The Light of Life

by Edward W. Robertson

"The crazy idea that you don't murder your own friends!"

  Dante had been taken aback by the heat of Blays' fury—he was fond enough of Volo, but he considered her more of a useful ally than as a close friend like Naran—but the answer lit up like a torchstone. This wasn't about Volo.

  It was about Lira. The woman Dante had sent to her death in order to save the city of Narashtovik.

  "It wasn't a perfect call," Dante said. "But the point wasn't to kill Volo. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  Blays tossed up his hands. "Because she was trying to save the knight herself!"

  "And then got taken by surprise. The same way we all were. If Gladdic hadn't acted, both the knight and Volo would have been ripped apart by the Blighted. Instead, they're both alive."

  "Through sheer luck for both of them! Why are you defending this?"

  "It turned out okay, didn't it? So it can't have been quite as bad as you're saying."

  "You agree with him, don't you? You probably would have done the exact same thing." Blays eyed him, face reddened, a blond lock stuck to his brow. "I bet that when you healed them, you healed the knight first."

  Dante sputtered, then opted for the truth. "I had to! He's the only Odo Sein left in Tanar Atain. As soon as I was done, I healed Volo, too."

  "But you couldn't know she'd last that long. Why is this so hard to understand? We don't sacrifice each other! We stand together at all times, no matter how bloody and dark they get! That's why we always win!"

  "What else was I supposed to do? Everything hinges on the knight. I'd have resurrected my own dad and killed him again if that's what it took to save the Odo Sein."

  "Are you lying to me? Or to yourself? If the knight died, we could have gone back to our training. Just like we already planned."

  "There's no guarantee we'll ever learn. Not before the lich is beyond our means to stop."

  "Yes, that's what everyone says, isn't it? But they don't know a gods damn thing. Yet for some reason, we keep swallowing their every claim. And look where it's gotten us."

  The disgust in his voice was so thick Dante fell back half a step. Blays strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Dante moved to the door and opened it, but he didn't bother to chase after Blays. Instead, he motioned to a servant standing at attention down the hall. "He'll be looking for beer. No, that's wrong. He'll want something much stronger. For everyone's sake, you should see that he gets it."

  The servant pushed off from the wall and trotted after Blays. Dante reentered the chamber.

  Naran cleared his throat. "He's walked out on us? Do you believe it'll be temporary?"

  Dante flung himself down on a seating pad, wishing more than anything for a gloriously massive stuffed chair. "He won't give up after we've come this far. He just needs to blow off some steam. Fortunately, he's even better with that than he is with a sword."

  "The rest of us do not have the luxury of taking time for ourselves," Gladdic said. "The Eiden Rane could strike as soon as tomorrow. We require a credible strategy."

  "That depends entirely on whether the knight wakes up, doesn't it? If he's still unconscious when the enemy gets here, our 'credible strategy' will consist of 'running for the nearest canoe and paddling away as fast as we can, secure in the knowledge that no one will survive to tell anyone of our cowardice.'"

  "Are you certain you healed him correctly?"

  "I made what was bleeding not bleed and made the stuff that was broken quit that too. If you think you can do better, you're welcome to try."

  Gladdic crossed the room to the pallet holding the knight. The man was in his forties, but he had the build of a soldier ten years younger. Even in his sleep it looked like the muscles of his face had been pulled tight behind his head. Gladdic kneeled beside him, muttering. A film of ether came to his hands. He dispersed it over the unconscious knight.

  "This is a deep but normal sleep," Gladdic declared after a short observation. "As can be proven."

  He reached out and pinched the man's nose shut. The knight jerked his head to the side. He made a muffled groan, then blinked, taking a hard breath through his mouth. The nether and ether closed shut to Dante as hard as Blays had slammed the door on his way out.

  Dante rolled his eyes. "At least we know he hasn't lost any of his abilities."

  "You are among allies, Knight of the Odo Sein." Gladdic's voice was almost gentle. "I am Gladdic, once of Bressel. That is Dante Galand, leader of Narashtovik in the north. The good Captain Naran has told us of each other."

  The man tried to speak, then bent over coughing. Naran poured water from a pitcher into a cup, both objects made from exceedingly well-wrought glass, and handed it to the knight.

  The knight drank, then tried again. "I'm alive?"

  "And well," Gladdic said.

  "But the Blighted. They were—eating me."

  "They were," Dante said. "We thought that was rather rude, and asked them to stop. The request was phrased by chopping them in half. Then, as long as we were in the neighborhood, we decided to fix you up."

  The knight stared at him blankly. "Your friend said you were my allies. But you talk like you're mocking me."

  "It's been a long day, we've just scored our first real victory against the White Lich, and my other friend is off getting drunk without me. I'm not in the most formal of moods."

  "It's a strange time for us all. My name is Bek Olan, Knight of Odo Sein and Sworn to the Drakebane."

  "Glad to meet you. We've got a lot of work ahead of us, so excuse me for cutting to the chase. Do you still promise to help us kill the White Lich? By the way, and I mention this again for no reason, we did just save you from getting eaten alive by Blighted."

  "Did you also save the city?"

  "It took a beating. But the one we gave the Monsoon was far worse."

  Bek laughed slowly. "Hari are helping to save Tanar Atain while the emperor forsakes it? This must be the end of the world, because everything is upside down."

  "Yes or no, Bek?"

  "My decision hasn't varied since the moment I made it. My entire life was spent training to die fighting the Eiden Rane. That's what I will do now."

  "Perfect. The gods must be impressed with your devotion, because they're going to give you the chance to die to the lich within the next two days. Sleep now. We need you ready."

  The chamber included two glass doors that opened onto a balcony. To let the wounded rest while being able to keep an eye on them, Dante brought Gladdic and Naran outside.

  "We have the assets and the knowledge to kill the lich," Dante said. "If we can find the prime body within his army, and bring Bek within Odo Sein range, one good stab will end this. The problem is that, after today, the lich knows we're here and that we've got an Odo Sein with us. There's no way he hasn't guessed our plan."

  Gladdic moved to the balustrade, resting his hand on the railing. It was well into the afternoon and the sun shimmered from the canals and the bay. "The intention of today's attack could not be more transparent: to assassinate the Odo Sein and leave us impotent to stop the Eiden Rane from absorbing the city. Since his effort failed, it would be foolish to assume the lich's next strike will be in person. More likely he will send another army led by one of his lieutenants."

  Dante's skin prickled. "Or he won't send an army at all. Can the lesser liches travel underwater like the Blighted can?"

  "Likely so. Though more intelligent, they share many traits with the Blighted, and are not subject to the same rules of mortality that we mortals face."

  "Then we could be in deep shit. Although that might actually solve our problem, since an under-lich might not be able to walk through it."

  It took Gladdic a moment. "You believe the Eiden Rane might send one of his lieutenants through the canals."

  "That's what I'd do. We have no way of watching what's beneath the surface. One of his pet sorcerers could sneak up and assassinate Bek before we knew what was happening. He could even combine it
with a frontal attack, then ambush us with a lesser lich as soon as we step out from safety."

  "He has already proven the concept with the Blighted. I believe this is eminently plausible. We must treat it as though it is a part of his plan or risk being ruined by it."

  Dante pinched the bridge of his nose. "The reason it's such a good plan is that we can't really stop it. When he attacks again, what are we supposed to do? Hole up in the top of a tower and let the citizens get massacred by the Blighted until the White Lich himself shows up? Or do we leave Aris Osis altogether?"

  "Neither, because your premise is wrong. I can stop a lieutenant from infiltrating the canals. The ether can be applied to dry land to determine whether it has been recently disturbed by footsteps—and the same may be done to water."

  "That's very clever. But there's no way you can watch the whole city."

  "Again, your premise is flawed. I only have to be able to observe the waterways closest to this island. I believe the roof of that tower would provide an appropriate vantage." He pointed to the tallest tower in the city, a black spire located a couple of islands away that stood a good sixty feet higher than the peak of the one they were currently inside.

  "You're just going to sit up there? And watch?"

  "Indeed. That will provide you with the security necessary to locate the Eiden Rane, surveil him, and deduce his next move. In doing so, we might even craft a way to strike at him before he is able to follow through with his plan."

  Dante glanced around for any insects he could use as scouts. "I'll start at once."

  Gladdic nodded and turned to go.

  Naran gave them a skeptical look. "Aren't you forgetting something? Such as coordinating with the city leaders who we will be relying on to provide a large-scale defense?"

  "You've already been working with them, haven't you?" Dante said. "Let them know we're expecting another attack soon. And it's likely to be much worse than the one we weathered today."

  "I'll do that. And I'll see about securing a new guide in case we need to move out while Volo remains incapacitated."

  Naran and Gladdic departed the balcony. Seeing no bugs about, Dante did the same, exiting into the garden outside the tower to gather up a half dozen moths and large flies. As he sent them flying up to the balcony while he climbed the stairs, he felt a pang of resentment toward Blays. His input was always invaluable; even when his suggestions were too ridiculous to try, they tended to push Dante toward more creative solutions of his own. Dante knew as well as anyone that it wasn't always possible to throw aside the stresses of battle like a well-gnawed chicken bone, but would it have killed Blays to wait to explode until after they were out of immediate danger of being overrun?

  Back in their quarters, Bek had fallen asleep again, snoring lightly. Volo remained deeply unconscious. On the balcony, Dante made himself a comfy seat of blankets and pads, then sent his tiny scouts soaring north from the city, directing the faster flies higher to hunt for the White Lich while the moths followed the largest "road" exiting the city to the north.

  Movement on top of the black spire drew his eye. A tall, thin figure crossed to the edge of the spire's roof, attended to by a pair of servants. Gladdic settled into his perch, ether twinkling on his hand.

  The moths spotted the retreating Monsoon after an hour of flight. The armada moved along beneath the trees at a steady clip. It had been diminished, but remained imposing in size. Dante kept one moth steady in the air high above them while sending another to dip below the canopy. The Monsoon still fielded at least one nethermancer, possibly more. If he could identify them—

  A tendril of awareness moved through the nether, questing toward the moth. Dante drew back to passive observation, leaving the insect to its own devices, but the alien presence continued onward, hunting in a wide spiral that soon tightened closer and closer around the thin cord connecting Dante to the moth. As the presence snapped down on the cord, Dante severed it.

  Troubling. Either the nethermancer was extremely skilled, sensitive to any disruption of the shadows, or the White Lich had warned them to be on the lookout for such things. That the Monsoon had any nethermancers at all was even more troubling. The rebels hadn't seemed to have access to sorcerers back when Dante and Blays, in their ignorance, had been working alongside them. Either they'd been keeping some of their strength hidden, or they'd only recently found (or convinced) the nethermancers to join them.

  But why would the nethermancers help them? Surely they had to understand that the Eiden Rane wouldn't allow people of their power to continue to exist without ensuring their absolute loyalty to him. Was that the very reason they were allying with him? To be made under-liches? Still slaves, yes, but at least thinking ones, whose lifespans would last for centuries. If Dante reached the point where he knew that victory against the lich was impossible, would he make the same decision?

  The Monsoon wasn't doing anything more interesting than retreating. He couldn't get spies close enough to them to overhear their talk, and his flies were likely to take another few hours to reach the White Lich. With the western sky reddening and his stomach emptying, he got up to see about food.

  In the inner chamber, Bek remained asleep. But Volo was sitting up in her bed, staring blankly across the room.

  "Volo!" Dante ran to her, slowing as he neared. She didn't turn her head. "Volo? Are you all right?"

  She didn't speak or look at him. He took a step closer. "Volo? You were hurt very badly. But you're okay now. Do you understand?"

  Again, she gave no sign of having heard. Her eyes gazed right through him. Frowning, he waved a hand in her face, then drew back his elbow and threw a punch at her nose. He stopped it three inches from her face, which was good, because she didn't even flinch.

  With a sinking feeling, Dante reached into the nether within her. As far as he could tell, her brain appeared intact—it wasn't bleeding or swollen—and the rest of her, while still showing some healing to do, was in relatively fine shape. He decided against summoning Gladdic away from his duties in favor of leaving her be and seeing if she snapped out of it on her own.

  Dante stuck his head out in the hallway and asked the servant there for a meal. The servant went downstairs without a word. Ten minutes later, he knocked on the door and delivered a plate of fish, greens, and fried bananas.

  "Thank you," Dante said. "I don't suppose you've heard any gossip about where my friend Blays has gone off to?"

  "I have," the man said with some satisfaction. "Friend of mine said the hari is down at a pub on the docks with some of the soldiers. Word is your friend is trying to see which can hold more liquid: the bay, or his stomach."

  After eating, Dante took a quick nap to replenish his dwindling command of the shadows. When he woke, he went back to close observation through his spies. The sun set. Lanterns glowed from shores and towers. The streets filled with the sounds of rowdy singing, drunken laughter, and boisterous, free-wheeling insult competitions that drew crowds by the score. It was the liveliest Dante had seen Tanar Atain since before the revolution. He felt a small measure of pride in having helped restore it, however briefly it might last.

  The White Lich and his army of Blighted didn't need lanterns or cook fires, and spotting them in the middle of the night might have proven exceedingly difficult if not for the fact there were many thousands of them in many hundreds of boats. That, and the fact that the White Lich glowed like a star descended to earth.

  They had advanced over the last few hours and their camp was roughly thirty miles north of Aris Osis. Close enough to fall on the city within half a day. But the lich would be waiting for word from the Monsoon, pushing the timeline back to at least a full day. Cold comfort.

  Keeping his distance from the lich, Dante dropped two flies through the canopy, gauging numbers and hunting for the prime body, which was probably being kept in an armored boat of some kind. As he sent a fly over a formation of Blighted, his connection to it was severed so abruptly that Dante uttered a startl
ed "Hey!"

  He commanded the second of the low-elevation flies to go still. Yet the presence that swept toward it was as inexorable as a rogue wave. Though Dante hadn't given it any orders, the fly began to move. He commanded it to stop. An iron grip clamped down on the insect. Dante grabbed hold of it with all his strength, yet it was like trying to stop a horse cart by grabbing hold of the rear gate and digging in his heels.

  The fly buzzed downward, passing over the heads of the Blighted as they stirred restlessly in their undecorated canoes. The lich stood ahead, radiating faintly beneath the cover of the trees. He grew larger and larger until the fly could see nothing else, his eyes holding perfectly steady even as the color within them cycled from one shade of blue to the next.

  Dante tried to sever the link to the fly, but it was like trying to cut through a wad of cotton with a block of wood.

  The lich shook his massive head. "You are no more than this pest. No more than the fleas that feed on your weak meat. Everything is mine, sorcerer. And when you bend the knee to me, you will weep tears of joy."

  The lich crushed the connection in a vise of nether.

  Dante had sent two other flies there as well, which were currently circling high overhead, seemingly beyond detection. Yet they were so high up that they couldn't catch more than spotty glimpses of the Blighted through the canopy. He'd be able to follow the army's movement, but if he spotted the prime body, it would be through sheer luck. Even that felt highly unlikely. With the lich aware that he was being watched, there was no chance he'd let his vulnerability be seen.

  A scream slashed across the night. Dante jerked his head up. Light fell from the black spire—a streak of ether. It silhouetted Gladdic as he hurtled toward the ground two hundred feet below. Dante shot to his feet. He grabbed at the shadows, but there was nothing he could do.

  With a flash of pale light, Gladdic struck the ground.

  12

  Dante ran down the tower steps. Each second felt long enough to compose, seal, and deliver a letter, yet no time seemed to pass at all as he threw himself into a canoe, thrashing madly to the island hosting the black spire.