Between White and Grey (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt: Origins Book 1)
Page 8
You are in shock, Rimidalv said in a hard, pitiless voice, and for the first time Dan’Moread knew him for the uncaring creature he truly was, and as a gesture of mercy I will ignore your mad ravings for now.
I want nothing more to do with you, Dan’Moread spat. You are heartless, cold, and cruel; you would sacrifice those who carry you into battle without a second thought. Cavulus trusted you and you betrayed him!
Betrayed?! Rimidalv roared, and even with her limited vision she could see, and somehow even feel, the White Blade surge with a terrible, white light. That light outlined Ser Cavulus’ armor—which was completely empty, and lying in a heap near the base of the massive door. Our wielders serve us, foolish child—not the reverse! Rimidalv growled. The sooner you realize that, the better you can serve the Light; Ser Cavulus was granted a nobler death than he could have ever dreamed of achieving outside my service!
She would have continued the argument but Dan’Moread was overcome with a powerful wave of darkness, and soon she lost consciousness.
Chapter VIII: Healing Old Wounds
Dan’Moread came to her senses beneath the light of the Judge as it passed overhead, on what was clearly the eve of its peak ascension. She saw the flap of a tent nearby, and only then realized she was being held by unfamiliar hands.
“Regardless of my many lessons, I’m afraid I never was very good at telepathy,” she heard a man’s voice say softly, and after focusing on him for a moment she realized it was Tavleros, the star child with the powerful kinetic abilities. “But I’m glad you’re finally awake. I…I’m sorry about Kanjin. He was a brave man.”
Dan’Moread tried to summon the strength to communicate with him, and at first was unable to do so but after several moments of intense focus, she managed to get out, Where is Rimidalv?
There was a pause before Tavleros replied. “I saw…” he began before shaking his head in frustration. “The White Knight is in his pavilion,” he explained flatly, his words sounding strange and mechanical.
What do you mean? Dan’Moread asked warily. The White Knight is dead.
“After the battle beneath Mount Gamour, the White Knight…” he began before trailing off. “Ser Cavulus died beneath the mountain, but somehow Rimidalv breathed life back into him…the entire camp is unnerved by the event, but it would appear that they place sufficient trust in the White…at least for now.”
That is impossible, she replied, feeling a mounting sense of foreboding. Ser Cavulus’ body was destroyed—I saw as much.
Tavleros cocked his head. “The White Knight said you might be confused about events beneath Gamour,” he said, a look of realization coming over his features, “but it was his Squire, Yaerilys, whose body was destroyed beneath the mountain. While the White Knight himself was grievously injured, it would seem he will survive…even if he can never leave the encasement of his armor.”
Feeling a surge of anger toward the White Blade, Dan’Moread did her best to clear her thoughts. She wanted nothing so much as to leave Rimidalv’s presence as quickly as possible, but without a wielder she was little more than a cripple, deprived of the ability to move or direct her own fate in any fashion. She needed a wielder—no, she knew she needed more than just that to plug the wound made by Kanjin’s death. She silently vowed to never place another of her wielders in harm’s way, regardless of their wishes. Kanjin had been slowly dying because of her, and then he had died abruptly because of her failure to protect him.
The real tragedy was that she would have gladly died with him, but that choice had been taken from her by Rimidalv…and it seemed that this was only a hint of the White Blade’s cold, merciless self.
“I have stood vigil over you these past three nights,” Tavleros said, breaking her from her thoughts. “As the Greystone army has finished razing the Storm Fort and is now set to march, I fear I must make to join them.”
Dan’Moread knew she had a choice to make. She could lie down and let the world swallow her up in an ocean of sorrow and regret…or she could try to make amends for her many failures. She would have given up then and there, if not for the certain knowledge that to do so would have pained Kanjin more than his own death had done.
Her mind made up, she pushed aside the pain she felt along her ruined hilt. To where does the General’s army march? she asked.
“Some of the soldiers are whispering that they mean to cross the Binding Chain,” Tavleros replied as he stood. “From there, they may well seek the edge of the world…and I’m of a mind to follow them.”
I too would depart these lands, Dan’Moread said without hesitation. If you would do me the honor of carrying me, I will lend my edge to your defense.
“Ser Cavulus told me of your true nature,” Tavleros said after a brief pause. “If it’s not too presumptuous…I think we have more in common than it may seem.”
I doubt that, Dan’Moread quipped more harshly than she would have liked.
Tavleros shrugged. “The people I grew up calling my own have forsaken everything we once stood for,” he said in a low, distant voice. “So now, no matter where I go, it seems I am destined to walk alone…I would cherish the opportunity to remedy my own solitude, and hope I might do the same in return to one who would share my path.”
Dan’Moread reached out with her mind and instantly knew that the star child’s words were true. Just minutes earlier she had thought it impossible to find another worthy companion…and while she knew it would be impossible to replace Kanjin, she could at least honor his memory by easing another’s suffering as he had done for her.
I cannot promise more than companionship, Dan’Moread said, feeling a wave of bitter emptiness wash over her, but if it means leaving this place behind then I would gladly share your path. However, the price of my companionship might be more than you can bear: in time we will become bonded, and the process carries with it several…consequences. But I would never, she insisted, feeling a surge of anger as she did so, ask of you that which you would not freely give.
“Aye,” Tavleros said with a nod, “the White Knight said as much. He told me what to expect if I was to carry you; he said that you and the White Blade, Rimidalv, are much the same in that regard.”
I am nothing like Rimidalv, she growled, feeling the strain of conversing with Tavleros to be more draining than she had ever expected. Under the sharply sloping face of Mount Gamour she said a silent farewell to Kanjin, the finest companion she had ever known. If you would leave this place then please do so with all haste; I cannot bear to be in the presence of Kanjin’s tomb any longer.
“As you wish,” Tavleros said, gathering her up and wrapping her in a small bundle of furs.
A few minutes later they had mounted Tavleros’ horse and slipped out across the massive pile of sand and rubble which had only a few hours earlier—at least, to Dan’Moread’s mind—been a mighty wall lined with siege weapons and impressive battlements.
The banners of General Birchaud’s army dotted the ravine as the army slowly made its way from the ruin of the Storm Fort.
Dan’Moread’s heart was broken by Rimidalv’s betrayal and though she could understand the White Blade’s reasoning, she swore a solemn vow to herself then and there to never act as he had done.
Rimidalv believed in the Light, and his belief was so fierce that he would sacrifice anyone or anything necessary to serve his Father’s unknowable purpose. Men rallied to him because he was a symbol of Light and order, and they followed his lead because he won victory for them where none seemed possible.
And Ahsaytsan, the Grey Blade whose motives were as yet unclear, was certainly less than concerned with the well-being of the world—and more importantly, with those in it. She had likely played no small part in twisting the body and mind of the Storm Lord until he was merely a puppet to her will. Dan’Moread found that, in that regard, the White and Grey Blades of Destiny were indistinguishable:; they would each do whatever was required to gain victory for their own causes, including the indiscrimi
nate sacrifice of those who followed them.
But the price of victory, which they all-too-readily paid, was too great for Dan’Moread. She knew she would one day face the White Blade again, and when she did she swore that she would see justice done for Kanjin and Ser Cavulus.
Because while she had learned much beneath Mount Gamour that she wished she could unlearn, she had gained one kernel of knowledge which resonated with her and filled her with not only confidence, but a sense of purpose:
She was a sword breaker, fired and forged. And in time she would meet again with Rimidalv and his ilk, be they white or be they grey, and when that day came yet another Blade of Destiny would shatter against her edge—or she would do so against theirs.
Dan’Moread resolved to do this not out of some rigid sense of duty to a maker she had never known, or for her own private ambitions, or even for revenge. No, she would do it to protect the ones she cared for—and those who cared for her in return. She would do it for those who had called her ‘friend,’ and for those who might yet do so…even if it meant her own destruction.
It was a price she would gladly pay, because she knew that real value cannot be ascribed to a thing for which no meaningful price has been paid. And what good can exist in the world without the willing bonds worn within friendship’s union?