by Dan Bilodeau
All around, Ibernians were grinning and slapping each other on the back and offering other gestures of camaraderie. A cheer went up as Dal passed a group of men. "The Fire Seraph!” they shouted. “The Seraphs have come again! Victory for Ibernia! Freedom for Ibernia!”
“What is that for?” Dal asked Pad.
“They’re cheering,” he said. “They’re cheering for you.”
Dal had seen enough and wanted to go to Curran, and Pad took him to where his friend lay. He had a long, jagged wound on his right side. Two Druids were standing nearby, sending weaves of spirit into Curran.
Dal said a few words to Curran, and he opened his eyes. “Hey, Dal,” he said weakly. “You made it.”
Dal leaned over and took Curran’s hand in both of his. “We all did, and that includes you, Cur.”
“I--”
“Lie still. You need to save your strength,” Dal said, and Curran smiled at him and closed his eyes.
Dal watched as the wound began to close. The Druids were shaking as they channeled their magic. When the wound was healed, both Druids had to lean on each other to keep from falling over from fatigue.
“That should do it,” one of the Druids said as he turned. “Hello, young Dalziel.”
Dal rushed over and hugged the Druid. “Hade!” he yelled. “You’re alive!” The old man chuckled.
“Alive and well, my boy. I understand we owe our victory to you. They say a Fire Angel saved the Ibernians. Rumors are already spreading of Dio’s blessings upon us.” He winked at Dal. “Of course, we all know that it was due to your expert instruction.” He added his customary chuckle.
“Did you guys know?” Dal asked his friends.
“Of course,” Pad said, beating the others to a response. “Hade found us while you were snoozing.”
“We didn’t want to ruin the surprise for you,” Deidre said.
Dal was choked up. “But Hade, we thought you were dead, how did you--“
Hadrian raised his hand. “This old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve. I came to as the Andals crashed into the rooms adjacent to mine. I used spirit to slow my heart rate. In short, I pretended to be dead.” Dal gave him an incredulous look.
“Oh, come now,” Hadrian continued, “you didn’t think I’d show you all my weaves, did you? A man has to have a few secrets of his own.” He nodded at his own comment, clearly satisfied with himself.
“Hadrian was instrumental in keeping the Druids together,” Pad said. “He and Doran rallied us when our lines were breaking.”
“Did you by chance notice that the Weepers were no better as fighters than the average Andal soldier?" Hadrian beamed. "If I hadn’t, even with your great work on the battlefield, they would have killed too many Druids, and I’m afraid the battle would have been lost. So I came up with a spell to make them no different from ordinary soldiers. And I’d say it worked, wouldn't you?”
“You old--” Dal was cut off as he heard a rumble, then the ground began to shake violently.
“What’s going on?” Pad screamed above the noise.
“Earthquake!” Hadrian yelled. “Everybody get on the ground!”
Ibernian soldiers and Druids were tossed from their feet like rag dolls. Horses whinnied and men ran for cover. Craters became mountains and hills became valleys, the world seeming to be turned inside out. Dal wasn’t convinced the shaking would ever stop, but after a few minutes it ceased.
“I’ve felt earthquakes, but nothing like that,” Dal said to Hadrian. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“It’s as I feared,” Hadrian said. “There are many problems left to address. The earth is groaning and crying out. The Andals will not let this defeat stand, and so we must prepare for them to attack us again.”
“I told Deidre the same thing,” Dal said, saddened that his comment would prove prophetic so quickly.
Dal struggled to this feet, but Deidre, Pad, and Curran were nowhere to be seen. He called out for them but did not receive an answer from any of them. A frantic search, even with Hadrian’s help, produced nothing. Dal prayed, “Please, You saw me this far. Let them be unharmed.”
He searched until it was almost dark, then something caught his eye. A broken bow sat by itself. It was Deidre’s.
EPILOGUE
Production was going well. Very well. The Engineer's muscular frame glistened in the hot factory. My suits are going to win this war. Not brute force. Not military stratagems. But magic. The only way to fight fire was with fire, and the final advantage the Ibernians had was now negated. The Emperor will be pleased. He found that he actually cared what the Emperor thought. Disturbing.
A pang of guilt took him. He had never asked for this gift, these machines. But this was the only way. Better a quick subjugation for the Ibernians than a long, drawn-out feud that would cost countless resources and lives. The Engineer did not revel in bloodshed, but he saw it as a necessary means to an end. They would never understand his accomplishment. Only he knew. Not even the supposedly great Wulf Dagmar had understood. The man was too short-sighted for the Engineer’s taste. Every tool has a purpose, however.
The Engineer did not enjoy being right for the sake of being right, but he knew the truth. The earth was dying and someone had to save it. Who can do it but the Emperor? he had asked himself a thousand times.
He turned his attention back to the suit he was working on. The second generation of its kind, it could use all five elements. He tinkered with the chest piece, unlocking the grayish opaque orb that was linked to the suit. The suit’s veins were the same color, having not yet been infused with magic.
He stretched his hand toward the orb, forming a complex weave. As it entered the orb, it shimmered and vibrated and its color intensified. It first turned blue, then red, then brown, then a bright white, and then gray again. But this gray was darker and not the initial neutral hue before he’d infused magic. And the suit hummed with life. Using air, the Engineer floated the orb back into the chest piece. When it was all the way in, he heard a clicking noise as metal tabs dropped into place, covering and protecting the orb. The suit now hummed louder and the veins glowed with the colors of the five elements.
The Engineer let out a satisfied sigh and began polishing his creation. They could say what they wanted to about him, he was a man who took pride in his work. This was all just a means to an end. The history books would paint him a hero. Yet he was just a man trying to make a difference, that was all. Just a man intent on accepting his destiny.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dan resides in Wilmington, Delaware.
He is a voracious Fantasy reader. Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson are two of his favorite authors.
