather, she began to cry uncontrollably into her hands. “I deserve it,” she said.
Vexis gave a profound sigh and sat on the armchair beside Nima. “Listen, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know it was your father.”
Nima’s cries turned into rambling. “Even if it hadn’t been my dad, it would’ve been somebody’s dad, right? If it’d been just a random person, they’d still have a family. Sons, daughters, a wife, parents. People who loved them.”
“That’s the world we live in,” Vexis said bitterly. “People die every day by the thousands; old age, war, disease. You think the universe gives a damn about our feelings on the matter?” Vexis held Nima’s hands to hers. “Protect those you care about with your own two hands. Fuck morality.”
Nima looked up in disbelief. “Taro was right. You’re twisted.”
“No, the world is twisted. And messy. And unfair. I’m just meeting it halfway.”
Nima set her face in her hands. “I can never go home. Taro will never want anything to do with me again.”
Vexis frowned, the act making her look considerably older. “That’s true. Your old life is dead and gone. And you can’t stay here. If we’re going to survive, we need to work together and watch each other’s backs.”