by Neil Breault
“I cannot give power to that rune. Only the Archon knows how.”
“I don’t believe you. This shall be your punishment for lying to the future king.”
Caylth snarled and started to draw runes in the air, but yelled out as another cut appeared in his side. He looked up at Turos and saw he was tracing symbols in blood on the dagger’s blade. Caylth opened his mouth to speak but yelped as Turos finished another rune on the blade. With every grunt or yell from Caylth, Turos’s smile grew larger. Caylth was barely standing when Turos decided he had had enough and plunged the dagger into Caylth’s heart. Turos pushed the body backward and it fell to the floor. Omoni entered the room moments later.
“What have you done?” Omoni made a motion and the scones dimmed. He looked out at the courtyard and hallways but saw no one. “You need to leave right now.”
“What? What are you taking about?”
“Don’t you know what you did?”
“I didn’t do anything! This traitor didn’t follow the king’s decree.”
“That doesn’t matter right now. You just used blood magic!”
“So? He’s still a traitor.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t matter. With the failed Death Hellion attack, the wardens are all on high alert for blood magic and blood mages.”
“I am the heir. They can’t touch me.”
“Wrong. They can and will. I can make this go away, but I can’t have you be found out right now. The blood magic will leave a residue. You need to leave the city.”
“Where should I go? I still have much to do here.”
“Anywhere there is not a Warden. If you are found before the magic dissipates I cannot protect you.”
Turos stood over the body, not moving. He had not done anything wrong. This piece of scum should have been the one running. He knew what he had done.
“Turos, you need to leave now.”
Omoni started pushing Turos out the door. He grabbed the dagger from Turos’s hands. Deftly tracing runes in the air with the dagger, he caused a shadowy figure to appear before them. Omoni handed the dagger to the shade. It then dashed down the hallway and waited at an intersection.
“Follow the apparition. It will take the evidence and lead you away from anyone and out of the city. I will see what I can do about this situation. I can say we found another assassin and were trying to stop him. You arrived too late but saw who it was and you gave chase. Now leave, before anyone else comes into the hall.”
Turos hesitated a moment, looking back in the room at the body. Only when he saw the blood that had been cast on the walls did he realize the extent of what he had done. He grabbed Omoni by the shoulder and squeezed. Turos turned and ran after the apparition.
Chapter 7
Pendant
A light layer of snow covered the raven courtyard. Mikol stood in a ready stance, though he had no opponent today and his practice armor lay on the sidelines, still untouched since his last practice, now covered by a layer of snow. Mikol started his positions again but faltered as the body of Juna, broken and bloody, flashed before him once again. He exhaled deeply and reset, stepping into his next position, and faltered again. He did not know why Juna’s death weighed so heavy on him. He had barely spoken to her. He had only seen her a few times around the castle. Each time he tried to move into a new stance he pictured her again. He stood up straight and closed his eyes heavily. Nothing he did would allow him to move past seeing her body, and he gave up trying to practice.
“Hey.”
Mikol surprised himself with how fast he drew Raythrael and lunged at the interrupting voice, stopping just inches from Bayle’s heart. Bayle did not move and only raised his eyebrows.
“Well, I can come back later,” said Bayle.
Mikol shook his head and re-sheathed Raythrael.
“What have you heard?”
“There have still been no messages from any of your brothers, the Paragons, the army, or my father.”
Mikol turned away from Bayle. He had been entirely focused on his brothers. Mikol had forgotten that Arceri’s Paragon Prime, Foen, was Bayle’s father. They both knew the Paragons were the most highly trained soldiers in the entire realm. This did little to comfort Mikol. He had not even thought how it could have affected Bayle. Mikol turned to his friend and stared at him for a long moment. He noticed for the first time how Bayle’s jawline had the same sharp edge that gave Foen his fierce predatory look, though Bayle had his mother’s eyes. They softened the warrior facade. Mikol could not stand to look at Bayle any longer. He turned his head away from Bayle and muttered.
“What?”
“I said I am sorry,” said Mikol, still facing away from Bayle.
“What?!”
“I said I am sorry.”
“I don’t need your pity! I’ve come to terms with what has happened to my father. I am proud of him. Proud that he was with Arceri. Would I love it if he came waltzing through the front gate? Yes! This is the longest we have ever gone without hearing from the Prince or the Paragon Prime. I know what that means.”
Mikol opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut again as Bayle continued.
“We need the Paragons now. Losing all of them at once has hurt us deeply, especially not knowing why. I mourn for my father, and for Arceri. I mourn for Perim too. But I refuse to let my emotions dictate what I do. I have been here for you, Mikol. You have refused to believe anything anyone has told you. You are succumbing to your fears. You hope someone will come back and lift you up from wherever you have gone. I was excited when Voletain chose you to become his apprentice. I knew he had made the right choice. You would make a great Archon. But I am not so sure now. Maybe Voletain was wrong.”
Mikol stood still. He could not face Bayle. He had nothing to say. Bayle was right. Mikol had done nothing to help the situation. He had done nothing but pout like a child. When he turned around, Bayle had already left. Mikol’s armor had been taken, the snow brushed off to either side of where it had lain. He hung his head low. He did not deserve a friend like Bayle. He could not remember the last time they had done anything Bayle had suggested or had wanted to do. Mikol treated Bayle more like a servant than a friend.
With a roar, Mikol leapt forward and swung Raythrael upward. It cleaved easily through the arm of a statue on the side of the courtyard. The arm cracked into several pieces as it hit the ground. Mikol continued to slash at the statue until he was tired. He sheathed his sword and took deep, long breaths. For the first time he felt the cold air. He looked at what he had done. In an instant, he had destroyed the work of a man he did not know. The statue could not be repaired. He grabbed his cloak, which was hanging from another statue. He looked at it briefly. The same artist had created this statue as well. At least Mikol had not destroyed the man’s only work.
He walked the halls aimlessly, taking whichever turn had fewer people. The few people he did see gave him a wide berth. He could not shake what Bayle had said. He did not think fear was controlling him, but he did refuse to believe his brothers were dead. He had never thought how losing his father could have affected Bayle. Mikol and Bayle had always been close friends. Mikol thought back to when they made plans to explore the world one day. They had even planned on entering tournaments together and winning year after year.
All of their plans had become moot when Voletain had chosen him to become his successor. While he still had some freedom as apprentice, he felt his path getting narrower the more he walked it. The sudden realization of the world constricting around him brought him to a halt. The loss of his brothers laid a heavy burden on his shoulders. The fate of the world was slowly shifting to him. He almost envied Arceri as heir. The king had always been able to come to the Archon for help. Soon enough, that would be Mikol, and he had no idea what to do.
Mikol looked at where he had stopped walking and found he had wandered into the Runic Courtyard. He saw that Voletain’s door stood ajar but no light came from within. He found this odd, as Voletain
had not returned from the Sanctuary yet. He took a step forward before jumping at the footsteps behind him. He wheeled around with his hand resting on Raythrael. Mikol was pleased he had not been the only one surprised as he watched Omoni drop his books. Omoni quickly smiled at Mikol as he picked up the books he had dropped.
“What an unexpected surprise, Mikol. What are you doing about?”
“Clearing my head. What are you doing?”
“I was returning some books to Voletain, but I see he is still not back.” Omoni indicated the books he had picked up. He turned to leave but stopped. Instead he walked closer to Mikol. “What seems to be bothering you?”
“Everything that is happening. We haven’t heard from Arceri and Perim for months. And now Turos has gone missing.” Mikol smiled sadly. “I know we may not always have gotten along with each other but he is still my brother.”
“Walk with me for a bit.” Omoni took on a fatherly tone and wrapped his arm around Mikol. “You are worrying about important things. But ultimately they are out of your control.”
“But I feel that I can help. I should be doing something. I want to search for them. Maybe I can find them.”
“Maybe, but what would that accomplish? What if you found Arceri alive and well? Don’t you think there is a good reason for him not to have sent a message by now? Especially since he left after hearing about an invading army.”
“I suppose. But what if he’s hurt?”
“What if he is? Can you do anything about it? What if he is surrounded by that army? What can you do? Perim? He set out to pursue an army. What can you do against an army?”
“Nothing,” Mikol sighed. “I can do nothing.”
“What do you know about the great war?”
“It was fought by two brothers thousands of years ago. It devastated the realm and brought all of Anglantaea into the battle.”
“Did you know there were more than just the two brothers? The eldest brothers were twins and had both laid claim to the throne, but there were more siblings. How do you think they felt during this war?”
“I don’t know.”
“The battle lines were drawn and they had to pick sides. What side would you have chosen?”
“I’m not sure. That was brother fighting against brother. I couldn’t pick who to fight for if Arceri and Perim fought. But besides, that was a different time.”
“Not so different. You still have to decide whom to help, because you can’t help all three. The biggest difference is that our enemy is not your own family. But that is a good thing too. The weapons used in that war were devastating. I can’t imagine using those weapons on each other.”
“What weapons?” asked Mikol.
“You really need to study more.” Omoni shook his head slowly. “Before the Sundering, more people could control rune magic. The brothers waged war for the throne, but it turned into an arms race. Both brothers were very powerful and during the war created many extraordinary runic weapons.”
“Like this?” Mikol drew Raythrael partway out of its scabbard. Mikol caught a fleeting expression that skewed Omoni’s face, but it vanished before he could guess its meaning.
“Uh, something like that. Where did you get that?”
“Voletain gave it to me.”
“Well, that would have been an insignificant weapon used by infantry during the war. Powerful no less, but nothing compared to what devastated the lands.”
“Why have I never heard about these weapons before? I am supposed to be Archon, and Voletain has never mentioned any runic weapons like that before.”
“I assume he would eventually tell you, or you would read about it yourself. There are many books dedicated to the Sundering, though most were written hundreds of years later. But truthfully, these weapons are not important in the grand scheme of being Archon. Besides, King Ioyan destroyed most of them after the war.”
“Most?”
“Yes. He saw how deadly they were and knew power like that could not sit idle and not be used. He destroyed the majority of the weapons but could not destroy them all for fear he would be defenseless if someone were to create more. So he hid those he did not destroy. Any of those weapons could turn the tide of a war. They are probably even powerful enough to rule the world.”
“How do you know about these weapons if no one else does?”
“Mikol, don’t forget I am the Preceptor of the Wardens. There is much information that has been gathered by the Wardens over the years, and all of it has been cataloged. Only recently have I been able to piece together enough to understand what we found.”
Their aimless walk led them near the armory and garrison. Two soldiers stood guard and saluted them as they walked past. Mikol took new interest in the weapons at their sides. A standard-issue sword hung from each of their belts. Mikol had once been in awe of how strong Ternian steel was. He knew Raythrael would be able to cleave through it with ease.
“Why have we not gone after this ... lost cache of weapons?” said Mikol.
“I do not know why previous Archons have not searched for them. Perhaps there was no need to find them. Perhaps the location has been lost to time. I have been searching for them ever since I had a hint they existed.”
“Thank you, Omoni. You’ve helped me think of something I can do. I will be back.”
Mikol took off at a run and left Omoni standing in the hall. The guards saluted Mikol as he rushed in to the throne room. His father sat in his usual place on the throne. The last of the petitioners was leaving for the day. This would be a good time to talk with him, as he had not begun to drink heavily just yet. Mikol quickly walked over to his father, gave a small bow, and waited for acknowledgement.
“Mikol, it’s always good to see you. Have a seat.” Raifaran indicated Arceri’s chair. Mikol nodded and smiled at his father. He took a step forward but hesitated. “It is only a chair, it won’t bite. Besides, your brother is not here to throw you out of it.”
Mikol sighed and sat down next to his father.
“How are you doing? Keeping up with your swords, I see. Going to win the tournament again this year?”
Mikol looked down at himself and realized he still wore his training garb. He smirked to himself and nodded to his father.
“I’m fine. I should win again if the tournament happens, which is why I came to see you. I need to leave the city and speak with Voletain.”
“You cannot. Have you been so focused on your training you have forgotten the war raging outside the city?”
“Outside the city? I don’t recall seeing any soldiers past the walls. I must speak with Voletain about the war. I think I can stop the war from actually reaching us.”
“If you recall, it was Voletain who forbade anyone from leaving the city. Now, being the king, I could go against the Archon and let you go, but I happen to agree with him. Especially since you are my youngest and probably only son left.” Raifaran winked at Mikol. “Though I’m not so old I couldn’t try for another son.”
“You would disgrace Mother’s memory by siring a bastard?”
Raifaran flinched away from Mikol’s words.
“What is so important that you need to risk yourself to speak with Voletain? What could you tell him that he doesn’t already know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not something I can tell him but, rather I could help him remember something he forgot. I am sure he has forgotten more things than either of us has ever learned.” Raifaran grunted in agreement. Mikol drew Raythrael partially. “What if all of our soldiers carried swords like this? Nothing could stop them!”
“Hmm, Voletain gave you his sword. I had only heard about it many years ago. He never showed it to me.”
Raifaran held his hand out to Mikol. Mikol drew the sword out and placed it in Raifaran’s hand. Raifaran examined the blade closely. He ran a finger down the fuller slowly and held the sword with both hands. He deftly handed the sword back to Mikol.
“It is a beautiful sword, Mikol. But
it is only one sword. What can it do for us?”
“It is not the only sword. There is a hidden cache of ancient runic weapons waiting for us to find it.”
“I see. You’ve been reading about King Ioyan? Those stories are just that, stories. The Sundering was a devastating war between brothers. Many people died during that time. Very few died to the likes of your weapon or any like it. They died because of greed and power.”
“But, my sword ...”
“Is truly a remarkable weapon, but it is one of a kind. It has been passed down from Archon to Archon. I hope it serves you well in the future.”
Mikol sheathed the sword and sighed.
“I still would like to speak with Voletain.”
“No, Mikol. Even if I allowed you to leave the city, it would cost us too many Wardens and soldiers to take you to Sanctuary. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you are my only son that I know is alive. I would not allow you to leave even if we were not at war. We will have much to discuss after this army has been dealt with, but for the time being you can continue to do as you wish as long as you remain safe and in the city.”
“Yes, Father. I understand. May I be excused?”
Raifaran nodded and Mikol left the throne room. He took off down a hallway and took corners at random. He did not have a destination. He barely noticed anyone else in the halls, and it slowly dawned on him people were avoiding his path. He stopped abruptly and made a servant wince and run away. There was a pain in his hand. Looking down he saw he was holding his sword tightly. He released the white-knuckled grip on Raythrael and took a deep breath. After he figured out where he was, he turned down an adjoining hall and made his way to Omoni’s study. Mikol expected the door to be locked but found that it opened soundlessly. He was glad Omoni was not inside; the tomes behind the desk were Mikol’s target. He pulled several down and opened them. The maps therein showed many of the excursions of the Wardens into Sibilova. He looked for any that were primarily in Ternia but could not find any. He had been so focused on the maps he did not hear Omoni enter.
