Spire of Shadows

by Sarah Hawke

  “She is Retharri,” the drow said, pointing at Yria’s face. “Her eyes, her ears…the distinctions are small, but apparent. Perhaps she is quarter-blooded or—”

  “No,” Yria said, suddenly thankful that her arms were restrained out of sight. Otherwise they might have noticed her hands clenching into fists.

  “No?” Delaryn asked, shaking her head. “No, what?”

  Yria sighed. She hadn’t planned on revealing any of this yet, but perhaps it was the bait she was looking for. It might make her more sympathetic to them in the short term, which was all that mattered if it got her to Rohen.

  If I can’t bring him home, the Culling might be unstoppable. He’s the most important thing right now—I have to remember that.

  “The drow is right,” Yria said. “My veins run thick with rethir blood—the same blood that flows through the veins of my brother.”

  Delaryn’s mouth dropped open at the subtle implication, and her grip on the Aether faltered so much the icy prison started to turn brittle. “Brother?” she gasped. “But that’s…”

  “Half-brother, to be clear,” Yria said. “Different worthless mothers, same worthless father.”

  Delaryn and the drow shared another long look, and Yria used the distraction to test her restraints. Her limbs were starting to go numb from the cold, but she could still tell that the ice was weakening.

  “You’re lying,” Delaryn said eventually.

  Yria snorted. “Look, I don’t particularly care whether you believe me or not, but the truth is the truth. Rohen is my brother, and I’m here to bring him home.”

  “Home? To a place he’s never been?”

  “He was born in the heart of the Moonweald, whether he remembers it or not,” Yria said. “It is time for him to return to Nelu’Thalas and embrace his true destiny.”

  Delaryn took a step backward, her eyes flicking back and forth in thought. She looked almost as nervous as surprised.

  “You will be welcome too, I’m sure,” Yria added. “As will the drow…assuming she behaves herself.”

  “I find that difficult to believe,” the dark elf woman said.

  “It’s the truth. The political situation in the Weald is…complicated.” Yria shook her head, unable to hide her distaste. “The short version? We are on the cusp of our own civil war. The queen is desperately seeking new allies of all kinds.”

  The human and the drow shared a surprised look. They had no reason to believe Yria, obviously, but hopefully sheer self-interest would be enough.

  “Did you plan on staying here in this cabin forever instead?” Yria asked. “The Chol are coming, Your Majesty. Queen Malareth is willing to offer you sanctuary, at least temporarily. It’s more than you will find here in the frozen wastes.”

  “Oh, that is rich,” Delaryn breathed. “First you try to kill me, and now you want to offer us sanctuary?”

  “If I wanted you dead, I would have shot you where you stood,” Yria said. “It was never my intention to harm you, only to test you—and to get answers.”

  The human woman scoffed. “Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”

  “It should. We have an opportunity here, one that may never come again. The Whitefeathers have always been willing to work with Nelu’Thalas in the past. There are many things you need to know about the true nature of this Culling and the forces driving it.”

  “We know far more than you realize,” the drow said softly. “We were there at Rimewreath. We saw the armored man on the wyvern, and we watched the Godcursed cross through the Pale and into the keep.”

  Yria blinked. “Cross through the Pale? What in the bloody void are you talking about?”

  “You just said…” Delaryn trailed off and frowned. “What were you talking about?”

  “The ancient power stirring beneath the Godcursed Reach,” Yria said. “The one driving the Chol to slaughter every living creature in the north.”

  Delaryn slowly shook her head. “We don’t know anything about that.”

  “Then maybe it’s time for us to pool our resources, Your Majesty,” Yria said. “Don’t be alarmed.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, Yria reached out to the Valayar and allowed its warm, soothing currents to banish the cold from her limbs. The air around her rapidly grew warmer until it ignited like kindling, immolating her entire body in a wreath of sorcerous flame. The icy prison binding her limbs vaporized in an instant.

  “Let’s start over with introductions, shall we?” Yria asked, smiling even as the other women recoiled from her flaming figure. “The Valayar flows through each of us. Perhaps we can work together after all.”

  ***

  Delaryn scurried away from the immolated elven woman in front of her, though she made sure to keep Sehris tucked safely behind her. The Aether flowed off of Yria in brilliant, cascading waves as if she were a wellspring of raw, primal energy. Delaryn had never felt or seen anything like it.

  But then the currents abruptly ebbed away, and the flames receded with them. The red-haired highborn woman—or rather, half-elven woman—calmly stepped forward as if nothing strange had happened. Her cloak and armor weren’t the least bit singed.

  “In retrospect, perhaps I should’ve just knocked,” Yria muttered as she leaned down to retrieve her bow. The runes in the wooden limbs briefly flared to life at her touch. “But I honestly thought this place would be infested with Keepers from Gûl Ostaraad.”

  For a moment, Delaryn was tempted to conjure another icy fist just to defend herself, but the half-elf’s body language had completely changed. She looked almost bizarrely relaxed, and she was correct that she could have killed them if she had wanted to. The fact that she hadn’t must have meant something.

  She may not be an enemy, but that doesn’t mean I have to swallow her story. Could Rohen really have a half-sister? He didn’t remember anything about his parents at all. He wasn’t even sure where he had been born.

  “I, uh…I do apologize for triggering your Brand,” Yria said after a moment, her green eyes settling on Sehris. She sounded genuinely embarrassed. “I was taught to never take chances where the drow were concerned.”

  “I am not a drow,” Sehris insisted. “I have never been in the Underworld, and I certainly don’t worship the Spider Queen.”

  “Your markings say otherwise,” Yria said, pointing at the black spider tattoo on the dark elf’s exposed stomach. “Your mother must be an important drow noble—probably a priestess, at that.”

  “I am not a drow,” Sehris repeated more forcefully this time.

  Yria shrugged. “As you say. It makes little difference to me. If you’re an ally of Rohen, you have nothing to fear.”

  Delaryn slowly exhaled and forced herself to relax. This was all incredibly overwhelming, but she couldn’t deny that it was also an opportunity—assuming Yria was telling them the truth. They really didn’t have anywhere else to go. Even if everything went flawlessly in the Galespire and Rohen turned the Lord Vigilant against Kraythe…well, she still didn’t know what would happen. With Thedric dead, it wasn’t as though she would be allowed back in the palace in Silver Falls.

  But traveling to Nelu’Thalas, on the other hand…she was the one who had suggested that to Rohen back at Sundermount. If there was even a chance that the highborn could provide them shelter or even become their allies…

  The elves are not to be trusted, her mother’s voice said into her mind. They will not understand or appreciate your gifts any more than the Tel Bator. You will find no solace in the Kingdom of Stars, my daughter, I promise you that.

  Delaryn frowned, wishing she could ask why, but then Sehris pressed the issue.

  “How did you trigger the Brand?” the dark elf asked, rubbing the slowly fading veins covering her forearm. “You’re no Keeper.”

  “No, but my people have been preparing for a conflict with the Tel Bator for many decades,” Yria said. “And to be perfectly blunt, we know far more about vatari crystals than your Keepers or anyone else.�
��

  “Could you disable their markings as well?”

  Yria paused as if she was deciding whether or not to answer before she finally shook her head. “Not as easily, no. Your markings are designed to be a leash, while theirs are designed to give them power. The artifice involved is quite different.”

  “Obviously,” Sehris muttered as she flexed and unflexed her fingers. The outline of her veins had finally faded, but the echoes of the Flensing would probably riddle her body for some time yet.

  “You say that Rohen went to Gûl Ostaraad to warn the Lord Vigilant about the horde,” Yria said. “Given the way they treat our kind, it seems dangerous for the two of you to be this close. Why wouldn’t he return to Griffonwing to rally the rest of the Templar?”

  “You really are clueless, aren’t you?” Delaryn said, pulling her blanket more tightly around her. Without the Aether coursing through her, she was suddenly getting cold again.

  “Feel free to enlighten me,” Yria muttered. “What did you mean about the Chol crossing through the Pale?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like,” Sehris put in, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in grim amusement as she mimicked Yria’s words from earlier. “Somehow, they have discovered a way to shift into the Pale and then return to the physical world. They walked right through the fortress’s walls.”

  “But that’s impossible. Living creatures, even the Chol, cannot simply—”

  “We know,” Delaryn said, drawing in another deep breath. “But we were there, remember? The defenders at Rimewreath didn’t stand a chance—no one will stand a chance if their walls can’t protect them.”

  Yria hissed softly, her glimmering green eyes narrowing in thought. Delaryn wasn’t about to tell her any more about the nature of their escape—warning the elves about the horde was one thing, but Delaryn’s Palerending abilities would have to remain a secret. The highborn revered the Aether as a divine remnant of the gods, but they still considered any form of “demonology” sacrilegious. The voice of her mother wasn’t wrong about that.

  “You mentioned something about an ancient power stirring beneath the Godcursed Reach,” Sehris said. “What did you mean?”

  “The Scryers in Nelu’Thalas have had many grim portents, almost all in regard to the mountains in the west,” Yria said. “They believe something is driving the horde—something more than just the Anointed. Queen Malareth dispatched other Ven’Tira to investigate, but they never reported back.”

  “Thedric and his advisors weren’t aware of anything out of the ordinary,” Delaryn whispered.

  “The only channelers who could warn him are locked in a prison,” Yria replied bitterly. “Since the Tel Bator abolished the Seven, your people have willfully blinded yourselves to the realities of the Valayar. It’s a miracle that the Crell Sovereigns haven’t tried to invade your borders again.”

  Delaryn sighed. “They will eventually, I’m sure.”

  Yria paused for a moment. “You also said something about an armored man on a wyvern at Rimewreath…?”

  “Yes, he appeared to be leading the horde, but he wasn’t one of them,” Delaryn explained. “We never saw his face.”

  “A mortal man fighting with the Chol? What madness is that?”

  “He may be the one granting them the power to enter the Pale,” Sehris said. “If so, it suggests—”

  “A demon,” Yria finished. She turned and hissed an Elvish curse under her breath. “Or perhaps a warlock, which could be even worse. Valathrim, caela sulil…”

  Delaryn gave Sehris a stern look in the hopes that she wouldn’t reveal any more details about the fractures in the Pale at Sundermount. The dark elf nodded in silent understanding.

  “If Rohen was delivering a warning to your Keepers, I assume he will return soon?” Yria asked. “Queen Malareth will wish to know everything.”

  “I’m sure she would, but we haven’t agreed to help her or anyone else,” Delaryn said pointedly. “And we’re not going to until we have a chance to speak with him.”

  Yria sighed. “Fine. So when do you expect him back?”

  Delaryn bit her lip. “We…aren’t sure. It might take him a while to convince the Lord Vigilant that the threat is real.”

  The half-elf’s eyes narrowed as she glanced between them. “You’re not a very good liar, Your Majesty. What is it you aren’t telling me?”

  “We aren’t obligated to tell you anything,” Delaryn said. “We don’t even know—”

  “Wait!” Sehris interrupted, holding up a hand and cocking her head slightly. “Something is wrong…”

  Yria paused to listen, then instantly snapped into action. She dashed over to the door, her footfalls as a silent as a cat, and she pushed her long ear up against the wood. She frowned and shook her head, then immediately raced over to the window past the dining table where she had originally snuck inside.

  “Le’thos,” she swore, pointing to her eyes and waving Sehris over. The dark elf followed, and from the way her face hardened when she peeked outside, Delaryn knew there was trouble.

  “Maiden’s mercy,” Sehris breathed, pulling her head back in. “Keepers.”

  Yria’s cheek twitched. “How many?”

  “Four or five at least. They just began spreading out into the forest around the cabin.”

  “They know we’re here,” Delaryn breathed, a wave of dread rippling down her spine. “But that means Rohen…oh, gods!”

  Her mind instantly conjured up a hundred different horrifying scenarios about what could have happened to Rohen. Perhaps the Lord Vigilant hadn’t believed him, or perhaps Arinthal had been part of the Lord Protector’s mad scheme all along. Rohen could have been ambushed or imprisoned or tortured…

  Or simply killed.

  “What about Rohen?” Yria demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  Swallowing her fear, Delaryn balled her hands into fists. “It will take too long to explain, but he must be in trouble. We have to get to him. We have to help him!”

  “How?” Sehris asked. “We can’t fight through the Keepers. They’ll trigger my Brand, and they’re practically immune to—”

  “We’re not going to fight,” Delaryn interrupted. “There’s another way inside the Spire.”

  Sehris arched both eyebrows. She didn’t say anything aloud, thank the gods, but she didn’t need to. Delaryn knew exactly what she was thinking—namely, that they had already seen the consequences of willingly breaching the Pale. In theory, her power could allow them to pass through the Spire’s walls as easily as Rimewreath and Sundermount, but doing so might—no, would—leave fractures behind.

  “What are you talking about?” Yria asked, glancing between them. “There is only one way into Gûl Ostaraad. It might be the most impregnable structure in Torsia!”

  “You shouldn’t be so certain, given what else you’ve been wrong about today,” Delaryn said. “Sehris and I can get inside, I promise. But we’re going to need a distraction.”

  Yria’s eyes bored into Delaryn. They really did look disturbingly like Rohen’s from up close. Maybe she was telling the truth—maybe she actually was his sister, as crazy and impossible as it seemed.

  The half-elf eventually set her jaw and glared at the door. “Rohen must return to Nelu’Thalas,” she said, seemingly as much to herself as the others. “If you can get to him…”

  “We can,” Delaryn insisted. “I promise.”

  Yria swore under her breath. “Then go. I’ll distract the Keepers as long as I can.”

  “There are too many of them,” Sehris said. “Your magic will not harm them!”

  “I’ll be fine,” Yria said, hoisting up her bow. “But we don’t have much time. Tell Rohen what I told you—you’re all welcome in the Weald. I will be waiting for you on Farumat’s Perch on the northern edge of the mountains.”

  Delaryn nodded. She still didn’t trust this woman, and she had no intention of going anywhere without talking to Rohen first. But right now, all that mattered was ge
tting to the Galespire as quickly as possible. If a Ven’Tira ranger could buy them the time they needed, then so be it.

  “Good luck,” Yria said. The Aether swirled around her again, and when she dashed toward the window and crawled outside, she melded into the shadows as if she had become one herself.

  “Come on,” Delaryn said, grabbing Sehris’s hand and dashing for the stairs. They were back in the bedroom a few short moments later, and they got dressed as quickly as they could. For once, their lack of equipment and supplies was a boon rather than a curse.

  Delaryn had just thrown her white cloak back around her shoulders when an agonized scream pierced the stillness of the forest outside. She heard the ringing of steel blades and shouts of men calling for help…

  “Gods forgive me,” she said, closing her eyes and reaching out to the Pale. Its power suffused her so readily that she couldn’t help but be disturbed.

  It gets easier and easier every time. What if one day I can’t stop it? What if I open a door I can never close?

  Delaryn buried the thought and focused on Rohen. She could worry about the consequences after she knew he was safe. Right now, they didn’t have any other choice.

  She stretched out her hand. The air around her angrily hissed and popped as she breached the wall between worlds, and a heartbeat later she and Sehris stepped through. The colors in their clothing drained away, the shadows in the cabin deepened, and the noises of the skirmish outside fell silent…only to be replaced by the distant, haunting whispers of demons inside her head.

  “Let’s go,” Delaryn said, swallowing and clutching Sehris against her. “Rohen needs us.”

  Interlude

  “It is time. Be reborn in the Guardian’s grace.”

  Edmund Kraythe slowly reopened his eyes as the power of the Godsoul flowed through him like a righteous river. The young Templar kneeling in front of him gasped and shuddered, looking down at his hands as they were slowly enveloped in an aura of golden light. Just like the other men who had undergone the ritual before him, he was confused and frightened and excited all at once. The cleansing power of the gods would transform him like a holy chrysalis, and the paladin who emerged would stand at the forefront of the coming war against the Chol.