by Tammy Salyer
I’m seeing no one, Safran sent. While Ulfric had been stewing in self-indulgent bitterness, she and the others had been searching the area for signs of Eisa and her squad of Raveners. The area is clear.
Mallich appeared from the cave opening. “Clear inside, too. Come on.”
“Wait!”
The sound of a young man’s voice from a cluster of boulders some distance away made them all spin. Yggo gave a shrill squawk and dived for the rocks. Ulfric caught the sheen of Halla light bouncing off a helmeted head just before the man ducked from Yggo’s talons. She fluttered over the rock and began dipping and diving, her claws seeking the person still in hiding.
They heard a breathless cry, then the voice yelled, “Call it off, please! It’s me, Havelock Rekkr!”
Havelock? It boded well to find a Dragør Marine here. Ulfric asked Urgo to draw Yggo back, then he shouted through the memory keeper still worn by Symvalline.
“Wing Rekkr, come out. You’re safe with us.”
The man who stepped out from the boulders looked as if he’d aged by fifty turns since last Ulfric had seen him. As he approached the Knights, who now formed a wide semicircle, his eyes were wide with disbelief. Ulfric was himself a bit surprised at the serendipity of finding a Dragør Wing Marine here whom he knew. But then, that was only because there weren’t many left.
“I’m glad to find a familiar face at the starpath, Wing. I assume you’re here to stand watch?” Ulfric asked.
Havelock seemed to have gathered himself, but when he heard Ulfric’s voice yet couldn’t see him, his head tilted quizzically. “Yes, Stallari, that’s correct. And I can’t tell you how relieved I am that it’s the Knights Corporealis who came through this time, and not the band of Raveners. But where are you?”
“He is here,” Symvalline said, and held the pendant up. “It’s a complicated story, but Ulfric now joins us through wystic rather than physical means.”
The Wing blinked at Symvalline, then gave her a deep nod. “I am most happy to see you’re back, Knight Lutair. Mylla and I feared the worst. “And what of—” His mouth snapped closed against his next question.
Sym guessed it anyway. “Thank you, Wing Rekkr. Our daughter is also safe.”
“I couldn’t be more happy to hear it. But I don’t understand. Stallari, you were Vaka Aster’s newly chosen vessel, were you not? If you’re now here, then…”
The Knights looked at each other, none having considered yet what they’d tell any Vinnric they encountered who knew Ulfric as the vessel. Finally, Ulfric decided that the truth should be shared, at least to this particular soldier, known to them all as both reliable and prudent. But not yet.
“We’ll explain, but first there are more pressing matters to discuss, Wing,” he said. “When did you last see this band of Raveners, and what’s become of them?”
It didn’t take the Dragør Wing Marine long to explain that Eisa and her squad had passed through two days prior, as Ulfric and the Knights had expected. As sentry, Havelock had been wise enough only to observe under stealth and not engage. Eisa’s band had gone immediately to the interrealm well hub inside the cave and been whisked away. He couldn’t know where to, but it seemed fairly safe to assume it would be back to Dyrrakium to report to Balavad what had occurred in Arc Rheunos.
“And what is the situation in Ivoryss?” Ulfric asked as Havelock concluded his tale.
“We’re rebuilding as quickly as we can, just the same as before you left for Dyrrakium. But the Arch Keeper has begun requisitioning materials and raising taxes in order to reoutfit the Marines first. We all saw the size of the Dyrrak forces.”
So Beatte wasn’t entirely without wisdom. The people of Ivoryss were doing everything in their power to bolster their defenses now, exactly as they should. Even assuming they didn’t know what was becoming of the Empire of Dyrrakium.
Safran, speaking through a Fenestros she’d borrowed from Symvalline, beat Ulfric to his next question. “So the Arch Keeper’s court and people of Ivoryss haven’t heard yet?”
“Heard… ?” asked Havelock.
“Of Balavad’s return,” she said solemnly. “The Verity has control of Dyrrakium, and his mind is bent on spreading his dominion throughout Vinnr.”
Havelock’s face fell in somber contemplation. After a moment he said, almost to himself, “I assumed something of the sort when I saw what has become of Knight Nazaria. But I didn’t want to think it was that bad.”
“So no one in Ivoryss knows,” Ulfric pressed, and Havelock shook his head. “Then we’ll be the first to warn them. When is your relief coming?”
“First—and I know you have no duty to explain—I would like to better understand what’s become of the vessel. If Balavad controls Dyrrakium, what does that mean? Where is Vaka Aster’s vessel?”
“This may be difficult for you to understand,” Ulfric began with a sigh.
The Wing’s hands had clenched into tight fists by the time Ulfric was done explaining. He studied the ground for a few moments, and Ulfric let him think it over in silence. If learning of Balavad’s return was the worst he’d imagined before, the shock of hearing not only that Vaka Aster had been shackled but that the man who’d done it had been her leading protector and that her cage was under the power of Vinnr’s greatest enemy would have sent a less hardy man to his knees.
A few ponderous breaths later, Havelock looked back to Ulfric. “It seems you’re saying that now the only thing standing between Ivoryss and the Dyrrak army are you six and the few dozen working Wing fighters and couple of hundred men and women who can still fight.”
What could Ulfric say to reassure him? “We’re doing everything we can to prevent it going that far.” It seemed a trite response.
It hardly mattered. Havelock barely even seemed to have heard him, and responded to his earlier question. “The next watch comes in a week.”
“Good. Stand fast until then, and stay out of sight. You’re a good soldier, Wing Rekkr, and you’ve been a good friend to the Knights. I know Mylla will be happy to see you when she returns, and that may even be before you’re relieved.”
He watched Havelock’s face move through a complicated sequence of emotions before landing on something that might be hope. “Mylla? She’s—I was told she is dead.” His tone made it clear he feared Ulfric was making a cruel joke.
Safran jumped in. “We all did, Havelock, but we were wrong. She lives still and is currently on an ancillary mission. We hope to have her rejoin us soon.”
Ever the diplomat, Safran was cautious about what to tell him, and Ulfric approved. He’d been dubious about the relationship between the soldier and his youngest Knight, but he was a practical man. You couldn’t demand someone not love the person they were meant to. It would lead to resentment, and a strong unit didn’t function well when its members resented each other. It was inevitable that Mylla’s heart would break when she lived on and her lover didn’t, but Ulfric didn’t know many Knights who hadn’t learned that lesson the hard way at some point. It was just one of the prices one paid in service to their creator.
“Stay safe and out of sight. Those who’ve been changed into Raveners are stronger than normal, so avoid a fight with more than one or two if you can,” he told the Wing as he used the Mentalios link to direct the Knights to retreat to the interrealm well.
“Wait,” Havelock said. “You can’t go to Asteryss. Arch Keeper Beatte has…”
“Has what?”
“She’s proclaimed the Knights to be traitors. She’s commanded the whole of the kingdom to kill you on sight.”
“Well that escalated quickly,” Jaemus commented.
Ulfric wanted to kick something, hard. The foolish woman! Why couldn’t Balavad have at least done them the favor of ending her life before he’d chased Ulfric down in Himmingaze?
And what options did that leave them?
Before he could decide, Havelock went on. “Commander Brun”—he cleared his throat—“she’s still your ally. I
f you can speak with Brun, together you might find a way to get the news to Beatte and prepare for the Dyrraks to invade from there. You must avoid Beatte learning you’re in Ivoryss.”
“Brun,” Ulfric said aloud, though his mind was racing at the options that still lay open to them. “How can we find her?”
“In that,” the Wing said, “luck may be with you.”
Chapter Thirteen
A frozen Ærden wind pushed hard against Mylla, straight into her bones, even as the whisper of needle-sharp pinpricks from traveling through the starpath well diminished.
She began to shiver almost before her eyes could focus on the landscape spreading before them. The cold that had reached to her very heart from the Never Sea had only just finally dissolved, but she could tell it wouldn’t take nearly as long this time for her body to drop into that polar chill. She wished she’d thought to bring a cloak or a blanket. For now, the warm shield of her klinkí stones would have to do, even if they drained her of energy. If she’d been thinking rightly, she’d already have them out in case a defense was needed. She was slipping.
The wind blustered over her again, nearly pushing her a step back before she retrieved her stones and set them aloft. In their light, combined with a dim, misty sky, she looked around. Beside her, Griggory stood rigidly, his face wondering and his neck swiveling around as if he were searching for something. But beyond that he showed no sign of sharing her discomfort. He hadn’t bothered with his own klinkí stones, and she didn’t know whether to take his lack of concern for his safety as wisdom or foolishness.
The world they’d arrived in was bleak, all browns and grays. Behind them spread a wide, flat plain with patches of frost-hardened earth on either side of a wide flagstone road leading off into the distance. The shifting mist diffused the light and made it hard to see the end of the plain and where the road led. Was it morning here, or evening?
They stood upon a flat circle of masoned stone inset into the earth. The round platform was wide enough to land a ship the size of the Vigilance on, and inlaid with a design or pattern, but it was too broad to tell what it was. Her instincts told her it had been constructed for this precise purpose: to welcome travelers of the starpath well. The flagstone road intersected it in a straight line. In the opposite direction, the direction the wind blew from, it led into a forest.
But it was not like any forest Mylla had seen. Twisted trees rose from the hard ground and bent nearly halfway over thanks to the relentless wind. She could taste the sea in the gusts, but it was bitter and left a chalky flavor in her mouth like ash. The trees terminated in a straight, unnatural line that extended to the left and right of the road to the edge of her sight, as if they were sentinels guarding what lay beyond from any travelers. Or, perhaps, guarding any travelers from what lay beyond.
They grew too thick to easily pass through, except for where they overlapped in a dense tunnel over the road. It was dark in that tunnel, and the wind roared down it like a bellowing dragør. She thought for a moment about what to do—follow the road through the tunnel or follow it back toward whatever was in the other direction. But it wasn’t really a question. It seemed obvious, as if there were voices whispering underneath the wind, telling her to follow the path through the woods toward the unseen sea.
“Come on, Knight Dondrin,” she said, and began walking.
They’d not gone far when the sky’s light abruptly dimmed and night fell thickly, like a shovelful of dirt into a grave. It seemed prudent to find shelter from the coldness of the wind and any unseen things that might be lurking in the thick, heavy woods. With a bit of searching for anything that might shield them from night creatures’ eyes, aided by the mute light of a single glowing klinkí stone, they soon found a modest hollow between the roots of a hoary old tree. It lay within sight of the road, for which she was most grateful. If they got lost in this place, it seemed unlikely they’d ever find their way again.
Fortunately, the night passed quietly, if sleeplessly. Too quietly for her comfort in fact, the constant wind the only sound to break the stillness. They started out early, nibbling on the small bit of food Griggory had with him. Mylla found the unidentifiable foodstuffs revolting and ate little, but the old Knight noshed away contentedly as if it were a delicacy. Knowing that keeping their strength was important, she forced herself to down several bites, chewing only enough so that she wouldn’t choke, then asked him to pack away her remaining share for later, hoping fervently that “later” would find them back in Vinnr, where food tasted like food.
As the morning progressed, Mylla lost all track of time. The night had seemed interminable, and she soon found the day shared the quality. The sky’s light barely fluctuated. The change was so minute, however, that she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it. How could the sun, wherever it might be hidden in the dull grayness above, not move?
They paced slowly onward, on the lookout for any movement, any life whatsoever. She grew weary, but at a certain point her weariness leveled off and didn’t worsen, her celestial spark sustaining her. But how long would she need it to? Did the road simply go on forever?
Obviously, she needed something more than counting her steps or the stunted, gnarled trees they passed to occupy her mind. It occurred to her that she knew almost nothing about her present company. Only that Griggory was older than even the Stallari, making him likely one of the oldest beings to ever walk the Cosmos. Outside of dragørs, of course. And though he walked purposefully and seemed no more (or less) fragile than she, she found she couldn’t help but think of him as an old man. Furtively, she extended her klinkí stone barrier around him to protect him from the bite of the wind as well. He looked over and gave her slight nod of gratitude. Old, yes, but still just a person who felt the cold and discomfort nonetheless.
A sharp crack underfoot brought her focus back to the here and now. Nothing but a thin layer of ice as their boots stepped along the rock road, yet she felt jumpy. Was nothing left alive in this realm? Were she and Griggory the only ones who were? Ærd, the so-called Lost Realm because it was mentioned no more than once in the Vinnr Scrylle. As far as she knew, no one had ever visited Vinnr from here, and no Vinnric had ever had call or cause to come here. She glanced at Griggory. Or had they?
When she’d told the Knights her origins, their expressions had been what she’d expected: the wideness of Safran’s and Roibeard’s eyes, the blinking of Symvalline’s, the predatory, focused stare of the bruhawks, and the squinting scrutiny of Stave. She remembered looking closely at Ulfric’s face in the pendant. His expression had been… unexpected. Not surprise. Had it been worry? Something deeper. Fear, maybe?
And Griggory, he’d looked at her in an odd way too. His gaze was expectant, as if she’d merely begun telling them a fable and he waited on tenterhooks for the end.
“Griggory,” she asked suddenly, her voice sounding much too loud in the emptiness. She pitched it lower. “Why did you want to come with me? What do you know about Ærd?”
“Ah, good question, good, yes. Ærd, the land of the lost, the land where time still walks. It’s because of those I met before that I wanted to return, of course. I’m a bit surprised not to see them now, to tell you the truth. They should have been expecting us.”
These words jolted her. “Who should be expecting us?” she asked, wondering if he meant the Wardens Temporalis, or perhaps the Verity called Fimm.
“The time walkers. The walkers who were time but are now bound by finitude.”
This was not so much said as lectured to her, like a teacher to a student. And she listened as closely as a student would, though it had been a while since she’d been one, unless you considered Eisa a tutor. The Dyrrak Knight had never let up on Mylla, training and testing her till she was nearly catatonic with exhaustion. All those turns I looked up to her, despite her callousness toward me, hoping for her approval because she was the only Dyrrak I knew. All my wishful thinking that she would accept me and let me feel as if I had a people of my own�
�how pointless it all was.
Despite her putting Eisa on pedestal, the older Knight had never approved of Mylla. She knew Eisa thought her unworthy because everyone believed her parents had deserted Dyrrakium. Though Eisa had never come out and said she thought Mylla was as tainted as her dishonored parents, Mylla had always known. No use letting it bother me now. After what happened to her, it’s unlikely she and I will ever cross paths again. … And I’ll never get to tear her off a strip for all the slag she threw at me for all these years.
A mild sense of guilt trickled through her at her uncharitable thoughts, but it quickly dissipated, leaving her with little more than a cold and distant bitterness. Whether it was for Eisa or toward her, she couldn’t say, and didn’t really care.
But Griggory now, he was a new puzzle she hadn’t been prepared to have to put together today, or any day. His cryptic statements about—what did he say, time walkers? What did that mean? And what in all the worlds was “bound by finitude”? She suspected his helter-skelter jumble of thoughts was what happened to the mind of one who had lived for so long. Still, she wondered if he really was a lunatic or if his mind simply worked at such an elevated and advanced level that she couldn’t comprehend him. How was she even to tell the difference?
“When were you here, then?” she asked, deciding to go for questions that should have more obvious answers.
He looked around at the stunted trees on his right, then his left, as if looking for a calendar. “When? Hmm… when the sky was still blue and the earth was still warm,” he finally answered.
Fair enough. I don’t know if it would be easy to pinpoint a date when you’ve lived as long as him.
