by T. A. Miles
Korsten was at a loss to hear the account so casually … to hear that….
He wondered if he had heard correctly. Perhaps he was dreaming again. This might all have been another hallucination while he lay unconscious somewhere. He tried to make sense of it anyway. “The Powers tried to annihilate the Wyrr, and now the Wyrr would use the Vadryn to annihilate men?”
Xelonwyr looked back at him over his shoulder. “It is that simple, Korsten.”
Korsten stopped walking, noticing after the fact that they had come to the base of a lengthy staircase. At the top lay a set of doors marked by two smoldering sconces. The smell of the smoke presented an argument in favor of consciousness, but it was still difficult to accept. That an ancient being, or group of beings, had hidden themselves away in the remains of a city they had once tried to rule from … that they had somehow created or led to the creation of the Vadryn and now hid in loathing, doing nothing….
“If you’re responsible for the Vadryn, then you must call them back. You must stop them.”
Korsten’s insistence fell on deaf ears. Xelonwyr continued up the stairs.
It wasn’t until they’d reached the top, where Xelonwyr turned to Korsten and held out his hand, when he said, “The Vadryn, like disrespectful children, cannot be called back.”
Korsten looked at the ancient’s open hand, the fingers longer than a normal man’s and tipped with dark nails. His skin was quite pale … pale, like Zerxa’s and like Korsten’s.
“Because you are mine,” Xelonwyr said simply. “Now give me the key.”
Korsten looked into the large, almost feral eyes of the Wyrr. He could see himself in the reflection. He could see his matched red hair, pale tone, and features that had, over the years, grown quite peculiar themselves. The blood lilies had contributed to his strangeness.
“Your blood has contributed to your differences among men, Korsten,” Xelonwyr stated, hand still out to receive Zerxa’s pendant. “And you were brought here to unlock your heritage.”
Korsten looked from the Wyrr to the door they both stood before. He felt as he had when in contact with the ocean’s spirits. He felt as if he were in contact with an ancient being, beyond the world as he understood it. He had felt similarly at times in the presence of Ashwin.
Xelonwyr’s expression grew somewhat hardened while the thought formed. “Don’t be fooled, Korsten,” the Wyrr said. “You are naïve yet, in many ways. Ask your Ashwin about the deep shadows his light has cast upon this world before you judge the actions of your ancestors.”
Korsten believed that Ashwin had regrets. He knew that he did, and he knew what some of them were. What he did not know was precisely what lay beyond the door he currently stood in front of.
“The end of this war lay beyond this door,” Xelonwyr said. “Your heritage, which you will carry back to your Ashwin, and to the remains of this piteous world. It will start anew. The key.”
The minor light in the sconces died suddenly, reduced to the smallest tendrils of smoke. The rest of the room became shrouded as well, casting the already darkened space into a deeper blackness. Footsteps sounded from below.
“Yes, Korsten. Give him the key.”
A spike of panic thrust itself into Korsten’s chest at the sound of Renmyr’s voice. In that instant, he could draw no breath.
“Your creature is dead, Xelonwyr,” Renmyr announced, his voice drawing nearer as he ascended the stair. “How long will it take you to concoct another? How much of a nuisance will these remnant rebels become in the meantime?”
The sound of his voice pounded in Korsten’s ears. It put weakness into his body that in the past would have collapsed him. He stood his ground now, but in silence and with no action taken.
It was Xelonwyr who lashed out at Renmyr, casting a spell of flame that raced down the stairs and struck Renmyr squarely in the chest. It toppled him to the base of the staircase. In the moments Renmyr was on the floor, the Wyrr snatched Korsten by his jacket, tearing away a portion of the end of it. From that portion, he extracted Zerxa’s key.
Korsten made a hasty grab for it, purely in reaction to it being stolen off him, and was shoved back. Xelonwyr did not appear to use a spell of any kind, but there was still significant force behind the motion. Korsten stumbled to catch himself. It was the corner of the railing that actually caught him, digging into his lower back as he struck it. He put his arms behind him and caught hold of it, keeping himself upright.
Xelonwyr held the pendant up, revealing that it was indeed a pendant as he went to attach it to a similar piece strung before his robes by a strand of pale gold. Zerxa’s piece rejected the other, shooting from Xelonwyr’s fingers and back toward Korsten. He caught it reflexively, which was when Xelonwyr took a menacing step toward him.
The sound of Renmyr’s barreling footsteps disrupted the Wyrr’s approach. Xelonwyr directed his hand at the demon, extending the limb as he had before, catching Renmyr and pressing him to the wall above the front hall’s main doors. The Wyrr took steps toward the pinned demon, and Korsten immediately began a Reach.
He was unsure precisely where it was taking him—his mind was in more than one place. Regardless of where his mind was, however, Xelonwyr’s reflexes were quicker than thought. He thrust his other hand out and virtually snatched Korsten’s spell from of the air, closing the portal with the closing of his hand before it had even fully opened.
Renmyr took that opportunity to tear through the Wyrr’s pinning hand with malformed claws of his own. If Korsten required any reminder that Renmyr had aligned with a demon, he received it in the moment the blackened, extended fingers raked apart the unnatural flesh of the Wyrr. That flesh was reforming, even as Renmyr was released from Xelonwyr’s grip.
Renmyr landed in a momentary crouch, rising with no concern for any injury he might have acquired. The darkness of his presence pressed further into the room. The Wyrr was undaunted and the two continued to fight one another. Renmyr’s presence continued to dominate the room, making it black beyond the ability to see. Korsten became only aware of the sounds of their battle, the sounds of two vicious beasts trying to destroy each other.
Over what?
Korsten could no longer see the door Xelonwyr desired to have opened. He wondered if the resistance of Zerxa’s key was over the absence of its original owner? Or if it was in some way contaminated against its original purpose. None of it mattered in the moment. He was caught in a situation he was not prepared for. He stashed the heirloom into his remaining pocket and felt the railing behind him, following it away from the stairs. Perhaps if he could locate another corridor or room, the blackness of Renmyr’s presence would not have permeated so far. He would attempt a more considered Reach.
The fight between beasts carried to the top of the stairs. One or both of them struck what Korsten presumed was the locked doors; a pale gold light radiated outward along the wall from the point of collision, briefly illuminating the outline of the doors and of the immediate area. There was indeed a door at the end of the railing. Korsten went to it and shoved his way in.
The dimness of a small room greeted him, and he swiftly ran across it, toward a door on the opposite side. The one behind him crashed off its hinges. He didn’t look to see which of them had come through, or if it was both still in the throes of their struggle. He kicked the next door open on the chance that it was in any way blocked, and continued to move. There was no time for a Reach spell. He had brought himself to a lengthy corridor, and sprinted down it. There were windows of heavy glass to one side. In the moments the passage became black with what must have been Renmyr pursuing, Korsten worked a Blast.
It struck the windows, breaking one and weakening the two flanking it. Korsten ran to the broken area and threw himself outside without a care for how he would land. He attempted to right himself during the fall anyway, but the ground never came. The black presence of Renmyr reached o
ut of the passage above, and seized him in midflight, dragging him swiftly back up. It brought him into Renmyr’s arms and Renmyr promptly saw him to the opposite wall of the corridor, shoving him into it with enough force to have nearly broken him, if not the wall.
“So many lies, heart’s dearest,” Renmyr said with a snarl Korsten refused to look at for long.
He manifested his sword, directly through whatever part of Renmyr was blocking his hand. Renmyr cried out in anger or pain, and tore Korsten from the wall, throwing him hard onto the floor. Korsten began to right himself immediately. He rolled over and sent a Blast spell directly at the beast Renmyr had become.
That beast raised an arm, and absorbed it into his darkness. And then he grinned. It was a terrifying expression, unlike any Korsten believed he had witnessed from him in the past.
Korsten pushed himself back and turned to get to his feet. Renmyr seized him by the back of the neck, and dragged him back to him, into an embrace that might have crushed him, except that the demon wanted something. He reached into Korsten’s pocket for Zerxa’s key.
In the moment Renmyr touched it, it threw itself from him, just as it had from Xelonwyr. Whether or not it hurt Renmyr in any way, Korsten couldn’t tell. But for the moment, everything ceased. Korsten stood there in the arms of the demon, both of them looking at the artifact that now lie on the floor several paces away.
Time was at a standstill. Korsten could feel nothing except for the encircling presence of Renmyr. There were no spells to cast, and no weapons to draw. He could summon the material back to him, but to what purpose? Fighting him directly would not accomplish what he needed to.
Korsten wondered what had become of Xelonwyr. Was it possible that the Wyrr had created the Vadryn, and that they had grown beyond control? Had this beast returned to its maker, and destroyed him?
Only the memory of Ithan, murdered by the hands of his own child would come to Korsten’s mind next. This creature would do such a thing.
“Korsten,” Renmyr said, his voice quieter, the ferocity of the demon withdrawn.
Because they were at an impasse of some kind, Korsten knew. The demon wanted whatever that artifact had been crafted to unlock.
“I felt you in Indhovan,” Renmyr said, dropping his chin onto Korsten’s shoulder, as if he hadn’t nearly broken it and every other part of Korsten moments ago.
Korsten opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue was dry and his breath faltering. He despised this response to him, always so immediate. Even before knowing all that he knew now, he had always been cowed by Renmyr’s overbearing strength of presence. He would never have believed that he feared his lover then, but perhaps he had.
“Do you know what happened to Indhovan?”
Korsten braced himself for lies. He determined at once that he would not believe whatever Renmyr had to say about any part of the war. Renmyr wanted something. He would lie and manipulate until he got it. That had always been the way with Renmyr, demon or no.
“My forces inhabit it now,” Renmyr continued.
His forces? Morenne was not in league with demons, but led by one. That was not entirely new information, but the realization in this manner was still unsettling.
Korsten swallowed unformed words and forcibly made new ones. “What’s behind that door, Renmyr?”
“It’s for you, my love,” Renmyr answered. And then he placed a soft kiss upon Korsten’s neck. “Open it and see for yourself.”
Even if he hadn’t known before, Korsten knew for certain that whatever the Wyrr had been keeping here, whatever Zerxa may have been intentionally or incidentally the keeper of by way of her part of a key, it could not be let out.
He could feel Renmyr’s patience waning immediately—Renmyr had never been patient to begin with. He began moving his hands over Korsten in places that once would have inspired immediate surrender. Korsten felt unsettled by his touch now. His lack of response to seduction renewed Renmyr’s wont for violence. The demon’s hand raised to Korsten’s throat.
Korsten summoned the material for his sword, giving it shape as it moved toward him. Renmyr was inclined to release Korsten and spin around to catch the elongated spike coming toward his skull. Korsten tumbled forward the moment Renmyr’s arms slipped away, and in so doing, he recovered Zerxa’s key. The sensation of something coming at him, inspired him to quickly turn around, whereupon he held his hand out to a familiar glint of silver, reabsorbing the material.
This drew a detestable and terrifying smile from Renmyr. That was the look he had always given that preceded unreasonable temper. In the past his need to maintain lies had always kept it in check. Korsten had no such assurance now, and as the demon began to stalk toward him, he did what was his duty as a mage, and what was his obligation to Renmyr.
He performed a Release.
The look of offense and of anger on Renmyr’s face, in the moments he was actively drawing a shroud of darkness around himself, was almost physically striking to Korsten. He had never seen such a look. Not even Serawe, in all of her intensity and ferocity, had been so utterly incensed by the attempts to separate her from her host.
Korsten watched while his spell struck Renmyr’s darkness. He stood while the darkness seemed to be effected only in that it dissipated. But where was Renmyr?
His answer came in the moment immediately following, when fresh darkness formed, bringing with it Renmyr’s form, and his unnaturally reaching arms and claws. The impact put Korsten through the wall behind him. The sensation of tearing through air and debris came with its own darkness.
In darkness, Korsten felt arms around him. Within the embrace, there was loving. The depth of the touch he was feeling….
His mind reached for recent memory, but in the darkness he found none. It routed him further back. It took him to Haddowyn.
Renmyr’s skin moved across his own. His warmth drove through Korsten’s blood. It was blinding, sedating….
It was wrong.
“Ren….”
“Stay with me,” Renmyr whispered.
“I can’t stay,” Korsten said softly. “I should not have come.”
“You wanted to come.” Renmyr’s arms wrapped around him and held. “Not so very long ago, nothing else would have mattered.”
Korsten could almost have convinced himself this was right. That it was safe, but … it wasn’t. “It’s different now, Ren. You know that.”
Renmyr cooled somewhat, but stayed close. “I know you’re letting others dictate your life to you.”
“My life….” Korsten felt that he didn’t want to move from this place, that he should hold on to Renmyr, and try to remind him somehow that his leaving had never been to hurt him, but only to help. To save him. Why could Renmyr never see anything except what he wanted to? “There have been times when I’ve felt as if my life didn’t mean anything to me anymore. As if I existed. Nothing more.”
Renmyr kissed the base of Korsten’s jaw. “Then exist here, with me.”
Korsten turned his face, becoming distressed with Renmyr’s persistence in the wrong direction. “I lived with you,” he reminded him. “I loved with you. How can you ask me to do anything less now?”
And now Renmyr withdrew somewhat. With eyes the silver of ice, he said, “It seems that we have an eternity of warring ahead of us.”
Panic began to pulse beneath Korsten’s skin, but he refused to let it overtake him. He touched Renmyr’s face with his fingertips, meeting his frozen gaze. “No, Renmyr. This has to end.”
“Then kill me,” Renmyr said, startling Korsten. He took Korsten’s hand, kissing his palm before he pressed it against his chest. “If you don’t, this will persist forever.”
The gesture was wounding and numbing simultaneously. Helplessly, Ecland’s death dashed across his mind. It occurred to him that Renmyr might have brought that memory forward deliberately. It began to occu
r to him starkly that none of this was….
“Of course, you can’t,” Renmyr said, interrupting Korsten’s thoughts, and his increasing panic. He folded his hand over Korsten’s, squeezing gradually, reawakening deep layers of hurt. They began to roll over Korsten in heavy waves.
“The futility is agonizing, isn’t it?” Renmyr asked, cruelly. “The pain will only worsen if you do not join me, because you and I both know that you can never bring yourself to kill me.”
Why did it have to be death? Why couldn’t he destroy the demon and save the man?
Renmyr leaned close to Korsten’s face. The darkness fell away, torn down as if it had merely been drapery over a window that let too bright rays into a dismal … and painful space. Korsten felt … not himself physically. Breathing hurt and there was pain simply with trying to see the individual before him.
It didn’t take him long to realize that the dream Renmyr had tried to seduce him through was only that, and only in his mind. His body….
A ripple of fear pulsed through him as he realized that his body was badly hurt. Movement was made difficult through a dire lack of feeling.
“There is no one to save, Korsten,” Renmyr told him viciously. His Vadryn teeth showed through his sneer. “You’re a fool. You’ve always been a beautiful little fool, and nothing more, I’m coming to see.”
Korsten began to speak, tasting blood on his lips and around his teeth.
“I’ll address Ashwin about this as well,” Renmyr said, beginning to rise. “Once I’ve brought him out of his hole.”
The warmth of tears burned down his cheek. “Ashwin….”
The very name, uttered by Korsten, incensed Renmyr to screaming. He literally bore down on him, shouting into his face, the heat and force of his breath inspiring pain.
“He is nothing! He’s a lie!” The voice of the man became oddly entangled with the voice of something else, something Korsten realized only upon hearing that he had known well and intimately. The body of Renmyr was nothing more than a cloak. He’d never known Renmyr Camirey.
