Shadow of the Void

by Nathan Garrison

  I think I’ve got just the thing.

  She thrust her hands outwards. The very air slammed against itself, breaking like waves, and from the center of it she yelled, “Silence!”

  The spell crashed throughout the fortress, toppling those caught unbalanced and staggering the rest. Not a soul moved. The wind seemed to howl, but Jasside knew that was only by comparison. She heard few other sounds that could compete.

  She had their attention, it seemed.

  With space now to breathe, she looked around at the soldiers arrayed within the fortress. Not all were the same, their differences marked as much by their attire as their disposition. Slender, narrow-­eyed soldiers in studded armor, similar in style to the Sceptrines, manned the walls with their bows. Another group with bodies wrapped in layered cloth, with oiled beards and wide-­curved swords, were centered around the wreckage of the two catapults. Small, dark men with spears and feathered vests guarded every doorway. A few others who didn’t seem to fit any other group were scattered among the rest. And it all created a problem.

  Jasside wasn’t sure who was in charge.

  She angled her head and lips towards her mistress. “Which ones are the Panisians?”

  “How should I know?”

  “This is no time for games. I know you’ve traveled the world before. There’s no use denying it.”

  Vashodia looked at her sternly, but Jasside soon realized the mierothi was suppressing a smile. It was a strange look on her mistress. She almost thought it might be pride.

  At last, the mierothi waved a hand before her. “The fairest ones in all the lands. Or so I’ve been told.”

  Jasside sighed. She’d have to do this the hard way. She cleared her throat, lifting her chin and her voice. “Who is in charge here? I demand to speak with the commander of this fortress.”

  Every eye turned towards the group of casters standing on the ledge of an interior bunker. A heartbeat later, a woman stepped forward, dressed in jeweled armor more artistic than functional. Though fair, as Vashodia had promised, the woman’s stony gaze made Jasside suspect the woman knew her business.

  “You’re in command here?” Jasside asked.

  “I am,” the woman replied.

  “Then, on behalf of the mierothi sovereignty, and the nation of Sceptre, I—­”

  The commander’s body exploded.

  She could only stare, dumbfounded, as blood and bits of flesh splashed across the other casters. Everybody in the fortress flinched, coiling to make an escape should the destruction continue.

  Jasside hadn’t cast the spell that destroyed the Panisian woman, but its flavor was similar.

  She glanced down, horrified, at Vashodia. “What the abyss was that about?”

  Vashodia giggled. “I said it before, didn’t I? We are not here to negotiate. It sounded like you were coming dangerously close to such pointless discourse.”

  “I was trying to get them to surrender peacefully.”

  “And it worked. Look.”

  Jasside spun in a circle, noting that every last person was throwing down his weapons and raising his hands. No one looked in the mood to challenge them further.

  She turned again to Vashodia. “Your methods are effective, I’ll admit. But shortsighted.”

  Her mistress giggled again. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of that before. Bravo, Jasside, you continue to surprise me. Care to explain your unorthodox position?”

  “It’s simple, really: Dead ­people make horrible hostages.”

  “Ah, so you do have a practical bone in your body. I was beginning to think you’d gone soft on me.”

  Jasside shook her head. “If our enemy expects no mercy, they’ll fight all the harder.”

  “Mercy only makes us look weak.”

  “If mercy makes you weak, then I don’t want to be strong.”

  “Yes you do. Else I’d never have considered you for my apprentice. And I surely wouldn’t have kept you around for as long as I have.”

  “There is strength in restraint. Taking prisoners alive is far more difficult than mass slaughter. Even you can’t debate that.”

  Vashodia sighed. “If you insist. It really isn’t worth getting worked up over.” She smiled. “Let’s go deliver our surprise to Prince Daye, shall we?”

  “Finally,” Jasside said, “something we can agree on.”

  Tassariel looked up as soft footsteps approached. She smiled at the newcomer. “Glad you could make it, Arivana,” she said. “Any trouble slipping your minister?”

  “Not at all,” the queen said. “Flumere here is quite adept helping me escape notice.”

  The handmaiden blushed. Tassariel felt fire erupt inside her as she looked at the woman. The rage of Elos never failed to respond to Flumere’s presence though he still had not told her why. She’d given up asking.

  Tassariel drew her eyes away from the handmaiden, and the fire subsided. She shivered. The cold was still there, always lurking in her bones. Elos rarely spoke anymore, but he was always calculating, churning his ice inside her. She’d almost grown used to it, again, but the sudden arrival—­and equally sudden departure—­of the fire drove her awareness of the chill towards agony.

  “Is that him?” Arivana said, inclining her head towards a man seated across the courtyard.

  Tassariel set her jaw to banish her acute focus on her inward turmoil, and nodded.

  “Best go say hello, then,” the queen added.

  “I’ve a better idea.”

  Tassariel tiptoed behind the man, drawing within a hand’s width without his realizing she was there. She sidestepped right, then tapped his left shoulder. She smiled gleefully as he dropped his book and jumped up, spinning almost in a complete circle before finding her.

  “Tassariel!”

  “Lerathus!”

  He threw out his arms wide, and she fell into his smothering embrace. Though they’d never met in person, the correspondence they’d had over the years made him feel closer to her than almost any person alive. The hug was exactly what she expected and not a bit awkward.

  At last he pulled away, laughing merrily and shaking the grasslike hair sprouting from his head and face. “I’d no idea you were in town, lass. When did they let you out of that prison called home?”

  “A few months ago.”

  He eyed her up and down. “Adulthood looks to be agreeing with you.”

  Heat rose to her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  Lerathus glanced past her shoulder, and his eyes widened briefly. He stepped clear of Tassariel and bowed. “Your majesty,” he said. “Your presence is an unexpected pleasure. Please be welcome to the consulate.”

  Arivana inclined her head. “Thank you, Lerathus. Tassariel has told me so much about you.”

  “Has she now? In that case, I must apologize. Tass here has a flair for the dramatic. Likes to tell lies and such. I’m not half so bad as I’m sure she’s made me out to be.”

  Arivana hid her mouth behind a hand. “It’s been nothing but good things, I assure you.”

  “Nothing but good things? She’s a worse liar than I feared.”

  Tassariel punched him in the chest. Lightly, for her, but he still staggered back half a step. “Oh, stop it, Lerathus. You’re making me look bad.”

  “Using me to make a good impression was your first mistake.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that now.”

  Lerathus chuckled, squeezing Tassariel around the shoulder. “So what brings you here?”

  “I’ll give you one guess.”

  His eyebrows rose along with the corners of his lips. “Books! Of course. What else would it be with you? By Elos, I swear, you’ve read half our archives already. Looking to get started on the other half, eh?”

  Tassariel shrugged. “Something like that. It appears the queen
here is as avid a reader as I am.”

  “Quite so,” Arivana piped in. “But I’m afraid I’ve read everything in my own library. All the books worth reading anyway. Tassariel has been telling about all the amazing things she’s learned from your archives, and I thought it would be wonderful to sit down amidst a fresh group of tomes.”

  Lerathus frowned, then leaned in close to Tassariel. “You do know it’s for valynkar only, right?”

  “Yes,” Tassariel replied. “But surely an exception can be made. She is the queen, after all. And . . .” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “ . . . only a child.”

  He whispered back, “Some say it’s children who are the most susceptible to the influence of dangerous literature.”

  “Is that what you’d call our archives? Dangerous?”

  “Not for me to say.”

  He withdrew a step, then eyed Arivana. “If it were up to me, your majesty, I’d give you the grand tour, even let you take a peek at the restricted section. Alas, I’ll have to confer with the consul before I can do that. They’d take my wings if I even tried!”

  Tassariel flinched.

  “Please do,” Arivana said. “I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble on my account.”

  He bowed, then turned and strode away. Tassariel stepped around the corner and watched his progress through the vine-­wrapped pillars of the consulate. He didn’t have far to go. Less than a hundred paces away, he approached another valynkar male. This new man was ancient, older-­looking than most members of the council even. She assumed someone so elderly and holding a prestigious position would be well-­known, but the man was a complete stranger to her.

  “Think they’ll let us in?” Arivana asked.

  Tassariel nodded. “If they’ll bend the rules for anyone, it will be you.”

  “I hope so. My own library seems to be deliberately lacking anything that could tell me what is actually going on in my own kingdom. These archives sound like they’ll be a different story.”

  “We valynkar have a tendency to write everything down. If there’s something to be found, it will be here.”

  Lerathus and the other valynkar conversed for a while, complete with several curious glances towards her and the queen. After a few marks of this, the ancient valynkar stepped behind a pillar. Lerathus crossed his arms, as if expecting a long wait. Tassariel felt a faint flash of energy.

  “What is he doing?” Arivana said.

  “No clue. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s . . .” No. It couldn’t be.

  “What?”

  Tassariel furrow her brow. “Give me a beat, please?”

  “Of course.”

  Tassariel placed one hand against the nearest pillar to steady herself, then energized. Inhaling deeply, she stepped into communion.

  She made out the star of Lerathus directly in front of her, but there were no others close to him. The ancient valynkar should have been practically merged with Lerathus, as close as they were physically. There was only one explanation.

  He was in communion, too.

  Panisahldron was a busy city. Dozens of ­people were there at the moment, sending messages or conversing with other casters. Tassariel ignored them all. The consul would be seeing someone important. If he was anywhere, it would be at the very heart of the city.

  She turned towards it, an unmistakable pillar of light, thick with powerful casters. She moved swiftly towards it. Closing in, she observed a hollow area in the center of the cylinder, devoid of all stars, and realized what she was seeing. The towers of the six great houses were filled with magic users, but the royal tower was empty of them.

  No, not entirely empty. She spied two figures, huddled close together. One wore a hooded robe, concealing the face beneath, but the other she recognized as the consul.

  Almost as soon as she spotted them, however, they both vanished, returning to their corporeal bodies. She glanced over her shoulder. Another star now rested next to Lerathus. But who was the other man?

  With no time to contemplate, she released her hold on communion. Blinking, she stepped into the sun shining into her eyes, her mind and body once more combined. Lerathus approached. His smile seemed forced.

  “I’ve good news,” he said.

  “We’ll be allowed in?” Arivana asked.

  “Yes. But . . . you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Tassariel said.

  “It’s quite old, and is undergoing a bit of a restoration at the moment. But it should be cleaned up come the morning.”

  “He’s lying,” Elos said, the first words he’d spoken in days.

  “I know,” Tassariel said. Then, realizing what she’d done, added, “ . . . that you’ve done us a huge favor, Lerathus. You have my thanks.”

  “And mine as well,” Arivana said.

  Lerathus bowed to the queen once more, then winked at Tassariel. A toll ago, it would have sent her heart to fluttering. Now, she only felt cold. At least this time, the cold was of her own making and not that of the god inside her.

  “See you tomorrow, then,” she said.

  She turned away, and the queen followed her. They walked in silence until outside the walls of the consulate.

  Tassariel sighed. “You do realize what the delay is all about, right?”

  Arivana nodded. “They need time to remove any . . . controversial books. The only question is why? What do they keep there that could be so damaging? Why would they need to specifically keep it from me?”

  “I don’t know. But I peeked into communion, and caught the consul in conference with someone inside your tower. If I had to guess, I’d say he was asking permission.”

  “From Tior? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Little of this does.”

  The queen practically growled, frustration plain on her face. “I guess we’ll have to come tomorrow regardless. It will raise more questions if we go to all this trouble and don’t even show up.”

  “Agreed,” Tassariel said. “We may be lucky, though. They don’t know what we’re looking for.”

  “And we do?”

  “Good point.”

  CHAPTER 16

  As expected, tracking their quarry had been easy. So easy, in fact, that Draevenus had started to grow bored.

  He almost would have welcomed it if the crippled bird-­thing had joined up with another pack along the way. Such an encounter would have at least led to a little fun. But the beast stayed arrow straight on its path, veering only to avoid other creatures. And they, in turn, steered clear of it. The dark animal hobbled along despite its injuries like a creature coerced, as if some force outside itself drove it to keep moving, keep striving for something it could not explain or deny.

  It was a feeling all mierothi knew well.

  Ruul’s power had changed them, all those centuries ago. And not just in the more obvious ways. Indecipherable at first, they only become more apparent as those so inclined among their tribe began testing the limits of their newfound abilities, putting them to use against those who once oppressed them. It had seemed a good idea at the time.

  History had proven otherwise.

  In all that time, Draevenus had come to learn that adversity was such an easy thing to overcome; next to the burden of power, it weighed little more than a feather.

  “Might be trouble,” Mevon said.

  Shaking to clear his reverie, Draevenus returned focus to his senses. “What is it?”

  “Listen.”

  He closed his eyes and held his breath. A moment later, a faint conglomeration of noises reached his ears, coalescing into an unmistakable image that chilled his bones: the roar of a bestial crowd.

  “Trouble indeed,” Draevenus said.

  “Should we check it out?” Mevon asked.

  Draevenus glanced up the path. The dark blood of thei
r quarry, though diminished in quantity, still left fresh stains on tree trunks and leaves hanging across the trail. They’d have no difficulty resuming their hunt.

  “Very well,” he said. “But let’s make it quick.”

  “Do we know any other way?”

  Draevenus shared a smile with his companion before crouching and turning off the path.

  Stalking forward, he angled towards the haunting sounds. He pushed aside branches with care, avoiding tangled patches of brush when he could and stepping lightly over them when he couldn’t. Mevon, for all his bulk, did a fair job of following his lead. They arrived at a shallow ledge overlooking a glade, crawling the last dozen paces to avoid being seen by whatever was making the grotesque sounds just below them.

  Poking his head over the crest, Draevenus was not prepared for what he saw.

  A score of stick-­and-­grass huts formed a tangled web in a tree cluster at the glade’s edge. Below it foamed a pack of dark men and beasts larger by far than any they’d yet seen. At least fifty black-­furred bodies crowded around the base of the elevated village, circling and roaring in displays clearly meant to threaten. An occasional arrow zipped upwards to little effect except to make their presence felt.

  Movement, at last, began showing among the huts.

  “What are they doing?” Draevenus asked. “Can you see anything?”

  “Aye. I can.”

  “And?”

  Mevon shook his head. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  His companion’s words became prophetic a mark later when the villagers began lowering something by rope from the center of the huts: a bundle wrapped in darkly stained cloth.

  “Some kind of tribute, maybe?” Draevenus said. “Or . . . ?”

  The bundle twitched.

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?” Mevon said. “Oh? That’s all you can say?”

  Draevenus shrugged. “What do you expect of me?”

  “They’re sacrificing ­people over there, Draevenus. Living ­people. Shouldn’t that matter to us?”

  “It does. But we didn’t come here to involve ourselves in local affairs; we came to find Ruul. We can’t let ourselves get distracted when we’re so close to achieving our goals.”