by David Green
Solitude’s decline had sped up on his watch. He didn’t disdain the place, as others did. He seemed to genuinely care for his role as Protector. But he lacked the skills necessary to lead. Impatience steered him, like he longed for battle. Often, Zanna found him poring over reports from the elven front, his face eager as he drank in the details. Now, at last, war had found him.
Standing near him brought thoughts of her husband unbidden to her mind. Zanna suppressed a shudder.
“It’s infuriating, all this needless waiting,” Garet grumbled, glaring daggers down at the plains. His ice-blue eyes flashed in the cold light. “I wish they’d make a move so we can fight back. Damn the Laws!”
Zanna shook her head. She made it her policy to stay out of Garet’s way, and he seemed to prefer it that way. Her Spark outstripped his, and he didn’t enjoy feeling inferior to anyone.
“The Laws hold meaning. Without them, Sparkers become tyrants. It’s the will of the gods. The Spark is their gift to us, and we must follow their commands. Or did you forget we’re a religious order first, and the Emperor’s dogs of war second?”
“Mind yourself,” Garet warned. “We’re a long way from Spring Haven but the Emperor has ears everywhere. The Laws are out-dated; without them, you and I would live free.” He scoffed. “Who’s to say the gods ever existed anyway? Have you met them? No. Normal folk require betters to lead them—and who better than us?”
“What would you do, Garet, if the Laws didn’t exist?” Zanna asked, pointing towards the Banished. Music drifted to her from below—strings, wind instruments and voices raised in song, a language she didn’t understand—a beautiful melody unlike any she’d heard before.
“I would rain fire upon their heads; rend the earth beneath them.” He nodded to himself. “And if they reached our walls, I would Eviscerate them, so that any who fled would remember what happened the day they challenged the might of Solitude.”
“They haven’t attacked us,” Zanna said, a wave of contempt flooding through her.
Evisceration? He’d go that far? Yes, I suppose he would. And others would follow. The Laws were meant for men like Garet.
“Yet.” Garet replied. “Better to be safe.”
“And that,” Zanna said, turning to face the Protector, her face like stone, “is why we need the gods and their Laws.”
She walked away, robes billowing behind her. Perhaps she’d get more sense from her twelve-year-old apprentice.
###
Solitude’s sprawl didn’t just consist of walls and towers. It had dormitories, dining halls and studies enough to house thousands. Over the years, the two hundred Sparkers remaining had concentrated at its hub like warmth at the core of a hypothermic body.
Zanna found Arlo in the Main Library. She smiled as she spied him curled up in a plush, high-backed armchair in front of a roaring fire. She could always rely on him to be found unearthing secrets in the library. Arlo had taken the appearance of the Banished in his stride. He’d made it his quest to discover everything he could about the ‘invaders’. It pleased Zanna that her apprentice thought knowledge, not violence, would be their key to survival.
“Find anything?” she asked, collapsing into a chair opposite. He waved a handful of worn parchment at her, covered in black spider scrawl. The old historians never liked to make things easy for them.
“Bits,” Arlo replied, a serious look in his bright eyes. “It’s funny. I always thought the men of Spring Haven built Solitude when the Banished were pushed north, but I found accounts suggesting it’s even more ancient than that. Then, there’s this; a journal written by this scholar, Matrim the Mad.”
“Well, he sounds like a reliable source,” Zanna replied, in a solemn voice.
Arlo gave her a withering look. “I’m twelve,” he said, “not five. Something’s been bothering me about the Banished. There’s so many. Where were they?”
Zanna blinked. “A fair question.” She tapped her lip. “Their land is small, covered in sparse woods, shale and slate—barren for the most part.”
“Well, old Matrim had an answer.” Arlo said, leafing through the parchment with excitement. “They discounted his findings because…”
“The whole ‘being mad’ thing.” Zanna helped, tapping tobacco into her pipe.
“Yeah.” Arlo nodded. “He writes about spending time with them, about four hundred years ago. Master, he says they lived in the mountain range. Not on it—inside it.”
Not for the first time, Zanna cursed the lack of real windows in Solitude. No wonder Garet could be so narrow-minded and warlike with only arrow slits to peer through. She pictured the monstrous range that dominated the horizon—the Peaks of Eternity—the largest on the continent. Uncharted.
Except by the Banished, Zanna thought, with a wry smile, and Matrim the Mad.
“Any reputable source who’d scouted Banished lands reported primitive, nomadic people,” she muttered, lighting her pipe with a flame from her fingertip. “Misdirection? Have they been gathering their forces, waiting for this moment?”
The library’s fire crackled and popped. Arlo supplied the only other noise as he shuffled through the ancient parchment.
“Master, do the Banished have the Spark?” he asked, gazing down at a page.
“Before Matrim the Mad’s revelations, I’d have said no. But who knows? There’s little mention of them in our histories, except to say they were bloodthirsty, violent oppressors, overthrown and chased to the edges of the known world by the combined might of the valiant Haltveldtian armies, before they fractured and Spring Haven ‘united’ them all once more. A little fanciful, if you ask me. The victors write history.”
“Are there other kinds of magic?” her apprentice asked, still staring at the parchment in his hands.
“Not anymore.” Zanna crossed her legs and gave Arlo an appraising look. “Legend says the elves used to practice magic that tuned into nature itself. They asked the earth to act and, because of their peaceful nature, it agreed. Before Haltveldt banned it, they mixed and bred with us, so perhaps they lost it then, if they ever had it. Ancient history. Or a myth, I’d wager. As far as I know, and have seen, elves use the Spark like us, though Haltveldt is culling it from them. Slaves with the gift are killed on the spot and their mages are targeted first in battle.”
“Nature?” Arlo muttered, biting his lip as he rapped a knuckle against the parchment. “Nature, nature, nature…”
“Did you hear anything I just said?” When he didn’t answer, she leaned forward. “What is it?”
Arlo handed the sheet to her. She struggled to decipher the handwriting, but she made out the words ‘Banished’ and ‘magic source.’ A coloured drawing covered the page—an enormous stone, covered in moss, with a tree growing out of its middle. Green mist appeared to ooze from a crack running down the centre of the rock. Below it were three words Zanna could understand.
THEY WILL RETURN.
“Do you think he meant the Banished?” Arlo asked, eyes wide.
“Drok it all,” Zanna spat. “Sparker arrogance strikes again. Matrim the Mad left us a warning in our own library.”
“Well,” Arlo smiled, though fear still lurked behind his bright eyes, “like you said, the whole ‘being mad’ thing didn’t help.”
Zanna calmed herself and pushed at her Link to Calene. She’d broken through once but the poor etiquette could be understood under the circumstances. Now, she had to be respectful and knock before entering.
Mother, Calene projected, thoughts clear, strong and sharp. The Banished appearing doesn’t mean we’re going to start playing happy families again. What do you want?
Heat rose in Zanna’s cheeks. Her daughter’s tone and lingering anger reminded her that her presence remained unwanted.
I don’t want to intrude but we must talk. The Banished wait still. Any change with yours?
&nb
sp; No, Calene replied. He looked half-starved and near death when we found him, and healing him hasn’t woken him up. Not that I expect it to just yet. Is that all you wanted?
Calene, I have reason to believe they’ve been planning this for centuries. Zanna looked at the picture with its warning and projected it to her daughter, their Link ensuring Calene would view the drawing with the same clarity she and Arlo did. Can you copy this? Show it to him when he wakes and tell me his reaction.
I’ll give it a go, Calene replied, and Zanna felt her scorn fade a touch. Vettigan Linked with his old apprentice in Spring Haven. He’s notified the Council and Emperor Locke of our find, and we’re heading there now.
Calene? Be careful.
I’ve been looking after myself a long time, Mother. And I’d appreciate it if you only contacted me if you have to. I need space…
Calene—
Zanna sighed as her daughter withdrew from the Link. It left her feeling smaller, emptier. Her mind caressed the connection, still pulsing with Calene’s essence, as if she could run the back of her finger down her daughter’s cheek.
I wish you’d forgive me, Zanna thought, but how can you if even I’m uncertain I deserve it?
Trumpets echoed through Solitude’s hallways and into the library, signalling a gathering of the Sparkers.
“Calene’s going to share your discovery,” Zanna said, standing and ruffling Arlo’s hair. “Stay here. See what else you can find from our friend Matrim the Not-So-Mad.”
###
Zanna entered the dining hall and took a seat at a table occupied by several Sparkers near the front of the room. Garet, standing behind the podium, nodded to her as she sat, a triumphant grin on his face.
Zanna slid in beside Miriam, a Sparker who’d visited Solitude fifty years before and never left. Her husband had fallen in a skirmish against elven forces—one in a long line of deaths in the wars to the south. She had always been kind and helped Zanna through the beginnings of her exile. They had often talked long into the night, about Calene, about the elven war, about Solitude and the Spark. She had helped Zanna realise that the fortress could be a sanctuary, not just a prison.
“How goes it with the Banished? Any change?”
“No, they’re still gathering in Solitude’s shadow, and more of them are trickling in all the time,” Miriam whispered, shaking her head. Miriam’s copper hair, streaked with iron, swayed as she did. “I walked over the battlements on my way here. They’re still minding their own business. It’s like there isn’t an enormous fortress looming over them.”
Zanna watched more Sparkers file in. Around one hundred lived in the immediate vicinity of the central hold, with the others spread out across the far reaches of Solitude’s wings. The murmur of whispers built, and soon a buzz of excitement and worry carried through the hall. As soon as the arrivals petered out, Protector Garet cleared his throat and amplified his voice over the hubbub. He held his arms out, palms pointing upwards, like he intended to preach of the gods to them. That’d be a fine sermon coming from him.
“Fellow Sparkers, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here. The Banished wait still, gathering their might.” Zanna grimaced as he paused for dramatic effect. “As we speak, our Empire fights a furious and bloody battle with the elven hordes far to the south. This war has drained Haltveldt’s resources, as we few, forgotten Sparkers of Solitude know all too well.”
A murmur of agreement washed through the hall, though Zanna thought the hum carried its fair share of anger.
“This is about the elves then?” a wizened Sparker across the room cried. “Is the deadlock lifted?”
“In a way…” Garet turned his smile on the room at large. “I’ve received word from Balz duRegar—the new High Sparker himself—a missive ratified by Emperor Locke Dazel and the Council. The Laws of Engagement are no more. Abolished, in our time of need! We are free to battle how we see fit… to our maximum potential.”
The room held its breath a moment, then exploded into a whirlwind of screaming and shouting. Sparkers shot to their feet, waving their fists at Garet and each other, all crying to be heard. Zanna watched Garet, anger rising inside her. The Protector seemed taken aback by the fury he’d provoked. He’d failed to consider an important element in his moment of triumph. Tastes and beliefs had changed throughout Haltveldt—Sparkers lost their faith and conviction in Raas and Janna daily thanks to the elven war and the Empire’s constant rhetoric—but old souls filled Solitude, many of them devout out of a form of penitence. They believed in the words of their gods, even if Garet didn’t. She remembered their conversation on the ramparts, not an hour earlier.
What would you do, Garet, if the Laws didn’t exist?
I would rain fire upon their heads; rend the earth beneath them. And if they reached our walls, I would Eviscerate them, so that any who fled would remember what happened the day they challenged the might of Solitude.
“No…” Zanna growled. She called on the Spark, using a little of her own energy and gave her vocal chords a push. “Silence!”
Her voice roared through the hall, drowning out the angry cries of the other Sparkers. One tipped backwards from their bench, landing with a loud crash on the floor. Nervous laughter spluttered in response before dying out.
“You have something to say, Zanna?” Garet smiled. “Perhaps you should seek a pardon from the Council. They may see your perspective now.”
He laughed at his own joke, eyes darting around the room to see if anyone joined him. Few did.
“You’re planning to attack the Banished?” Zanna replied, getting to her feet and thrusting a finger northward. Beyond Solitude’s walls, the plains, where an entire people gathered. “There are children out there, Garet. Unarmed innocents. We don’t even know why they’re here.”
“Our two hundred have no chance against the thousands of Banished with the Laws shackling us. We can’t wait for them to attack. Action is faster than reaction.” Garet clenched a fist. “We strike first, force the heathens back to where they belong. And, if they don’t retreat, we wipe them out, like our ancestors should have.”
Another Sparker, Heran, climbed to his feet. He aimed a finger at his throat—needlessly dramatic, Zanna noted—as he amplified his voice.
“Our talents are a blessing, one we use to protect and elevate our kind. So says Raas and Janna themselves.” His voice boomed as he gazed around the room. “I’ve long watched Haltveldt use us as weapons, and I weep to the gods when I see those of our Order playing the part with such ferociousness. To use the Spark in these ways is an affront to nature and the privilege we enjoy. We can hold the Banished in place until Haltveldt’s armies arrive but to use forbidden power will bring the wrath of the divine upon us.”
“What if we can’t?” someone shouted, not bothering with magic to raise their voice. “There are two hundred of us stretched across this gods-forsaken fortress! It’ll take all of us to secure it! When are we going to sleep? Eat? How long can we hold the line?”
“What if the Banished have magic of their own and attacking them spells our doom?” Zanna asked, her Spark-infused voice carrying across the hall. She thought of the parchment Arlo had uncovered.
Garet’s low chuckle turned into a throaty laugh. This time, other Sparkers joined in. Zanna felt her cheeks burn.
“The Banished’s magic?” Garet said, wiping a tear away with a fingertip. “Nonsense. They’re primitives. But their numbers are dangerous. Remember, there’s nearly half a million out there. Waiting. Watching. If they could muster magic, they’d have attacked years ago. Make no mistake, Zanna, they will attack, and even if it’s just spears and rocks, all the pretty elemental magic in the world won’t save you from the ugly truth. We can’t beat them. Not without all the power the gods supposedly gave us.”
“We know so little about them,” Zanna insisted. “We can’t afford t
o discount anything.”
“Rubbish.” Garet waved her off. “You’re stalling. There’s only one question up for discussion here. Do we attack?”
“What about Haltveldt’s armies?” Miriam asked. She patted Zanna’s arm as she did. “Do they march?”
Garet opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Do they march?” Heran cried.
To Zanna’s eyes, the Protector appeared to shrink in his robes as every eye in the room turned to him and waited.
“No.”
Silence. Heavy, angry, desperate quiet dominated the room. Zanna looked around at her fellow Sparkers; some frowned into the middle-distance, others pursed their lips as they considered the implications.
“Why?” Zanna whispered, her amplified voice turning it into an audible question.
“War with the elves comes first. Many in Spring Haven believe the Banished pose no credible threat. Word from Adhraas says Spring Haven has told them to sit tight and wait. They’re…questioning our motives. Saying we’re overstating the danger.” Garet bowed his head. Then he glanced up at Zanna, fixing her with his cold stare. “Don’t you see? This is why we need all our power. No one else is going to fight this battle for us. Solitude is my home and I’m sworn to protect it and everyone inside. I’m sworn to protect Haltveldt and its people. We’re too few to stand against the Banished.”
“The Emperor has abandoned us?” Heran muttered, slamming down onto his bench, jaw slack.
Zanna glanced at Solitude’s leader, then looked away. She despised Garet, but the look in his eye, the pleading tone of his voice, cut into her.
If Calene were here, wouldn’t you act? Wouldn’t you do anything to protect Arlo?
“A vote,” Miriam called.
“Aye,” Heran replied, “but not today. We must consider this situation. As Zanna says, the Banished have children among them. We must weigh the will of the gods. We must judge our own souls. In twenty-four hours, we’ll decide.”
