An Elegy of Heroes

by K. S. Villoso

  He felt something sharp around his ankles. He fell. As he struggled with the thought of how he could trip at a time like this, he realized that his feet were covered in ice.

  The sharp rocks on his cheek and blood and dust in his mouth stifled his next thought. He tried to scramble up as soon as he hit the ground, but someone grabbed him by the collar.

  “Number five,” Daro whispered, slamming a fist into his belly.

  Enosh doubled over and fell to his knees. Daro knelt down next to him.

  “I hope, for your sake, that you weren’t trying to get her killed, you son of a bitch.” He had laughed all the other times. There was no spark of humour in his eyes, now.

  Enosh spat. Red dots stained the ground. “I wasn’t. Not my fault if she got hurt chasing after me.”

  Daro hit him again.

  On the way back to the road, they noticed a group of people standing near Sapphire. She looked at them, but didn’t say anything. The people were clad in tunics of shades of green and dark brown. Most were cut in a style that allowed for long, cuffed sleeves and upturned collars, with a belted tunic that hung off one shoulder. Their belts were leathered, ornate things dotted with various gemstones, some of which had etched lines that held a faint glow.

  One of the people stepped forward. “I am Keeper Imriea,” she said. She had the sharp-eyed gaze of a hawk. “Explain yourselves.”

  Daro and Mahe exchanged a quick look.

  “I am Prefect Izo As’ondaro,” Daro said, stepping forward. “I’ve arrested this man as directed to me by my superior, Tribune Alerio, in relation to the death of the Ambassador Hegas.”

  Imriea rubbed her jaw. “Tribune Alerio’s special unit, eh? All wiped out?”

  “Except for me and Mahe.”

  “Not so special now.” She cast a glance at Mahe. “Who is she?”

  “My apologies. Student Officer Mahe Amiren, who was sent to accompany us to exchange weapons engineering tactics with Captain Shervan of the Nebel royal guard.”

  Imriea narrowed her eyes. “I’m in no position to comment on the perceived effectiveness of our glorious military’s strategies, but it seems like I saw one of the two of you throw a spell at this man. Your other prisoner is bound.”

  “I…” Mahe started.

  “No,” Daro barked. “It was me. I can show you.”

  He bent down to pick up a rock, and when he held it up, the entire thing was covered in ice.

  Imriea looked frightened. “Bind him!” she cried out, flinging her arm to the side.

  “I won’t struggle,” Daro snapped, but the mages rushed forward with irons and chains and dropped him to his knees. He held his hands up, not moving.

  “I don’t know how you got this far,” Imriea said, her face pale. She looked a little calmer now that Daro was chained. “You do know that soldiers are not allowed to have skill in the agan. Don’t you?”

  “It wasn’t his fault,” Mahe said. “He…”

  “I said be quiet!” Daro snapped.

  But his voice didn’t sound angry at all. If anything, Enosh noted a thin layer of exhaustion in it, as if a dam, struggling against a river’s torrent, had finally cracked.

  Not even an hour after they were taken custody by the mages, Enosh quickly learned why Gaspar had an entire garrison on their northern border while Dageis’ southlands were almost completely unmanned. He also learned, with what—if he was the sort of person to examine himself more than he did—would amount to fear, why they called it The Dageian Empire; why the hundred-some nations and tribes that used to occupy the lands around the kingdom became engulfed, like drops of water in an ocean.

  Walking up the stone steps leading to the top of the plateau, he could see seamless alabaster towers that appeared to have been pulled up from the ground. They were not Cael stone-white, yellowish and veined with dirt and age. Instead, they were smooth, appearing as if they were built only yesterday, and they sparkled with a faint bluish hue. Even before they entered the gates, he detected the agan. He wondered how much stronger it would be if he was not wearing the spell-binding manacles.

  A mage checked them while they made their way up a winding bridge.

  “Moon loved it here,” Sapphire murmured. She glanced towards a pair of binoculars, set on a post by the rails. “I remember her running towards that—right here—the first time. We each had to hold her hand, Master Osog and I. Then one of the mages gave Osog a coin that would work on it. Moon got to see all the way to the port.”

  And then, as if suddenly realizing how much she had spoken, she turned her head away.

  An uncomfortable silence followed. Enosh, feeling like somebody else had to talk again, cleared his throat. “Would she be kind enough to give us a coin?” Enosh glanced at Imreia’s direction.

  Daro laughed. “If you have not been daft enough to run when you did, I’d have given you one. It would’ve been fun.”

  “Believe me, I will regret it to my dying day.”

  “Be silent, both of you,” Imreia said.

  She didn’t even look at them, but there was something in her voice that made Enosh—even when he was tempted to retort back—comply.

  He figured, a long while later, after they had gone through more checks and an inquiry that lasted longer than it should’ve, that this was still somewhat better than the past three years. Better than darkness, anyway. When they took the manacles away, and the rush of agan filled his senses, they didn’t seem to care about what he could do. He received a tag around his wrist with writing on it and was shoved inside a room. The walls, above and below, were made of glass.

  He picked a chair from the middle of the room and sat down. He could view the rest of the towers from there, and the sea beyond. It distracted him from the box-like feel of the cell. Not long after, they shoved Daro in there with him. He swore out loud.

  “What?” Daro asked. “Don’t tell me you preferred Sapphire?”

  Enosh offered him the other chair, and he declined, choosing instead to sit in the middle of the room.

  “So,” Enosh said. “You and this whole mage thing…”

  “None of your business.” He seemed nonplussed over the whole situation. “And anyway, you’re in Dageis now. A mage is someone whose papers have been signed by the keepers during the Firebranding ceremony and whose vial has been submitted to the vault. You and I, Ferral, we’re rogues. Someone with a touch of the agan, maybe even skilled in it, but who lack a place in the world of Dageis.” He smirked. “They don’t like it. It confuses them. The famous Dageian order cannot function around people like us.”

  “And you’re here just because of that? I thought undocumented mages ran around Dageis all the time.”

  “They do. They’re not supposed to. And they’re certainly not supposed to join the army and have access to weapons and information without a bearer to keep them in check.”

  “I see.” Enosh pressed his hands together and looked through the glass again.

  Daro cleared his throat. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what they plan to do to you?”

  “Not really. It’s something unpleasant, no doubt.”

  “You seem really calm about it.”

  “Am I?” He looked at his hands and laughed. “I suppose it’s because this makes no difference to me. If I knew my life would end with the Gasparian king’s, I’d have killed him myself. Reap some well-deserved fame out of the whole thing.”

  “So you really didn’t. I’ll be honest with you—up until this moment, I wasn’t sure.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Enosh said. He swallowed. “But whoever it was, I think I brought him there.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The clouds blew in just before night fell, wrapping the sky with a choking, grey light. Enosh, sitting at the edge of the glass-lined cell, felt like he was floating through those clouds. It was a feeling that had plagued him since the Gasparians had thrown him into the dungeons, one that even his normally dark humour had been unable to erase. />
  The sky parted and a handful of stars peered through the clouds. Enosh, transfixed, saw the first tendril of agan drift past that before he heard someone call out to him.

  “Ja, you’re lost again,” she said. She didn’t use his name, but her voice was familiar and he felt himself turn his head. The rest of him drifted to follow.

  There was a flash of light, and he found himself thrown to the floor of his cell, staring up at the sky which was now as clear as it had been during the day. Bluish streaks of agan danced with the light of the moon. He lifted his fingers and felt blood under his nose.

  “Did you try to slip through?” Daro asked, from his corner. “You’re in Dageis. Never do that. They’ve put up wards everywhere.”

  He leaned against the wall and pressed his fingers over his mouth to stifle the flow.

  Daro followed his gaze at the sky.

  “It is quite beautiful,” he said, tracing his fingers in the air, as if following the agan. “You don’t see that anywhere else. They tap into the agan here so much that it is able to drift through the holes in the fabric effortlessly.”

  He pointed towards the sea. “Back home, you could see it so much better.”

  “You have a house in Bardes?” he asked.

  “No, further north. My childhood home in the island.”

  Enosh glanced out in the distance. “That’s the Shi-uin lands,” he said, after a moment. “I thought they were wiped out.”

  Daro bowed his head. “Who are we to question the Empire of Dageis’ version of history?”

  The Shi-uin had resisted Dageian occupation for a long time. The way Enosh understood the events, they did it using pure diplomacy; they freely traded with the Dageians, giving them more than their fair share, and the shiar taught weather-working mages how to control the winter winds. There was no need to invade those lands until Dageis learned of the agan wells the Shi-uin had so carefully kept secret for centuries. Naturally occurring connections to the agan were more valuable than paltry tricks against the cold, and so the Dageians came—a phrase too-often uttered in those lands. The Dageians came and took everything away.

  “I am of Gorent,” he found himself saying, but that was as far as he got.

  Somebody was tapping on the glass wall behind them. He turned and saw Mahe, who seemed surprised to see him.

  “Hello,” Daro said.

  “Hello.” She pressed her head against the glass. “Why is he here?”

  “I’m guessing they ran out of room?” Enosh offered.

  She glared at him. Daro laughed. “They probably want to know what we have to say to each other. Give out secrets without bothering to interrogate us.”

  Enosh turned to him. “You could’ve told me that earlier.”

  Daro shrugged. “I have said nothing they don’t already know. I don’t know about you.” He pressed his hand against the wall where Mahe stood. “You,” he said, “need to go.”

  She snorted. “As if I would.”

  “I’m your Prefect. You’ve got to listen once in a while.”

  “Not anymore. The mages have filed a report, requesting you be stripped off your rank as a soldier and that you be sent for training as a mage’s thrall. By now it’s probably already on its way to headquarters.” Her face softened. “I did contact Tribune Alerio. He will be trying to work something out from his end. You have served the Empire faithfully.”

  “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “Of course it does. If they can reinstate you…”

  “You know they won’t do that. What else am I, Mahe, but a vassal of the empire? Servant caste or soldier caste—that’s as far as someone like me can go. And a soldier cannot be trained as a mage.” He cast a thumb towards Enosh. “But maybe they can make him a thrall, too. We can scrub chamber pots together.”

  “Not likely,” Mahe murmured. “He’s not of Dageis. They’re lenient about people like him, as long as he doesn’t cause any trouble.”

  He smiled at her. “Cheer up, Mahe. If Tribune Alerio is on his way, he can at least get you back home. And hey, since you’re the only one left, he’ll probably promote you.”

  “I hate your jokes,” she said. She gave Enosh one last dirty look and then left. Daro watched her step away and touched his head where hers had been.

  “You and her…” Enosh started.

  “None of your business,” he said. It seemed to be his favourite response to things. His curt tone ended their conversation.

  In the morning, a thrall came with fresh breakfast and a change of clothes for them. That he was a thrall was obvious from the scar that ran along the side of his throat and down his shoulder, a mark of his stature. The scar was an intentional mark that signified how in the old days, they used to rip out their servants’ vocal chords. It was rarely done now, or so Enosh had read. He understood that this was the fate waiting for Daro should the mages’ request be approved. The man didn’t seem to care.

  Once Enosh had changed, the thrall came up to him and pointed at his wrist. Enosh lifted it and a new bracelet was snapped on him, this one glowing a faint green. “Don’t you talk?” he asked.

  The thrall shrugged. Either he wasn’t allowed, or he couldn’t. Or he didn’t dare. He gestured at Enosh.

  They left the glass-cells and down a winding staircase, and then an enclosed, tube-shaped hall. The floor moved when the thrall tapped it. Enosh caught sight of several posts every so often, marked with glowing runes. He wondered if it was an effect—if it was agan moving the floor, or a mechanism of some sort. There were rumours that Dageis’ reliance on the agan was an act and that they had other technologies that helped fuel the illusion.

  They descended another flight of stairs. “Couldn’t this one move for us too?” Enosh asked.

  The thrall turned to him, an irritated look on his face.

  “It just seems to me that it would be a lot easier if it was the stairs that moved instead of…”

  They were in front of an arched doorway. The thrall knocked twice, unclasped the bracelet, and stepped back as the door opened. Another thrall, a woman, gestured. Enosh found himself in a dome-shaped room with a view of the eastern sea. A group of ten or so mages were seated around a table. Enosh caught sight of Sapphire at the far end. There was a thrall beside her and she was wearing a bracelet similar to the one that had just been removed from him.

  “So this Ferral…”

  “It would help if we didn’t refer to him as Ferral at all.” Enosh recognized Bannal’s voice and saw him sitting in the middle, clad in grey robes with white edges. “His true name is Enosh Tar’elian, son of a minor chief from the village of Aldawan in Agantuan. He took the name of Hertra Ylir yn Ferral when he came under the employ of Gorrhen yn Garr, presumably to take advantage of the deceased Yn Ferral’s lands, accounts, and associates in the Kag. He has been using powerful enchantment magic to accomplish this. He also sometimes goes under the name of Ylir yn Garr, a name that has no legal bearing in any land.”

  Imreia, who was sitting beside him, waved her hand. “Enchantment skills are difficult to develop. You would have us believe that this rogue was able to fool a man’s friends, even relatives, for so many years? You have made a lot of outlandish claims since the start of this meeting, Kastor rog-Bannal. Do not be so foolish as to make another.”

  “Sapphire would disagree with you. She doesn’t believe it requires any skills at all.” Enosh stepped forward, and because nobody had told him what to do, he took one of the empty seats for himself.

  “Apparently,” he continued, “I’m just charming.”

  Sapphire made a sound of protest which, at another time and place, would have been amusing.

  “You are in the presence of the High Council of Eheldeth,” Imreia snapped at him. “Show some respect!”

  Enosh gave her a curt bow. “We’ve met, Keeper Imreia. Who else do I have the honour of addressing?”

  A woman at the far right cleared her throat. “I am Keeper Ceres. I am glad to fin
ally meet you, after Kastor first spoke of you when he returned to us a few years ago. I admit—I am much surprised. The image in my head was of someone more...horrid.”

  “Do not let appearances fool you,” Bannal said, throwing him a hateful glance. “The man is a snake, through and through.”

  “It’s been a while, Bannal,” Enosh said. “You’ve gained some weight.” He turned to the woman. “I’m also glad to see that not all Dageian mages are fusty, wrinkled things.”

  “All glamour, I’m afraid.” Ceres smiled, fanning herself. “But I do try my best.” She gave him the sort of smile he had not seen in a woman for a long time.

  One of the men from the other side of the room groaned. “Were we called to council so we can watch the firekeeper flirt with the prisoner? I had better things to do today.”

  Ceres turned to him and said, in a clipped tone, “Not prisoner, Giver Chaco. Guest. It is true, of course, that Bearer Kastor has made some grave accusations towards him, but we are not judges here.”

  “I was made to understand that this man was in the custody of a prefect for the murder of Ambassador Hegas.”

  “A prefect who was stripped off his ranks and is even now awaiting trial for undocumented skill in the agan.” Ceres pressed her lips together. “This invalidates his accusations and releases Sir Enosh from all implications, for the time being. But if you have evidence to put forward, Giver Chaco, you know the process. Feel free to send your report.”

  “He didn’t, anyway,” Sapphire spoke up. “My cousin, Vilum, killed him. It’s in my report.”

  Chaco turned red. “I am merely commenting on your sudden trust of this man.”

  “It is not trust, Giver Chaco, but mere courtesy. We could use a little more in this world.” There was a brief silence.