by Steven Drake
“Something you need, Shade?” Geoffray asked. His tone remained aloof, but was politer than before.
“We have come to the point where we are most likely to face battle. The desert is home to nomadic sand trolls, and of course, ahead are the lands of the dragons,” Darien explained. “As such, it seems prudent for us to put aside whatever differences we have had in the past. In battle, there is no place for petty personal squabbles. There are only allies and enemies.”
“Hum… I suppose I agree,” Geoffray grumbled rather reluctantly. “But do not expect me to like it.”
“Of course not,” Darien chuckled. “But the fact of the matter is that, aside from me, you are the next most experienced and skilled fighter of the group.” Darien said this loudly, so the entire party, particularly Rana, would hear. Hopefully, deliberately antagonizing her would encourage her to keep her distance. “I would like to get some idea of your tactical experience.”
“Hmm…” Geoffray squinted his one good eye at the Shade, perhaps trying to glean hidden meaning in the words. “I have served the Golden Shield since I was a young man. My first combat was just short of twenty years ago. When I was sixteen, I fought in the South against the Mirian slave rebellion. The Shades were suspected of sparking the uprising, and they enlisted the support of the ogres from the Green Mountains. The rebellion lasted three years, and by the time it ended, I had made the rank of Captain.”
“I see,” Darien remarked. “I have no recollection of knowing anything of that conflict. It must have happened before I joined the Order of the Shade.”
“You don’t know?”
“My memory has been affected by the Demon Sword. I’m not even entirely certain how old I am, though I must be somewhat younger than you.”
“So it would seem,” Geoffray stated, somewhat surprised by the revelation. “The first mention in our intelligence of Darien the Executioner was just over ten years ago. You gained some notoriety in the Demon King’s conquest of Dragonhead Island.”
“Yes, I remember that I served in that conflict,” Darien remarked. The dream returned clearly to his mind, fire and pain, death and destruction.
“More recently, I served in the dragon wars of the southern islands,” Geoffray continued. “We were doomed from the start. We lost one island after another. The dragons would storm in, secure a landing point, and then the Demon King’s armies would overwhelm us. To make things worse, Alistair the Abyss of the Black Council commanded the enemy armies.”
“Alistair?” Darien commented. “You actually saw him?”
“I fought him, actually,” Geoffray corrected, puffing up his chest a moment. “Not alone of course, there were almost two dozen of us. We managed to hold him off long enough to secure the escape of perhaps a hundred civilians. We kept him distracted with hit and run tactics, forcing him to stay on defensive. Even so, he killed most of us. I earned my moniker of Geoffray the Iron Hand when I blocked one of his shadow voids with light magic. It broke both my arms, but it saved a few of us. Only six of us ultimately survived the battle.”
“Impressive,” Darien commented. “Alistair is the greatest fighter the Demon King possesses. His strength is beyond human. He has been altered through blood enchantments. I must say, based on our duel, I wouldn’t have expected you to be able to stand against him, even with superior numbers.”
“I was a younger man then,” Geoffray sighed. “After the conflict ended, my rank increased quickly, and I found that I had become ‘too valuable’ to risk in front line combat. I am now both older and less practiced. I would like to have fought you back then. Perhaps it would have made a more interesting match.”
“I should think so,” Darien replied. “Alistair is well beyond my skill. He is the only one of the Demon King’s generals I genuinely fear. You must have been a formidable warrior then. If I may be so bold, your station does not suit you, Geoffray Leonhardt.”
“Excuse me?”
“You have the bearing of a warrior. You belong in battle, not playing at games of power and influence,” Darien added slyly, “games more suited to snakes than lions.” The Shade knew well that this statement was true, and that the Shield Knight would see it as a compliment.
“Games of power, you call it? I should not be surprised to hear you speak so. I have heard there are no formal ranks among the Shades, nor any structure at all. You seem to chafe against any form of authority.” Geoffray questioned.
“You are correct, the Shades have no rank, because they have no need,” Darien confirmed. “In battle, such trivialities become irrelevant. Battle eliminates all inequities, reducing all combatants to their most basic nature. In battle, there is truth. In the intrigues of men, there are only lies upon more lies.”
“Hmm… You at least have the spirit of a warrior,” Geoffray begrudgingly admitted. “Though I must say, you play the games well enough.”
“I do what is necessary to achieve my ends. That is all,” Darien explained coldly.
“If I might be so bold,” Geoffray smiled as he spoke, “your actions fall short of your words.”
“How so?”
“You claim you will do whatever is necessary, but you protect your young friend with a zeal that even I find inspiring,” Geoffray astutely observed. “And Rana as well. It seems inconsistent to allow someone to live who has vowed to avenge herself upon you. It is said a Shade has no friends, and that a Shade should never show mercy to an enemy.”
“I had a mentor who once protected me as I now protect Jerris, and I’m not a Shade anymore.” Darien firmly declared, as Jerris had consistently reminded him. He surprised himself with the conviction in his voice. “As for Rana, I had no reason to kill her. She was not a threat.”
“But you had no reason not to kill her, either,” Geoffray observed, his mustached face smiled more deviously than Darien thought it capable. Just what was the point of this line of questioning? What did it matter now?
“I did have reasons to spare her life.”
“Which were?” Geoffray pressed.
“Which were, and still are, no one’s concern but my own,” Darien flatly declared. Just what did he expect me to say, and why is it important? Is he still insinuating that I am using her for some purpose, or is he simply protecting a former lover? “I do not have to justify my decisions to you. I had my reasons, and that is all you need know.” Geoffray nodded and scratched his stubbly chin. If Rana were disturbed that the two men were so casually discussing her death, she gave no indication.
“Hmm… I believe we understand one another,” Geoffray seemed satisfied with Darien’s explanation. “I give you my word of honor that my sword will be with you in battle against our enemies.”
Darien stifled a snide remark about honor, and instead simply nodded politely. Oswald pledged the same a moment later, and Darien accepted his pledge wordlessly as well. That had gone as well as could be expected. Neither he nor the knights would ever really trust one another, but at least he seemed to have reached an understanding. These men took their word of honor quite seriously, and unless they possessed far more guile than was apparent, they would not go back on it.
When evening came, Skarn led them to a small cave sheltered from the winds. They had passed well and truly into the desert, and there was no firewood to be found. Fortunately, they had not come unprepared. Darien had brought along several magical torches that would provide warmth. He lit one of the three-inch-thick, foot long, reddish orange sticks, and the warmth radiated around the camp. The party ate their meal, and sat around the magical fire, discussing the day. Everyone seemed more comfortable today. Perhaps clearing the air with Geoffray had settled them. Nia again sat with Jerris, and even on the edge of a wasteland, facing certain danger and possible death, the two young friends seemed to be completely happy, enjoying each other’s company. Keeping them apart was proving difficult, as they seemed determined to continue their association.
Ceres had done her best to keep them apart as well, but she was
having other problems. This morning, Jerris had thoroughly convinced the elf sentinel to watch for venomous green and yellow sandworms, a formidable but imaginary beast conjured up by Jerris’ increasingly creative mind. Ceres had dutifully scanned the dusty ground for worm holes most of the day.
Tobin regaled the party with fireside tales of his adventurous youth. No doubt some of them were actually true. Skarn let out a booming laugh every so often, a sound which was becoming more and more familiar as time passed. Traiz asked Skarn a great many questions about dragons, a practical thing to do, given the situation.
Rana sat off to herself, looking very troubled. She did not speak, or apparently listen to anyone. It was inexplicable. If she wants to get close to me, she should act normally, wait until I get comfortable again. This solitary pouting only makes her look more suspicious. She has become the biggest distraction on this mission.
The Executioner paid little attention to the conversations aside from Traiz’s pertinent questioning of the half-dragon. He instead examined his map once again, attempting to trace their path from Coldwater. As a result, he was caught completely unawares when Geoffray asked him about the aetherblade he had used in their duel. He had been concentrating on a particular range of hills, and was only made aware he was being addressed when Oswald leaned over to jostle him.
The Executioner’s reaction to this invasion of his space was immediate, and he grabbed the knight’s wrist before it came within a foot of him.
“It is not wise to touch my person when my back is turned, Oswald,” he growled.
“No, I suppose it isn’t,” the big man chuckled back. “Your reflexes are amazing.”
“So they are,” Darien said curtly. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Well, Geoffray and I were wondering, do you think we could have a look at that sword you used in the duel?”
The Shade chuckled dryly and grabbed the seemingly bladeless sword hilt from a pocket that ordinarily would have held a throwing dagger. He passed Oswald the hilt. A human can’t use it, but it should prove somewhat amusing to watch them try, Darien mused. Jerris spoke up to say something, but Darien smiled deviously at him, and the younger half-elf understood the meaning, returning the deceitful grin of his teacher.
“How does one operate this device?” Oswald questioned.
“Well, you simply focus on creating the blade with the element of your choice. It’s really quite simple,” Darien said, betraying no hint of deceit. Sure enough, Oswald failed to conjure anything. He tried for several minutes, managing several interesting looking light flashes, but not coming close to forming a blade. He finally swore and tossed it to Geoffray, who proceeded to examine the thing very carefully before he too finally decided to make an attempt. Geoffray’s superior magical talent was apparent immediately, as he did indeed form a small blade of light upon the sword hilt, but of course, there was no connection between them. He moved the hilt but the light only faded and dissipated as he lost focus. He tried a few more times, with no more success than the first.
“Let me try,” Nia suddenly exclaimed.
“Well, why not? Good luck little girl.” Geoffray chuckled as he tossed her the blade. Nia frowned as she caught it, scrunching her nose into a definite pout over being called a little girl.
“Um, Nia. There’s something I have to…” Jerris started to say, but before he was finished, a jet of searing flame exploded out of the sword hilt where the star stone lay hidden. Three smaller explosions followed in quick succession, each belching another burst of fire into the air. All the conversation and joviality suddenly seemed to have been sucked out of the air, as everyone stared wide eyed at the stunned young woman.
“I’m sorry,” Nia blushed. “I guess I overdid it. Um… I hope I didn’t break it….” The half-dragon and the several humans in the group all chuckled in amusement, while Tobin and the three elves remained in stark shock. Darien got up, and took the blade from her without a word. He quickly channeled his own blade of fire to be sure it was undamaged, then handed it back.
“Try once more, but only concentrate on the formation of the blade. After that, it will hold itself together, you can let go,” Darien instructed.
Nia did as he instructed, and the blade of fire formed for her, and remained, fluctuating violently from the length of a dagger, to longer than a two-handed greatsword. “Look Jerris, I did it,” she giggled giddily. As she looked at her young half-elf friend however, she suddenly grew silent. “What is it?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you should not be able to do that,” Darien explained. “That blade uses a starstone to magnify and focus magical energy.” Nia suddenly squeaked in shock, apparently aware of the properties of starstone.
“What’s wrong?” Geoffray asked.
“Starstones don’t work for humans,” the older half-elf explained. “At least they aren’t supposed to.”
“Um… so what does that mean?” Nia stammered uneasily.
“Maybe nothing,” Darien speculated aloud. “Maybe a great deal. Most likely it means you have traces of elven blood in you, and are exceptionally well endowed… magically speaking.” Darien added the last after enduring a sour look from Jerris and a furious blush from Niarie.
“You said you were from Eldheim Island, right?” Jerris offered. “Maybe there are elves there, or maybe there used to be, and you’re related to them distantly.”
“That’s certainly possible, if she’s indeed from Eldheim, but her skin and eye color are wrong for that region,” Darien observed. The Executioner suddenly realized that he now had an excellent pretext to examine the girl closely, and check to see if she bore the telltale signs of an observation enchantment. “Give me your hand, please, Niarie,” Darien asked gently. He took it, and felt the currents of magic in her. They seemed oddly familiar, yet also foreign, distant, as if they’d been twisted into their current shape through some unnatural means. He looked into her eyes to search for observation or other mind enchantments, but the enchantment began to oppose him. It seemed to be protecting her, pulsing more violently the more he probed at it. It became difficult to hold his concentration, but he would not be defeated. The enchantment weakened as he held on against the resistance, then he suddenly felt Nia’s aura burn brightly for a single moment. The power expelled his magic forcefully. He shut his eyes, turned his head, and took a step back. This magic was powerful, and it had nearly knocked him over, pressing with an almost physical force. However, in that instant, Darien had found something else, something he hadn’t seen before, a suppression, a counterforce that restrained her aura forcefully, and pulled it back, restricting its influence, changing it, reshaping it, in some unfathomable way.
This was not an observation enchantment. It was not a mind enchantment of any kind. No, this was more like the enchantment that had killed Jerris’ mother, but infinitely more powerful, and laid with a frightening skill. He recalled no specifics, but he knew this impression, the feeling of an enchantment, woven into a creature’s lifeblood. He’d felt similar effects before in the Demon King’s chimeras, and the Black Council. Much of their power was owed to blood enchantments placed upon them by the Demon King. What does this enchantment do, Darien wondered? What reason could there be to weave an enchantment that protects itself, and restrains magical aura?
“Um…what’s wrong?” Nia asked nervously. “Something’s wrong isn’t it?”
“Nia, it’s alright,” Jerris soothed. “Darien will explain it in a minute.” Jerris voice betrayed a fear, however. The younger half-elf had learned firsthand about enchantments like this.
The Shade rubbed his chin thoughtfully, deciding upon the best way to break the news to this young woman. “Niarie, you are under the effect of a powerful blood enchantment, well beyond my skill.”
“What does that mean? Is that why I can use your sword?” she cried out, suddenly panicky.
“Calm down. It may be the reason, or it may be completely unrelated,�
� Darien attempted to console her. “I don’t think it’s anything immediately dangerous. It’s old, most likely something placed on you many years ago. Tell me, was there ever a time in your life when you slept a long time, several weeks, or even perhaps months.”
“No. Nothing like that. Why?”
“This enchantment is affecting your magical aura, and I’m not sure exactly why. Whoever put this on you was at least as strong as myself, and far more experienced weaving complicated enchantments. Such enchantments take time, and the subject is usually rendered unconscious while the enchantment is created, and some time afterwards.”
“Will I be OK? Is it… dangerous?”
“I couldn’t tell you, because I don’t know what it’s designed to do. There are only a handful of sorcerers in the world powerful enough to do something like this, and most of them you would not want putting a spell on you.”
“Come on Darien, you don’t really think… do you?” Jerris interrupted.
“I can’t dismiss the possibility, I’m afraid,” Darien sighed resignedly. “I don’t mean this to frighten you. I may be wrong, and I hope I am, but the sorcerer who is most skilled and experienced with blood enchantments is the Demon King.” Nia looked about ready to fall apart from worry. She didn’t appear to have the constitution to endure this. He had to say something to get the girl’s emotions under control. “However, that is not the only possibility. There are said to be dwarf master smiths in the north who combine magic with their arts to forge extremely powerful enchanted weapons. It is not difficult to imagine one of them experimenting with enchantments like this.”
