Chains of Mist

by T. C. Metivier

  That last phrase, spoken with finality, had sent a chill down Drogni’s spine, and remembering it made his blood run cold. ‘On our own.’ Drogni remembered the last time he had been on his own—it hadn’t gone well. He swore to himself that this time would be different, but that nagging voice in the back of his head had asked, will it?

  “Warrior of Tel’aria,” whispered Arex. “Are you ready? We cannot delay—they will find us. The time for attack is now.”

  Drogni turned his head and met the Dar’katal’s gaze. In Arex’s eyes there was no fear, and Drogni allowed the Kastria warleader’s confidence to bolster his own. In a single smooth stroke, he drew Ss’aijas K’sejjas from his back. The glyphs on the Mari’eth blade glinted in the starlight. He looked back at the Traika village, a few hundred yards distant. “To battle,” he said.

  The Dar’katal raised his own sword. There was no rousing speech, no motivational words to kindle the fire of fury within his warriors. There was no need; bonfires blazed in their hearts, and every man here knew what was at stake. Victory…or annihilation. “To battle,” he simply replied.

  And one hundred and seventy-six Kastria swarmed from the trees.

  * * * *

  “My own to’laka cannot pierce the Traika barriers and see into the enemy village,” said Arex as they walked, “But they have confirmed that a great number of Traika have entered Belayas territory…which has for some reason been left nearly undefended. Perhaps it is a feint and perhaps we are the real target. To my knowledge, the Traika and the Belayas are not at war and have not been for nearly seven years. But that seems needlessly complex. To me, the only explanation is that the darkness of Kil’la’ril has so consumed the Traika that they no longer care who they fight. The Belayas are small and vulnerable…easy targets, unfortunately. We are still taking a risk by attacking the Traika in their own territory—but this is our best chance for victory.”

  “What is your attack strategy?” asked Makree.

  “We need to take the Traika to’laka out of the battle,” said Arex. “If we can do that, then I believe that we can win; if we cannot, then we will surely lose.”

  “Agreed,” said Drogni. “So once we get in, we focus all of our fire on them—”

  “No.” The Dar’katal shook his head. “That will not work. I wish it were otherwise, but such a strategy can only end in defeat.”

  “And why exactly is that?” Drogni felt for a second as though he were talking with the Vizier—a definitive refusal of his own plan with no explanation.

  “Hmmm…perhaps I misspoke. Such a strategy will probably end in defeat. I said we need to remove their to’laka from the battle, not that we need to kill them.”

  At first, Drogni couldn’t see a difference between the two, but the answer came to him quickly. “A distraction?”

  “Precisely. If I had more warriors, I would use your strategy, but even though the Traika have sent many of their warriors against the Belayas our numbers will likely be even at best. If we were to concentrate our attack on the to’laka, we might kill a few, but we would not get them all, and in the meantime we would be vulnerable to attack from the Traika warriors. If we can distract the to’laka for long enough, I am confident that we can turn the tide of battle in our favor, at which point we can overwhelm the to’laka with our numbers.”

  “So what’s your plan?” Drogni had always been uneasy about plans involving hypotheticals, but he had learned that they were impossible to avoid. “That’s gonna have to be one big distraction.”

  “Indeed.” The Dar’katal paused, and when he continued his voice was apologetic. “Over the past days, I have devoted a great deal of thought to how we would defeat the Traika, so please do not think that I have reached this conclusion lightly.”

  “What is it?”

  “The distraction, warrior of Tel’aria, is you.”

  Drogni was not surprised; a part of him had already known what Arex was going to say. He did not reply, merely taking a deep breath and running his hand along the hilt of Ss’aijas K’sejjas.

  “More precisely,” continued Arex hastily, mistaking Drogni’s silence for anger, “the distraction is your sword. My own to’laka have been fascinated by it since you have arrived—a few even considered stealing it, but I forbade it. The magic with which it is infused is completely foreign to us, a manifestation of power of a type that we have never encountered. The Traika to’laka will also covet this blade; it may be that they will even covet it at the expense of the battle going on around them.”

  Drogni admitted that the Dar’katal’s reasoning was pretty good. Still… “‘May’?”

  Arex shrugged. “Obviously, I cannot be sure. It may be that they will ignore you and unleash all of their power to influence the battle, in which case we will lose. That is the rational course of action—after the battle is won and you have been slain, they can then examine the sword at their leisure. But my scouts have seen the ruins of the Seramor and Edala villages. The villages were torched, their every inhabitant killed. And now the same is about to happen to the Belayas, a tribe that is at peace with the Traika. I see this, and it tells me one thing: these Traika are past the point of rationality, of reason. This is our best hope for success, warrior of Tel’aria. It may be our only one.”

  Drogni walked in silence. He agreed with Arex’s assessment of the Traika; they were beyond rational thought. However, he disliked the idea of fighting all of the shamans by himself, counting on a magic blade he knew next to nothing about to save him. “I’ll be your distraction,” he replied, “But on one condition. You send a squad of warriors to attack the shamans while they’re focusing on me. They take the shamans out from behind, and then we all get back to the battle. One against many…I don’t like those odds.”

  Arex looked pained. “I understand your hesitation, warrior of Tel’aria. And believe me, were I in your situation I would feel the same. However, I must refuse, and this is why. We need the Traika to’laka to completely forget the larger battle. Nothing must remind them that, with a thought, they could turn the tide of the fighting. If I sent a tar’keta to do as you request, they might succeed in killing one or two…but I fear that mere spears will not harm the to’laka. More likely, all such an attack would accomplish would be to remind them of the larger battle. And I do not think that we can take that chance, warrior of Tel’aria. That is why it must be you, and you alone, who fights them.”

  Drogni heard the Dar’katal’s words with a sinking feeling in his chest. He knew that Arex was right. Their best chance of victory was for him to take on the full might of the Traika shamans…alone.

  For a moment, the thought nearly overwhelmed him. How could he possibly succeed against such odds? But then he grasped the hilt of Ss’aijas K’sejjas, and felt fresh strength run through him. With it came determination, and he banished his fears and his doubts. If I have to take them alone, then I will. This is not my world, or my war, or my enemy, but I am still Drogni Ortega, Supreme Allied Fleet Commander.

  This time, I will not lose.

  * * * *

  For a moment, the Traika were caught unawares. One moment for the Kastria to attack unchallenged, and they used it well. Drogni fired off half a dozen shots and swept Ss’aijas K’sejjas through the neck of a Traika warrior, while elsewhere dozens of Traika were cut down unawares by sword and spear and arrow.

  All too quickly, the moment passed.

  As Drogni leapt over the corpse of what he suspected was a Belayas warrior, he felt a sudden rush of cold air sweep towards him and bend away at the last moment. To his left, a pair of Kastria froze mid-attack, their skin turning blue and icicles forming about their faces and chests. A second blast of sorcery hit Drogni and was repulsed by the Mari’eth blade, and the frozen Kastria shattered, dissolving into a million fragments of ice and flesh. Ducking under a thrown spear, Drogni whirled to face the source of the magical attacks, Ss’aijas K’sejjas held protectively in front of him.

  Before him stood thir
teen men and women, garbed in what appeared to be robes of Human skin, their bodies a grotesque mass of piercings and tattoos. Their eyes were focused, not on Drogni, but on the Mari’eth sword he held. The foremost of the shamans, an old woman with lightning flickering in her deep green eyes, stretched out a hand towards the blade, chanting words of sorcery, and the weapon leapt forward as if of its own accord, nearly pulling free of Drogni’s grasp. Drogni swiftly holstered his par-gun and grasped the sword’s hilt with both hands. The only way you’re getting this is off my corpse, you stelnak! For a few moments, the pressure on the blade continued, then it vanished as the shaman slowly lowered her hand. Her gaze swiveled towards Drogni, and she blinked slowly—once, then again. Though every fiber of his mind was screaming at him to turn away, Drogni forced himself to return that demonic gaze without blinking. Ignoring the chaos raging around him, he focused on these thirteen Traika who had the power to turn and control the tide of this battle.

  Thirteen Traika who, with their attention firmly centered on Drogni, were allowing the battle to swirl around them and not influencing it at all.

  Just as Arex had predicted they would.

  Normally, Drogni was avidly opposed to plans that relied on the enemy making a stupid mistake, and he had only grudgingly agreed because he could think of no better strategy. But now, staring into the eyes of the Traika shamans, he knew that Arex had been right. There was no humanity in those eyes, no trace of reason, no spark of soul.

  Only greed.

  Greed for power.

  It was the same look that he had seen in the eyes of Rokan Sellas, seven days ago. These shamans were further proof that his evil had spread, and would continue to spread, if he were not stopped. But I will stop him. Daniel Lester, Tina Galdro, Palis Denar, Gregory Daalis, Sara Westan…I will stop him.

  A spear smashed into Drogni’s side, but his fiber armor absorbed the blow. Despite the battle swirling around him, the air seemed very calm—as if nothing existed except him and the Traika shamans.

  No…not quite nothing. Through the quiet of the night, Drogni thought that he could hear Rokan Sellas’s inhuman cackle.

  And with that, a barrier within him cracked. He raised Ss’aijas K’sejjas high, and in the faint moonlight the blade appeared to flicker, as though it were made not of metal but of lightning. I’m coming for you, you stelnak, he thought, focusing his mind on the demonic visage of Rokan Sellas. I’m coming for you.

  It begins tonight.

  With a roar, Drogni brought his sword whistling down.

  * * * *

  Before the shamans had a chance to react, Drogni was upon them, Ss’aijas K’sejjas slashing and cutting like a talon of living fire. Three shamans fell before his flickering blade, one of them the woman who had tried to take the sword from him. They died without a sound, mouths and eyes still wide with shock. A giant bird with pitch-black feathers and cruel orange eyes swooped at him, jagged talons clutching at his face. Drogni slew the creature with one slash of his blade, sending a spray of hot blood fountaining through the air.

  As he fought, Drogni felt his blood begin to fire with rage, heard in his mind the soft, tantalizing voice that promised power if only he would unleash his anger. But this time was not the same as on Hilthak, not the same as four nights ago; this time, Drogni was expecting it, and he forced away those dark thoughts. You will not take me again, he thought. With every fiber of his being, he fought against that feeling.

  Drogni tightened his grip on Ss’aijas K’sejjas and felt a sudden rush of strength from the Mari’eth blade. He felt rejuvenated, the protective power of the sword reinforcing his mental defenses. As long as he held fast to the sword, the darkness could not take him. K’aali Ta’sai might be dead, and her clan with her, but their collective willpower remained in their blade, rising up to help him fight the darkness. With them by my side. I will defeat Rokan Sellas. I will end this.

  The insidious voice fled before the Mari’eth magic, retreating wholly from Drogni’s mind. This time, he was in control of his own actions, rather than succumbing to them.

  The other shamans recovered quickly from Drogni’s initial attack. Moving like shadows, they vanished and reappeared several meters away. They began to chant, their voices blending in a bone-chilling harmony, and a wall of flame leapt from their outstretched hands. The inferno seared towards Drogni, who instinctively ducked and slashed his blade at it; wherever Ss’aijas K’sejjas touched, the fire died, and Drogni emerged unscathed. Undeterred, the shamans continued their eerie incantation, and the air around them suddenly whipped into a frenzy, forming a dozen miniature cyclones which swirled towards Drogni, throwing up clouds of dust and parched earth in their wake. Once again, Drogni stood firm, and the twisters bent away before his Mari’eth sword.

  The shamans’ chanting intensified, and clouds of shadow swirled behind them. Lightning crackled from within the darkness, tongues of electricity stabbing out at Drogni, and then slowly a shape began to form from the roiling shadows. The creature stood on two legs, with a giant, bestial head topped by horns of black fire. Its mouth was a gaping, bottomless maw, its eyes glinting, blood-red spheres. More shadows swirled beneath it, coalescing into a pair of cruel four-taloned hands. Fully formed, the shadow beast writhed in midair, chaotic lightning sparking from its maw, claws scything towards Drogni, as if it desperately wanted to attack but was held back by some unseen force.

  Through Ss’aijas K’sejjas, Drogni could feel the stench of evil rolling off the creature.

  The chanting grew into a crescendo, until it seemed as if the very air quivered. Grew, grew—

  Stopped. Abruptly, completely, into a deafening silence. As if that was the cue to attack, the beast lunged forward, spitting lightning and black fire, claws reaching to snuff the life from this puny Human who was foolish enough to stand against it.

  Drogni did not wait for the beast to come. He leapt forward to meet it.

  Flames licked out at him, talons of shadow slashed for his throat. He ignored them. They were nothing—weapons that lacked the power to hurt him. In this confrontation, only one weapon was of any consequence.

  Mine.

  Ss’aijas K’sejjas swept down, a pillar of blinding brightness, cleaving the beast in two. The monster’s dying shriek pierced the air, then shadow turned to ash, which turned to dust, which faded into the night.

  Drogni did not pause to revel in his victory. His leap into the maw of the beast had carried him forward, towards the shamans, and he hit the ground still running. He closed the distance almost immediately and was upon them.

  This time, they did not retreat before his swinging blade. They looked stunned. The demonic chanting faded, and in that moment, despite the frenzied cries of the battle still raging around them, all seemed deathly quiet.

  One of the shamans looked up, his eyes finding Drogni’s. His pupils were dilated and blood-red, the eyes of a man possessed, but as Drogni watched they shrank back to normal, their color changing to blue. He risked a glance at the others and saw similar transformations in each of them. A few were staring up at the sky, looking for all the world like they were just seeing it for the first time.

  The first shaman took a trembling step forward. Drogni raised his blade, prepared for an attack, but the man seemed barely aware of where they were. When he spoke, his voice was a thin quaver in the night. “What have we done?”

  Drogni did not reply. All around him, the other shamans were looking at him, and there was horror in their eyes, as if they had just awakened from a nightmare only to learn that it was real. “Oh, Ja’nal,” whispered the first shaman, sinking to his knees. He seemed to have aged fifty years in a matter of moments. “What have we done?”

  His voice ached with despair, and Drogni’s blade wavered in his arms. His battle determination dissolved. For the first time, he saw the Traika shamans as people, rather than monsters. The evil of Nembane Mountain—the evil of Rokan Sellas—was gone from them. They were just a group of men and women, fra
il and tired and weak, horrified at the acts they had committed.

  Drogni knew that he could not kill them. Are they so different from me, when I felt Rokan Sellas’s power? I let him in, believing that the strength I felt was my own, believing that to use it was the only way to victory. Surely it was no different for them. Why should I get a second chance and not them?

  It stops here.

  Drogni turned to survey the battle. Dozens of fresh corpses littered the village, but perhaps two hundred warriors still fought on. In the confusion it was difficult to tell who—if anyone—was winning this battle, but he suspected that the Kastria were inflicting the heavier casualties. He could see both Makree and Arex fighting on; the Kastria Dar’katal was like a mountain, huge and implacable with his stone blade sweeping through his foes, while Makree could kill one or more enemies per second and likely had. With the Kastria reinforcing him and the enemy shamans neutralized, the outcome of the battle was not in doubt. If allowed to continue, it could only end one way—with total annihilation.

  So Drogni made a small adjustment to the translator chip in his throat, raised Ss’aijas K’sejjas high above his head, and bellowed, “STOP!”

  * * * *

  The battle froze. All heads swiveled to face Drogni. With the volume on his translator set to maximum, his voice rumbled across the village like thunder. To ensure that he had everyone’s full attention, he drew his pistol and fired a pair of shots straight up into the sky, and once again roared, “STOP!”

  The scene before him was like a painting, a single moment frozen in time. Swords halted mid-strike and archers stood with arrows nocked on taut bowstrings. The only sounds were the cries of the dying, and these were few; even mortally wounded warriors twisted to see the source of this booming command. Hundreds of eyes stared at Drogni in wonder and fear. Now that the chaos had ceased, Drogni could tell who was on what side. What he saw confirmed his earlier suspicions. Of those warriors still standing, nearly two-thirds were Kastria. So many dead, Drogni thought. So many. And for what? Is any man, even Rokan Sellas, worth this?