Dreamwielder

by Garrett Calcaterra

  “I can’t do it,” Taera whispered.

  “You can!” Roanna barked, leaning in close. “You are the one, Taera. I don’t have the power to show you or help you any more than I already have, but I know it is within you. Find your inner strength, delve into your darkest fears, do whatever it takes to accomplish this. You don’t have a choice anymore.” Roanna stood. “I return in the morning with Kadar. If you have not separated the rings then I will have no choice but to let him have his way with you. Be scared, Taera, because if you are not, I promise you, you will fail.”

  With that, Roanna turned and left, slamming the door behind her.

  Makarria waited for a long time to make sure Roanna wasn’t coming back before pulling the covers away from her face. “Taera?”

  “Don’t worry,” Taera replied, crying softly. “I won’t tell them. When they come in the morning, Kadar can take me away and do whatever he wishes, but I won’t say a thing. I won’t tell them about you, Makarria.”

  Makarria got up and walked across the room to take the rings from Taera. “No, I can do it for you. I’ve done things before. I’ve changed dresses. I made my grampy young again. I can do this.”

  “And then what?” Taera whispered. “They’ll think I did it, and they will expect me to do more, to pass more tests. They’ll find out it wasn’t me at all and that it was you this whole time. Then what? Then Kadar can beat and rape you instead of me?”

  The tone of Taera’s voice was quiet, but intense—frightful—and Makarria stood silently for a long moment as she considered what she was proposing to do. She was scared, but at the same time, she was not willing to let her friend be harmed needlessly. “It’ll give us more time at least,” Makarria reasoned. “Siegbjorn will be back soon. He will help us if I ask him.”

  “I said no!” Taera said, snatching the rings from Makarria’s grip with more force than she intended.

  Makarria yelped and pressed her stinging fingers against her lips in surprise.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Taera sobbed, crying harder now. She tossed the rings aside and reached her hands out for Makarria. “I’m sorry, Makarria. I just wanted to keep you safe. I never meant for any of this happen. I never thought this would happen. I was so naïve. I thought… I thought… I don’t know. I thought I was stronger.”

  Makarria put her arms around Taera, her fear suddenly gone. She felt oddly misplaced, consoling the friend who had mothered her and was five years her elder, but it felt right. Protecting her friend made her own fear disappear. “It’s not your fault,” Makarria said. “It’s going to be alright. I promise.”

  Taera said nothing and only wept into Makarria’s shoulder for a long time. After a while her crying subsided, and Taera slumped back into her bed. Makarria covered her up the best she could, then quietly treaded to the far end of the room to where the rings had landed. She picked them up, ran her fingers over the entirety of them, then went and sat down on her own bed. She had already made up her mind: she was going to separate the rings, no matter what Taera said. You’ve been obeying others your whole life. Mother, Father, Grampy, and now Taera. They can’t take care of you anymore. It’s time to start making your own decisions. She laid down with the rings in hand over her chest and closed her eyes. You can do this, Makarria. You just need to dream it true. She pictured the rings in her mind and tried to go to sleep, but found she was anything but tired. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and the anticipation of what she was attempting to do kept distracting her. After a while, she gave up trying to sleep and sat back up. She recalled walking in on Taera that first day on the airship and finding her sitting up in a trance. A dream state, Roanna called it. Makarria closed her eyes with her back against the wall and again pictured the rings in her mind, but the thought again distracted her and made her think of Roanna and Kadar and his black teeth. With an exasperated snort, she pushed all those thoughts aside and focused on her breathing. Relax, she told herself. You didn’t change Grampy when you were scared and sobbing, you changed him when you were half-asleep.

  Makarria focused on the sound of her heartbeat in her head and the air moving through her nose with each passing breath. Her body relaxed. Time passed—how much, she lost track of—and eventually she realized she had forgotten about the rings. Remembering them quickened her pulse again, so she pushed the thought of them aside. When she was relaxed again, she allowed herself to picture the rings in her mind but only for a moment before turning her attention back to her breathing. She repeated this multiple times, then forced herself to remember her goal. Separate them, she told herself. The next time she envisioned them in her mind, she pictured the rings melded together, the border between them blurry. Then again and again. Then she envisioned them separate. A chill swept over her body, but she shook it off and forced herself to stay focused on the image. Two rings, separated. She repeated the statement in her mind. She duplicated the image in her imagination over and over again. She duplicated it so many times it became instinct and soon she began to forget what she was doing. Her breathing slowed even more, and she lost track of what she was doing. Her mind wandered, fatigue swept over her. It was as if she was climbing a hill that got ever steeper.

  Two rings, separated…

  All thoughts were gone from Makarria’s mind, and her body—completely exhausted—began to slump over. As she hit the mattress, the rings fell from her hands and clattered onto the stone floor and startled her awake. She pushed herself up and shook her head but could see nothing.

  “Makarria?” Taera said from across the room. She too had been startled awake by the sound of the rings hitting the floor.

  The room was nearly pitch black. The lone lamp in the corner near the door had almost been extinguished and burned now only with the faintest of lights. Taera got up slowly and felt her way toward the lamp. When she reached it, she adjusted the lamp to draw more of the wick up into the globe. It sputtered, then glowed brightly again, and Taera turned back toward the center of the room.

  Makarria and Taera both stared at the two rings in the middle of the floor: two rings separated.

  Makarria spoke first, nothing more than a whisper. “I did it.”

  “Yes,” was all Taera could reply. After a while she got up from the floor beside the lamp and grabbed up the rings. “You will speak nothing of this,” she told Makarria. “I will stretch out what little time you have bought us.”

  Makarria found that she could only nod. Taera tucked her beneath her covers, and she slept. Sometime later, the Snjaer Firan tribesman who guarded their door brought them their midmorning meal and escorted them to the privy. Makarria woke and dutifully followed him and Taera to the privy chamber and back but remembered hardly any of it or any of their dinner many hours later. She could barely walk or lift her arms to eat, and Taera silently assisted her, ashamed that in her moment of weakness she had let a girl bravely do what she could not. When they finished eating their evening meal, Makarria laid down and again fell into a deep slumber, while Taera returned to her own bed to sleep fitfully throughout the night.

  When morning came, Roanna and Kadar entered without knocking. Taera wordlessly handed Kadar the rings. He examined them for a moment, then handed them over to Roanna. “Get working then,” he told her. “I want constant progress now that you have opened her.”

  “Yes, Master,” Roanna said with a stern nod, but when Kadar exited and left them alone, Roanna smiled. “I told you, Taera. You are the one.”

  25

  War Plans

  King Casstian’s study bustled with people and a chorus of disconnected conversations. In one corner, Casstian’s supply sergeant met with the Minister of Agriculture and the guild masters for the millers and butchers to begin procuring the food necessary to feed an army. In another corner, the Royal Armorer met with the guild masters of the smiths, fletchers, and ore miners to expedite the manufacturing of more weapons. Around the fire, Rufous and the other high ranking officers of the Pyrthin navy tallied the number of s
hips in port at their disposal—naval and merchant vessels, both—and discussed how they would structure the chain of command between the navy and the civilian captains. And around the desk, Casstian himself looked over a large map of the Five Kingdoms with his top advisors, including the archer Tharon, and Parmo.

  “We will make Kylep our marshaling point and base for attack,” Casstian said, pointing on the map to the city that sat at the northwestern juncture of the high road and the River Kylep. “Lepig would be better in some ways, perhaps, but folk there are of mixed loyalty, and the Emperor has a garrison with two-hundred cavalrymen. It would be a crippling blow if we could take the city from him, but we cannot hope to hold Lepig if the Emperor brings the entirety of his forces south from Col Sargoth. Kylep is better suited to that. It sits upon a high vantage point making it impossible to approach unnoticed, and it has outer walls which can be fortified. We can access it by both road and the river to begin sending supplies immediately.”

  “And what of Valaróz?” one of the advisors asked. “If they come by land through the badlands, they will cut off our supply lines between Kylep and Kal Pyrthin.”

  “We will send our advanced troops to Makady to begin fortifying the town against attack from Valaróz,” Casstian said. “Prince Parmenios assures me that Valaróz will be disinclined to attack by that route, however, and I agree.”

  “Their strength lies in their navy,” Parmo explained. “They will look to attack with their eastern fleet by sea and come at us through Kal Pyrthin Bay. If they get past the Pyrthin navy, they will lay siege to the city and send their ships up the river to attack Kylep.”

  “And capture us in a vice,” the King added.

  “How many men do you mean to leave behind to hold Kal Pyrthin?” another of the advisors asked.

  “I mean to leave none behind but the city watch.”

  The advisors looked at the King incredulously, but Casstian did not balk.

  “This is not the time for conservative tactics. We’ll need every able-bodied person we can muster if we hope to stand against Sargoth. The fate of our city lies in the hands of our navy, and Prince Parmenios. He knows the tactics of the Valarion navy better than any and is familiar with the waters at the southern edge of the bay. I am putting him in charge of our naval force.”

  Parmo nodded as all their eyes turned upon him. His thoughts, as they did often, returned to Makarria. After freeing Casstian, he had asked the King to let him lead the search for the airship, but Casstian was convinced Taera and Makarria had been abducted by the Emperor. “The only way to get them back is to take Col Sargoth,” he had said and so Parmo stayed. I don’t know where Makarria is, he told himself for the hundredth time. This is all I can do to aid her: help defeat Guderian. He steeled his resolve again and spoke to the men gathered around Casstian.

  “I will do all in my power to keep your city safe. At worst, we will keep the Valarion fleet floundering at the edge of the bay for months, but I mean to do more than that. Pyrthinia and Valaróz have always been allies, even during the Dreamwielder War, when all the other kingdoms were at war with one another. I mean to make them allies again. Just as you are all loyal Pyrthinians and have fought to free your king, so too are the Valarions loyal and proud of their kingdom. They have no love for the usurper Don Bricio, but they have had no one to unite and lead them. Until now. I will declare my rightful claim to the throne of Valaróz, and if Don Bricio has the courage to face me, I will cut him down.”

  “Courage is not the way of Don Bricio,” Casstian remarked. “Always he has resorted to secrecy and treachery. He will not face you but rather renounce your claim as false and scheme to murder you by some nefarious means. He will lie, bribe, blackmail, and kill to make people do his bidding. You risk much if you declare yourself.”

  “We all risk much, and as you said yourself, this is not the time for conservative tactics.”

  “So be it,” Casstian conceded.

  “Your Majesty?” a wiry man spoke from the outer edge of the circle of advisors. Few of the others had hardly even noticed he was there until he spoke. “If I may…”

  “Of course, speak your mind, Leone,” Casstian told him.

  “If the prince means to declare himself, then we could use it more to our benefit,” Leone said. “There is little hope for surprise regardless. The houndkeeper escaped upon your rescue, Your Majesty, and Guderian no doubt has other spies in the city. He will know before long that we are mobilizing for war so why try to hide it? Let us all declare ourselves. We are not alone in our hatred of Guderian. Others may join us. I can spread the rumor through the city that Prince Parmenios Pallma has returned to reclaim his throne. The news will spread like wildfire. I will send messengers to Pyrvino, Tyrna, Makady, and Kylep. I have loyal men and women who will go from there to spread the word into the other realms. Let the people of Valaróz know their prince has returned. Let the people of Sargoth know that Pyrthinia has declared war and means to free all the Five Kingdoms from the tyranny of Guderian. We might just find that we have many allies out there, both big and small. At the worst, Guderian and his lapdog Don Bricio will have their hands full keeping their subjects scared into submission.”

  Casstian pursed his lips thoughtfully for a long moment before responding. “Do it,” he said, finally. “As you say, Leone, we have little hope of secrecy anyhow. And if nothing else, it will make your task somewhat more feasible, Parmenios. The people of Valaróz will be more inclined to believe your claim if they have already heard rumor of you.”

  Parmo smiled. “I like it.”

  “Done then,” Leone said, slipping back into the shadows of the assembled group.

  “Very well,” Casstian said. “Leone and Parmenios, you have your tasks before you. The rest of us will make way to Kylep with our ground forces. We will strike Lepig first, and if all goes well, march on Weordam. If we move fast, we can bottle Guderian’s troops up on the high road through Forest Weorcan.”

  “What of Golier and Norgland?” one of the advisors asked.

  Another of the advisors answered. “King Lorimer of Golier will be first to come to Sargoth’s aid after Valaróz. It is too late in the year for Lorimer to send troops through the mountain passes though. All he can do is send troops by ship to bolster the forces massed at Col Sargoth. As for Norgland and King Hanns, we needn’t worry about them yet. If we are able to march on Col Sargoth, they may pose a problem, but that is all. Hanns’s loyalty to Guderian is questionable. He won’t risk sending their ships around the northern cape at this time of the year. The same is true of the western Valarion fleet and Golier’s navy. They are of no concern until spring at the earliest, and even then they would have to voyage for many months to reach Kal Pyrthin Bay.”

  “For good or ill, this war will be over by then, I think,” Casstian said. “I don’t mean to throw Pyrthinia into an extended war. We are risking everything and making a sprint for Col Sargoth.”

  All the advisors were silent for a long moment as the gravity of the King’s words sunk in.

  “And what of Wulfram?” Tharon asked at last. “Do we have no plan to contest him?”

  No one was fain to hope they could defeat Wulfram, and none had the answer.

  “What plan is there for one of his likes?” Casstian asked.

  “Perhaps there are more sorcerers in hiding?” one of the advisors asked. “We used to provide safe harbor to them. They might help.”

  Casstian shook his head. “Even if there are any sorcerers still alive in the realm and supposing we could find them, they wouldn’t help—not after what Wulfram did to those girls in our very courtyard. We’re on our own, I’m afraid.”

  “Let us be preemptive at least,” Tharon said. “We can be vigilant. We can place archers with the advanced scouts, solely for the purpose of espying him. If we can see him coming when he is in raven form before he reaches our main force, perhaps we can catch him unawares and shoot him down.”

  “Yes, you are right,” Cassti
an agreed. “Do it. Put together small teams and we will split them up. We’ll send some forward with the scouts, but let’s take your plan further. Wulfram poses the most danger if he comes upon us when we’re gathered in mass. He can kill hundreds with one fell swoop. We’ll move our troops in segments so that we never have our forces massed in one place except during battle. He will be less prone to attack then, for fear of killing his own troops. We’ll place teams of archers in each regiment, with the sole purpose of defending against Wulfram if he should attack. Is there more we can do than that?”

  No one had anything to add.

  “Very well then,” Casstian said. “You all know what to do. Let’s get to work.”​

  Though it was nearing midnight, Natarios Rhodas was admitted immediately to Emperor Guderian’s private study high in the easternmost of the five towers of Lightbringer’s Keep. Natarios was bedraggled and muddy and near exhaustion, but he knew his news could not wait. He had made it to Col Sargoth from Kal Pyrthin in an astounding fourteen days, taking a new horse as often as he could manage in the towns and cities he passed through and riding at least four of the poor animals to death. He was not overly fond of riding in the saddle, but his fear that King Casstian would send men after him to keep him from reaching the Emperor was enough motivation to keep him pushing on each day long after he would have stopped otherwise.

  The Emperor’s quarters occupied the uppermost five levels of the eastern tower, and the study was on the lowest of the five. It was a large, semi-circular room, not nearly as warm and inviting as King Casstian’s study in Natarios’s estimation. A cast iron heating stove stood at the center of the room and around it were an assortment of rigid, high-backed wooden chairs. At the far end of the room was a balcony, though the doors and curtains were shut at this hour. To Natarios’s immediate left, next to the door through which he had just entered, was a strange scaffold-like structure rising up from the floor and through a square opening in the ceiling. A strange grating noise began emanating from the opening as Natarios stood there, and suddenly there was a deafening release of steam spurting down toward him.