Borne Rising

by Matthew Callahan

  The Street was alive. Whereas during his previous visit he had only witnessed Morella on the dance floor, this time it was bursting at the seams. The floating lanterns spun and twisted, casting their yellow light amidst the flurry of crimson curtains, making the whole room seem alive in fire. The boisterous joviality, the pure life breathing within the walls as people cheered and clapped and spun sent Will’s head spinning. The agoraphobia vanished. Tears crept into his eyes. This is life, he realized as he watched, not a world of war and battle. Not the militant Sapholux. This is what life should be.

  It was too much to take in. After so long with the isolated Lightborne, Will’s senses were overwhelmed. Before he knew it, he was stumbling back through the curtains and out into the cool air of the Aerillian sky. His heart was pounding as he sucked in air. He threw back his hood and wiped the unfallen tears from his eyes. He locked his fingers behind his head and stared up at the amber sky. What the hell is going on with me?

  Stepping away from the entrance, Will closed his eyes and concentrated on his breath. It took longer than he could believe, but eventually his heart rate returned to normal. An anxiety attack? That’s a first. Hopefully the last, too.

  He shook his head to clear it. Suddenly, the stoic Nordoth held more appeal than the vibrant Street. Will set his sights on the towering monolith, its ever-present gaze fixed upon the city below. To the Crow, then.

  He drew his hood and glanced around, seeing no apparent path. It was there, he knew. He’d find it. Trusting his instincts and faded memories to guide him, Will set off.

  Escorted by four guards, Will was led into a familiar dark chamber. If any of his escort had been among those he met on his last visit, none let it show. In any event, none seemed to recognize him. They fell a few steps behind and allowed Will to approach the central dais of the audience chamber. The flames were low at his side, but he noticed how the guards positioned themselves so he would have to pass through the fire should he wish to flee. Wouldn’t that be a sight to see, he smirked to himself.

  Within the shadowed chair that overlooked the room sat a tall, narrow-faced woman. Her robes were identical to those worn by the seneschal that had so cruelly handled Will and Mad. A new appointee, perhaps? Will eyed the woman. Maybe the wounds Mad inflicted upon the bastard were worse than the Crow let on.

  The woman sat patiently, her face impassive and calm. A runner approached and handed her a small sheet of paper while whispering in her ear. The woman’s eyes never left Will’s. There was something in them that reminded him of the Crow’s unnerving gaze, but he refused to waver. He stood silently, in no mood for the political games of the Crow’s court. A world without kings, din’Dael had told him, that had been their intent. But rather than rule themselves, the people appointed their strongest warlords to rule them. How was that any different, William?

  Will actually found himself amused by the whole spectacle, the theatricality of it all. He had seen the chamber illuminated, knew of its sprawling grandeur. Despite the seemingly narrow confines of the space he and this new seneschal shared, he knew that the eyes of a hundred guards and retainers were on him, hidden by the shadows. The shadows that move on command. Is the Crow himself Borne? Is his Shade so expansive that he can fill and control this whole room?

  The thought was disconcerting. It would certainly explain how the man had amassed so much power if Will’s own ability—former ability—had been deemed impressive. If the Crow was Borne by Shadow, how would he react to Will’s unexplainable transition to Radiance?

  For the first time, Will considered that here, within the Nordoth, he might finally find some answers.

  “You have returned to us, I see,” the seneschal spoke at last. Will straightened and returned his full attention to the woman. Her voice was controlled, revealing nothing of her intentions.

  “I have,” he responded, inclining his head slightly as he did so. “My apologies, I do not recall your face from my previous visit to these halls.” The words sounded forced and overly formal, but the seneschal smiled faintly. Maybe this introduction will be more pleasant than my last.

  “Your own face has changed much, William Davis.”

  “Thorne,” Will said. Might as well play the hand that Jero dealt me, see where it goes. “Noctis Thorne.”

  A calm silence stretched between them. The seneschal cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. A moment later, she nodded her head and gestured to someone unseen. “Very well. Please amend the records to make note of this development.” She returned her attention to Will. “Noctis Thorne, then. What brings you to the Nordoth on this occasion?”

  Much more polite than her predecessor, Will mused. How much else has changed? He brushed the thought away. It didn’t matter; more changes were coming. “I have come for an audience with the Crow.”

  “Yes, I would have expected as much.” She steepled her hands, looking very much like the man she represented. “You understand that the Crow is a very busy man, of course. You may trust me to treat with you in this matter. Surely you understand.”

  Will glanced quickly around at the surrounding shadows before peering into the distant blackness beyond the seneschal’s seat. They’re not making this easy, are they? He sighed. Well, might as well keep up with my tradition of making an entrance here.

  “Very well”—he paused for effect and stood just a little straighter, rapidly rehearsing the speech he’d prepared—“I come on behalf of Jero din’Dael as representative for the Halls of Light, bearing word from the Revenant of the Sapholux. He seeks an alliance with the Nordoth for the defense of the realm against the forces of Dorian Valmont and the Necrothanian plague that is assaulting the lands of Aeril.”

  He’d had weeks to think of the words and yet, once they left his lips, they did not seem to effectively communicate what he sought. The seneschal did not appear moved in the slightest.

  “If Jero din’Dael seeks an alliance with the Crow, why has he not come himself?” The seneschal raised a questioning brow. “I mean no offense, young Master Thorne, but why do you act as proxy when it would have been just as easy, and more compelling, for the Revenant to act?”

  Will smiled. Time to rock the boat. “Because Jero din’Dael is preparing the Blades of Light and the armies of Sapholux to march for Undermyre.”

  A hush fell over those present. To her credit, initially the seneschal showed no reaction. In fact, if anything, she seemed amused. Either she doesn’t believe me or she already knew. He studied her face. Or she is just exceptionally good at her job.

  “I trust,” she said after a moment, “that should they choose to march upon this city, they do so with more decorum than the last time they set out in force?”

  Will smiled and thumbed the bloodstones of a fang. “I believe that all depends on how these negotiations proceed.”

  Just as it had before, the darkness of the room lifted as though a curtain had been drawn. Blinding light flooded into the hall, but Will did not recoil from the sudden brilliance. Whereas on his previous visit, the room had been filled with people and soldiers, now he could see only the guards who had escorted him in, the seneschal, and just beyond her, the dark stooped figure of the Crow. He leaned forward in his chair, hands steepled, dark features set in grim lines. His eyes bore into Will.

  “Master Thorne,” the dark man spoke. “It appears that we are due for another conversation.”

  12

  A Bargain Struck

  A quiet chuckle, nearly a scoff, rolled out from the Crow. It echoed through the quiet of the empty hall in an unnerving, otherworldly hum. The seneschal stood and moved away wordlessly. The Crow’s eyes were fixed on Will, a too-wide smile on his face. Will cracked his neck and waited. The Crow eyed him a moment longer, then rose with difficulty, bracing himself on the chair. He beckoned Will forward—a short, sharp gesture—and turned on his heel. Will smiled and strode toward the back of the room. So far, so good.

  The darkness of the Crow’s private office was a stark contr
ast to the wash of light from the hall. Will blinked and rubbed his eyes, willing them to adjust. The office had not changed. There were still the walls of books, the neatly organized tables and desks. The measure still stood sentinel against the wall, but something about it caught Will’s eye.

  He moved closer, feeling his key spring to life against his chest. Intrigued, he watched as the face of the measure swirled, the bright contents within churning upon themselves. The dark smoke had expanded into the face while the lighter smoke had grown more vibrant, nearly sparkling. The two were mixing. Will smiled at the beautiful transformation. Someday, I want one of these.

  Wordlessly, the Crow made for the ever-present decanter of wine and poured. When he turned back, Will was disappointed to see that the man held only a single glass in his spindly hands. He cursed inwardly. A drink would have been nice. He was thirsty. Truly thirsty. I should have stayed at the Street. What the hell came over me?

  The Crow slouched into his seat unceremoniously and eyed Will. “You do make an entrance . . . Noctis, is it now?” He let out a scoffing snort. “Indeed, it seems that with you, there is never a lack of—how shall we say it—developments, as it were.”

  Will turned back to him. “Somehow I doubt my words came as any surprise to you, Crow.”

  The Crow raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “Jero din’Dael.” Will punched his way through the name, forcing every word to stand out. The Crow’s expression did not change. “You sent my brother and me on a suicide mission to the Shale to free him. Why?”

  The Crow smiled. “A suicide mission, you say?”

  “We barely survived.”

  “So, not a suicide mission, then.”

  Will’s blood boiled and he felt a fierce tension in his jaw. He hadn’t expected this sudden rush of angry frustration. This man orchestrated everything that has happened in the past three years. He folded his arms and eyed the dark man. “I ask again. Why?”

  The Crow’s smile faded and he set his glass down on the table. “Your penchant for questions has not changed, young man.”

  “Nor has my intolerance when it comes to people who try to harm me or my brother.”

  “Your brother, yes.” The Crow’s humorless smile returned. “And how is Madigan, then? I must say, I am surprised that he is not accompanying you.”

  Will’s stomach twisted. So, Mad isn’t here. Where was he then? A dark thought crossed Will’s mind: Had he been wrong about Cephora getting him out? What if it had been a trick of Valmont’s? His heart pounded in his ears. The stretching grin widened on the Crow’s face.

  “He is otherwise occupied.” Will prayed that his voice sounded steadier than he felt.

  “Indeed.” The Crow cocked his head to the side and leaned forward, peering into Will’s eyes. “Let us dispense with the pleasantries, Noctis Thorne—quite the name, I must say. You have embraced your grandfather’s line, then.” It was not a question. “Yes, quite a name. Reborn, it would seem.”

  Reborn. The Crow let the word hang in the air as he stared unblinking at Will.

  No, he meant it differently. Re-Borne. The word lingered between them. Coolness crawled into Will’s spine. He knows. How does he know? How is that even possible? Will fought back against the looming chill and forced a smile to his face. Fine. Two can play at your games, Crow.

  “The fires of the Sapholux strip away what one once was. Blades of Light are forged in the flames. Whomever a Lightborne was before their trials dies.”

  “So the stories go.” The Crow’s face gave nothing.

  Will caressed his blood fangs and met the Crow’s eyes. His Flare sent sputtering lightning dancing across his forearms. He watched the dark man frown slightly. “So the stories go.”

  A breath passed, not even a moment, but Will sensed the slight crack in the Crow’s facade. He took it.

  “Dorian Valmont has returned. It would seem he was not as dead as you would have had us believe.” The Crow chuckled, the news obviously no surprise to him. Of course not. Jesus, Will, it’s been years. Get your head clear. “He and his forces are massing in the northwest.”

  “Indeed they are, young Noctis.”

  “Jero din’Dael sent me to treat with you.” Whatever crack Will thought he’d seen was gone. The Crow suddenly seemed very bored, sighing and shaking his head slightly. “To find a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  “As you have already stated.”

  “The Lightborne will move against Valmont in force when the time comes. But a more strategic—”

  “The Nordoth,” the Crow interrupted. “Yes, I understand din’Dael’s desires quite well.” Will began to speak but was silenced by a gesture from the man. “You are mistaken, Noctis Thorne. Your information is incorrect. The Necrothanians amass in the northwest. Dorian Valmont is not with them.”

  Will eyed the man. “Is that so?” He was never this forthcoming. What does he want?

  “Valmont, it seems, entered into the Ways.”

  The sense of dread returned to Will. “You’re certain?”

  The Crow shot him a glare. “Three men died for the privilege of that discovery, Noctis Thorne.” He spat the words. “Valmont has made for Cascania.”

  Home. Will paled.

  “I will entertain Jero din’Dael’s request for an alliance between the Sapholux and Nordoth”—the Crow’s smile was unnerving—“so long as you, Noctis Thorne, move against Valmont in Cascania.”

  Gods, he’s trying to get me killed. Will stared. Why was he being so blunt? What was his angle? “The Lightborne will arrive before I return, Crow.”

  The man waved a dismissive hand. “Messengers were sent to them with terms the moment you entered within the walls of Undermyre. They will wait.”

  He’d already known? He already had everything planned out before he even spoke to me? “Terms, you say?”

  The Crow smiled. “You have been on the road for some time, Thorne. You shall remain within Undermyre and recover until you are prepared to venture to Cascania.”

  Will was silent. It was all arranged before I even set foot in this damn office. He eyed the Crow, rapidly searching for some new approach. None came. I have no choice.

  The Crow watched him over the rim of his wine glass before brushing the empty cup aside and rising. “Very well, I’m glad that we have an agreement.”

  Frustration roiled inside Will. I haven’t even answered him.

  “Recover, young Thorne. Your chambers have been prepared. Inform me when you return from Cascania.” He smiled then turned his attention to the papers on his desk. “You are dismissed.”

  Will said nothing. Like a fly in a web. He turned and made for the door.

  “William,” the Crow called. “One final thing.”

  Will turned at the mention of his real name. “Yes?”

  “We once had a conversation regarding certain, ah, abilities of yours,” the Crow said. “Some of your fiercer capabilities, you could say. Ones that I recommended you contain.”

  You mean my Shade. “I recall.”

  “I must say, I am surprised by the degree to which you managed such a feat.”

  Will stared. The dark man’s thinly veiled probing soured Will’s already frustrated mood. So, he doesn’t know how it happened either. So much for answers. He frowned. “My brother and I always were full of surprises.” Give me something on Madigan, you bastard. Show me you know something about what happened to him.

  “So it would seem.” The Crow frowned. “Very well then, on your way.”

  Will whirled and left without another word. His fingernails dug into his balled fists. He was tired and thirsty and now just plain angry. Again, he berated himself for not resting first at the Street. At the least, the Crow could have offered me a damn drink. As the door closed behind him, his thoughts drifted to the Atlantean wine and the memory of its flavor. That or the Fita’Verxae, he mused. While he knew that wine wouldn’t have done much to quench his thirst, at least it might have helped c
alm his nerves.

  That goddam man. That goddam man and his maneuvering.

  He emerged, bristling, into the abandoned audience chamber. The silence grated at his already frayed nerves and he sighed in exasperation. Today just isn’t going as planned. Not one bit.

  “Sir?”

  Will was halfway through the hall when the soft, tentative voice called from his left. He stopped and turned. Ynarra, looking just the same as she ever had, stood a short distance from him. She dropped her gaze and gave a small curtsy when his eyes fell upon her.

  “Ynarra, it is—”

  “Sir, this way, please. Sir.” She curtsied again and spun toward a side door, scurrying away from him.

  Well, it’s nice to see that some things don’t change.

  Smiling despite himself, Will hurried to catch up with the girl. They walked together in silence for a time, passing through corridors and hallways that were as vacant and silent as Will remembered. Time works differently here . . . or it just stands still. He glanced at Ynarra. Something about her seemed different, but he couldn’t place it. She seemed as if—

  “Sir.” Ynarra’s voice was soft. She hesitated a moment but then the words, quick and trepidatious, came flooding out. “Sir, I do not know how well you remember me, sir, and please forgive me for saying as much, sir, but it is pleasant to lay eyes on you once more. Sir.”

  Will was shocked. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever heard that many words cumulative from Ynarra, let alone all at once. “Ynarra, of course I remember you. It is good to see you as well.”

  The girl flushed and clamped her mouth shut. No, no, I didn’t mean to scare you back into silence, dammit. Her pace quickened and she seemed to be struggling for a breath, then she slowed once more and resumed speaking.