by Swanson, Jay
“She was charged with a new mission.” Her brother stepped verbally between them. “She did what was necessary to see it through. They have been left in able hands, Sir Hembrody.”
This caused Hembrody to smile. “Of course. My son is quite capable, as I'm glad you have discovered at last.”
“Branston is not the one I have left in my stead, sir.” Rain's mouth went dry to say it. Before he could raise the question, she proceeded to answer it. “He was killed in the enemy's territory.”
For such a pale-skinned man, Sir Hembrody turned an impressive shade of white. Silence filled the gap as he slowly straightened his back. The news was not expected, and it looked as though he was unable to accept it.
Finally he ventured to ask, cold steel eyes cutting along the flat-toned question. “How did he die?”
“Shill tr–”
“You expect me to believe that your own bodyguard killed him? Why did you have my son killed?”
“I did no such thing!”
“Enough!” Rendin's hand came up. “Control yourselves. And sir, I would hesitate to openly accuse my sister of any crime, especially one so heinous as murder.”
“Shill stopped him from murdering a man in our party. He is the reason I came back alone, the only hope we have to stop the Relequim.”
A look from her brother told her she had said too much. But Hembrody seemed not to catch the deeper implications.
“You killed my son to protect some foreigner? The heir to my house is dead on the account of the master of your bodyguard, and it was for some putrid Truan?”
“Sir Hembrody.” Rendin's cool stare put chills in even Rain's stomach. “Be mindful how you tread.”
“As you should have been mindful with your soldiers.” The old man wrenched on his reins, turning his mount as he poured down hellfire with his glare. “Mark my words, boy-king. I will never forget this.”
Rain could barely breathe as she watched Sir Hembrody return to his men and storm off towards his home in the city.
“Blassen.” Rendin turned to his bodyguard. “If he leaves the city, I should be the first to know.”
“Majesty.” The massive soldier pressed his fingers to his forehead before peeling away from the group.
Hembrody's estate was to the northeast of the Spring Vale. Some of the most prolific mines were in his territory, which meant he could afford some of the finest swords. Swords her brother needed. Swords, she was afraid, that might no longer be his to command.
“I'm sorry, brother,” she said as they continued towards the inner gate.
“There is nothing to be sorry for, Rain.” Rendin sighed and rubbed his forehead just under his crown. “What Branston did was of his own choosing. This is just his final act of spite from the grave, I'm afraid.”
“Quite the show you put on for your return, little princess.”
Rain turned to the source of the voice, an armored man on an old palfrey. Both the horse and the rider had round bellies that their gilding failed to hide.
“Sir Bramblethorn!” Rain couldn't help the excitement in her voice at the sight of her father's old friend.
He grinned as he looked sideways after Hembrody. “If it were up to me, I would have told him the boy was turned into a snake by some Thranish trick and slithered off towards Trua. That would have boiled his hide right good.”
“It's so good to see you, sir!” Rain wanted to jump off her horse and give the big man a hug on the spot.
“You'll join me in the citadel, uncle.” The request was too flat to be a question. “I need your counsel.”
“Of course, young king.” Bramblethorn's broken and stained teeth made his jovial grin no less appealing. “I merely came to see the princess for myself, but how can I refuse any request made by my rightful liege?”
The guards at the inner gate stood at attention, still as the stone that surrounded them. Their tall halberds and green cloaks served to distinguish them from the rest of the city guard. These were tasked with protecting the crown first and foremost. The fifty men that made up the Renault bodyguard, however, refused to let them protect anything beyond the courtyard and steps up to the citadel.
The long, broad stairs that ran up to the base of the Citadel itself spread out before them as they entered the grounds. Thick granite bannisters divided the stair into three separate runs with one landing half-way up. That was where her grandfather had erected his lineage in statue form, where the kings of the west stood twenty feet high, guarding the entrance to their home. They were magnificent. Huge silver wolves with emerald eyes sat on the bannisters at base level and each landing after as well. It gave Rain a shiver of joy to see the symbol of her house still showing the way.
“Tell me, Rain,” Bramblethorn said as he dismounted at the base of the stairs. “How fares the east? The King's council will be eager to hear your reports.”
“I'm afraid my sister's reports of the east are overshadowed by the looming specter of our enemy in the nameless mountain.”
“Indeed,” Bramblethorn conceded before sneaking a smile to Rain as Rendin began his ascent to the Citadel. “I'd still very much like to hear about it when time permits.”
The walk up the stairs to the entrance of the Citadel was already a long one, but for her brother the process was painstaking. What illness it was that had robbed Rendin of his youth and brought him to such early frailty was beyond the wisdom of any of their physicians. He was simply destined to suffer, they had said, fated to die young.
Rendin had yet to die, but in moments like this, Rain wondered how long he had left. She paused on the landing between the statues of her forefathers, turning to look back out over the inner wall at the city that spread out before her. Islenda always felt so much larger to her from up here. From the top, she knew she would be able to see the green of the Spring Vale over the walls, the reflection of the mountains on the lake. It felt good to be home.
A low rumbling resonated down from the mountains above. She could feel the granite vibrate under her feet, however slightly. It was happening.
“Rendin!” She turned to find her brother nearly halfway up the stairs behind her.
The king stopped, turning for the tone in her voice as much as the urgency.
“He's escaping!” She ran to catch up.
“I know, little sister. I know.”
“We have to move, we have to put our army to field!”
“Soon, Rain. Soon.” How his voice could be so calm at a time like this was a mystery to Rain. “Our strength will be ready to mobilize in a matter of days, but even if they could do so now, where would we send them?” He put a frail hand on her shoulder, the quivering only intensified by the exertion to mount the stairs. “We must seek counsel and strike out only when we are certain of where we are going.”
He turned to continue on the way. Rain's words jumbled in her head and were lost on her lips. How could he not do anything in the midst of such a massive crisis?
“He's right, Highness.” Bramblethorn paused with her for a moment. “We need somewhere to send an army if one is to mobilize. We need a target, and we will have one soon.”
“Yes, Uncle.” Bramblethorn's reassurance only grated on her more. He wasn't truly her uncle, not by blood, but his wisdom and love for their family was unquestioned. His steadfast loyalty to her brother only served to irritate her more in the moment.
If nothing else, the Mouth and the nameless mountain were both partially visible from the higher balconies of the Citadel. She had to know what was happening. She had to see for herself. Taking this slow pace to the top would kill her.
She took the deep steps two at a time, golden hair streaming behind her, nearly tripping as she scrambled to reach the top. The tall doors at the back of the high landing stood open already, so she dashed through them, paying no heed to the doormen or stewards that awaited her brother. She knew the way, and she wanted to gain a view of the north that was unobstructed by towers or walls. She ran up the broad stairs
in the entrance courtyard, turning quickly to her left and running deeper into the long hallways that wound through this level.
High-vaulted room after high-vaulted room passed on her left and her right. Banquet halls and the library, meeting rooms and the armory. Soon she was in the low barracks of the Citadel's garrison, twisting up the stairway that led through their honeycomb of sleeping chambers and bathhouses.
The spiraling staircase led to a store room filled with kegs of apples and grain. She wove through them until she found herself in the eastern kitchens. It smelled strongly of her favorite oat bread, but the temptation to stop was easy to fight, and she burst through two low doors into the adjacent ballroom.
The ballroom in the eastern wing of the Citadel was marvelous, windows stretching hundreds of feet in the air as crystal chandeliers dangled from the heights to illuminate the night. Without the magic of her forebears, lighting them would have been an impossible task. On the easternmost wall, two layers of long tapestries hung the entire height of the room. Behind them was a narrow staircase used by the stewards to gain entry to the network of hidden catwalks that encircled and crisscrossed the room. It was also the only entrance point to the highest north-facing tower in the Citadel.
She was sweating now, breathing heavily as she raced up the stairs. There was no bannister here, only the false sense of security provided by the wall of cloth on her right. She paid the danger no heed. The stair took a quick turn to the right, leading along the southern wall and through the ceiling to the service passages above. She weaved through them, remembering the path from endless explorations as a child. Once her brother had been able to play with her among the heights of the stone. Those days were long gone.
From here she could again hear the rumblings of the mountains above her. The noises were unnatural, frightening. Had the Demon escaped? She thought of Ardin. Thought of the evil he must be facing. The visions that flashed before her only drove her to run harder.
Rain found the entrance to the tower she sought. The stairs flew by in a blur, the different levels and cross-passages registering in her mind for only the briefest of moments. Suddenly she was at the vantage point from which she could see the entire Vale. Her father's men had used it to watch for the Demon's forces. Now she looked for the Demon's escape.
The nameless mountain was largely obscured from view, but its peak was there. It was vibrating violently. Visibly. The Mouth was little more than a black speck beneath it, but she wasn't interested in the entrance to the abyss. The nameless mountain was all that mattered, and in that moment she watched it implode. A dim streak of light shot away from the mountain just before the slopes reversed their inward course and exploded. Stone flew in every direction but predominantly in a ring positioned at the same angle as the fleeing light.
Her stomach dropped. She screamed as she dropped to her knees.
“Ardin...” Her eyes were wide as the words came unbidden and dwindled into whispers. “Who... who can save us now?”
EIGHT
ARDIN VITALIS STOOD AT WHAT WAS CALLED THE END OF THE WORLD. The bridge that carried him here shook violently as the nameless mountain rumbled in an effort to contain its prisoner. It was losing the battle; he could sense that clearly. The door before him leaked raw power like nothing he had ever felt. Its presence made him feel sick to his stomach, and though there was no smell to it, his olfactory senses still reacted as if to sickly-sweet decay.
“The Cathedral is of simple construction, Ardin, in spite of its intricate appearance.” Tristram gestured towards the man-sized door in the Titan-sized Gates. “At the very center you will find a dais, raised mere feet from the ground. It is under that dais that the Relequim is entombed; its doors are those which must be affixed anew.”
Ardin's head still spun slightly from his recent transformations. This is too much. The world twitched in and out of focus, glitching as if it weren't real and threatening to disappear.
“Ardin.”
Ardin turned to face the ethereal warriors. Ishtel floated just feet behind his brother, though float was far too gentle a word to describe something as menacing as Ishtel.
“We cannot stop him. Not here. Not without Oscilian to complete our power. You mustn't try to do anything to stop him yourself, Ardin. You only need buy us time. Anything you can give. That will be enough.”
Anything he could give sounded like more than what he had left in him. The warmth. Memories that were scarcely his own flooded his head. The Atmosphere is unlimited... use it. He closed his eyes, calling the warmth, circulating it through his body, setting it to flow through him continually. Setting the world to rights.
“Now, Ardin. You must go now.”
His eyes opened. Without a word he turned and pushed on the door. It swung in easily enough, splashing light onto the dimly-lit cathedral floor. White mist burst out and flowed away from the opening in a flood. Stepping over the threshold was like walking into the collision point of opposing electric currents. The struggle here was reaching its apex.
He looked around, the weight and flow of competing strengths threatening to throw him off balance. The revolting smell he wasn't sure existed grew stronger. The vaulted ceilings shot up so far he had to crane his neck just to follow their lines. That was where the last of the Magi's power was, pouring down from enchantments on high. The battle down around him was already lost.
He moved forward, each step more difficult than the last; it felt like fighting upstream. Except unlike the linear current of a river, each step here was assailed from a different direction. He called up the warmth, encapsulating himself to buffer and stabilize his steps. The tall pillars grew from the floor like trees, sprouting out to support the ceiling as well as one another in the most beautiful array of entangled architecture he had ever seen. Light streamed through high, grand windows made up of thousands of panes of glass. It trickled down, reflecting off shards of glass and polished stone until the entire place looked like it was shimmering underwater. This truly was a magnificent place, and it was about to be annihilated.
He pressed forward, the pressure against him growing dramatically with every few steps. He could see the dais from here, blood-red light pulsing through the cracks in the triangular doors that made its surface. Runes inscribed around the base flared dazzling purples and blues. Aside from the dais and the rumbling of the whole structure, the naked eye would have been completely unaware of the struggle taking place in the Tomb.
White mists churned, pressed to the outside of the room and against the walls. It made Ardin's throat knot subconsciously. A thrumming sensation grew in his ears, like the pressure of the room itself was vibrating at a low hum. It felt like it took ages to reach the dais; in reality he assumed it could have only been minutes. He willed himself forward, pulling on the Atmosphere to propel himself onward when his legs would have otherwise been unable.
The doors making up the surface of the dais were shuddering now, lurching upwards violently as if being pounded from the other side by massive fists. A deep roar rose to match the rumbling of the mountain. Large flakes of granite fell around Ardin now, cracking and paffing into dust on the floor. He couldn't reach the dais; he realized that now. If he put everything he had into keeping himself where he was, there would be nothing left to fix the seals on the doors.
And how am I even going to do that? He hadn't thought that far yet.
Ardin stopped and put his hands in front of him. He focused, willing everything in him into his hands, imagining his senses working their way to the dais. The two converging powers convulsing around him were making it nearly impossible to force his own in between. He pressed on until he could feel the surface of the stone, the engravings that ran along each door. The seal set over them was stretched to the breaking point.
It's about to snap...
There was no time left. He recognized these enchantments; Charsi's fingerprints were all over them in his mind. Their connection with those above were nearly cut off. The Demon didn't ev
en need to dismantle the rest to escape, he simply needed to choke the doors off from their support.
Ardin didn't even think; the reaction came naturally to his discovery. He forced his own power into those enchantments, supplementing the strength of the bonds until they forced the doors completely shut again. Another roar erupted from below, churning his gut as tingles ran down the back of his neck. Fear made itself present now.
Sweat began to sting his eyes as he forced a path for the enchantments above to renew their connection, staunching the attack long enough to funnel them downwards and bolster his own strength. He could feel the Demon's power everywhere, like a low, dense fog.
Ardin... the voice pierced his mind like an obsidian dagger. Ardin, stop!
He couldn't distinguish it, couldn't identify it beyond the sense that he knew it.
Don't do this, Ardin! You'll destroy yourself!
“Alisia?” His concentration wavered.
Ardin!
“Alisia?!”
The risk is too great, Ardin! Run!
The pressures around him fought to push his presence from the room. He could feel his grip on the doors slipping.
“I can close them, Alisia. I can do this!”
RUN ARDIN!
Ardin's sense of certainty crumbled like the mountain around him. He could feel his own power being forced back. The ground he had gained so steadily lost in each passing moment of doubt. His vision of the world twitched again, the Shade within destabilizing him. He blinked away the intrusion, but then his whole body convulsed, and the roar erupted into laughter below. The voice no longer pushed into his thoughts, resonating from the Tomb darker and deeper than any he had ever heard before.
“You cannot contain me, boy. I will be free this very day.”
Ardin fought to contain himself as fear broke into terror through every part of him. His grip on the Tomb of the Relequim had slipped. What time he had bought was all he would now be able to buy. He could feel the weight pressing against him again, the force physically sliding him back the way he had come in small starts.
