by V. Lakshman
The men of Bara’cor held the other side, with the king pressed against the shimmering field, clearly distraught at the prospect of losing Ash and Yetteje. A groan from his right revealed Brianna tending to Ash, who had also changed back to normal.
It took a few moments to check on everyone, but soon they were gathered near the gate. Duncan seemed to be most injured, followed by Ash. Upon closer inspection Arek realized the bolt that had pierced Brianna was gone, and he guessed either she or whatever magic she’d used must’ve pushed it out. For the most part, Yetteje had escaped any grievous harm.
“Is the gate shut?” he asked Duncan.
The archmage blinked his eyes clear and scrutinized it, then nodded. “Both ways. They can open it if they sacrifice another elf, but only into Arcadia. We’ll need blood to open a way back.”
Yetteje breathed in then asked, “Arek, are you all right?”
Arek looked at her and smiled. Something within him, something clean, answered, “Yes, for the first time, I think I am.” Then he added, “I just wish we weren’t about to die.” The smile she returned made him feel elated, and he resisted the urge to hug her.
The firstmark rubbed his head, then looked at Arek and Duncan without emotion. When his eyes got to Yetteje however he said, “I’m happy you’re still alive, princess,” as he rose with a groan and motioned for Yetteje to follow, “or I’d be out of a job.” They went closer to the shimmering field, looking through it at the distorted image of the king.
When they neared, King Galadine said, “Sparrow says the gate can be opened from your end.” His voice sounded hollow as it passed through the shimmering field separating them.
“How?” Ash asked, surprised. He’d been prepared to say his good-byes and try to find another way out. He looked at Yetteje, a cautious smile on his face.
There was a pause, then the king said, “Sparrow sacrifices herself, opening the gate again and one of our elves will come through. Then that elf will sacrifice himself and open the gate from your end.”
The party was stunned, but as Ash’s smile faltered, Yetteje spoke first. “You can’t.”
A voice from behind them said, “You will fail. Only true sacrifice can make blood magic work, and none of you value any elf they send through enough.”
They turned, to see King Mikal Galadine slowly step into view. He looked down on the bodies of Israfel and Gabreyl, his son and great-grandson, then back up at Duncan. He stepped forward and said, “Valarius was wrong—a man possessed with an incessant need for retribution, but I’m the one to blame. I caused much harm and ruin for you, Duncan. We were friends once. I would like to find peace between us.”
At that Sonya appeared, looking forlorn but desperate. She rushed over to Arek, looking him up and down without touching him. “I sent you to Edyn for your own safety. I never expected you to return and would have counted myself lucky if I’d never seen you again, as long as I knew you lived.”
Arek knew this was his mother, his true mother. Somehow it was obvious, a feeling, an instinct. He couldn’t be sure how, but he didn’t doubt it even for a moment. He looked at the shade and asked, “Why didn’t you come with me?”
Sonya’s eyes softened and she said, “I could not . . .”
“She was in love with Valarius, son,” Duncan’s tired voice still managed to drip with spite, an echo of his centuries-long obsession-turned-to-hate when the person he wanted to save didn’t even care. “Your mother chose him over us.”
“You don’t understand—”
“And for that love, she died at Valarius’s hands, betrayed and in shock,” said the elven king corrected. “You condemn without knowledge, at a time when it is unseemly.”
Stunned, Arek said, “He . . . killed you?”
Sonya looked down, then nodded slowly. “True sacrifice was needed to send the first group to Bara’cor to realign Lilyth’s Gate. Valarius loved me, and for that I had to die.”
Arek shook his head, unable to come to grips with all this. He squeezed his eyes shut, then said, “There’s a lot I want to ask you.”
“Later,” she promised, then brought herself visibly under control. She looked at Mikal and said, “What do you want?” Then she was quiet, her eyes downcast, as if in desperation she feared to say anything lacking propriety.
Mikal knelt next to the body of his son, then looked up at Duncan and said, “Let me offer myself as sacrifice.”
There was a quick murmur of surprise, but Duncan’s expression didn’t change. “What makes you think we care about you enough for the bloodspell to work?”
“Valarius linked all the Galadine kings to one ultimate purpose. Our blood opens the gates between worlds, a singular distinction lending new meaning to the term family.” He sighed, then grasped his hands together and said, “You cannot know the years I have spent in regret. I welcomed the death you offered me, but my misery did not end. Valarius summoned me from death to do his bidding and once again I saw myself wreaking havoc upon you and yours. This is where we end our journey, righting that wrong. I always wondered—”
Two things happened simultaneously. A black blade appeared, erupting out of Mikal’s throat in a shower of blood, the strike so sudden and vicious it caught everyone by surprise. And something whizzed by with a coppery flash and Duncan fell back as a torc snapped around his neck. The archmage sat down heavily, clutching at his throat ineffectually as the torc nullified his connection to the Way.
Slowly, Mikal fell forward, his blood splashing the inlays and pooling at their feet. As it did so, the gate flashed once and turned into the color of blood again. The shimmering curtain cleared and they could see the king’s party plainly, peering through their side of the portal though they could not pass into Avalyon without a meaningful sacrifice of their own.
Arek stood there, unable to reason out what had happened. He looked down at Mikal’s body uncomprehendingly, watching as the body twitched in death, the light of life leaving the elven king’s eyes.
Then a voice said, “I thought he’d never shut up.”
Kisan shimmered and then stepped into view, addressing the group. “At least he meant what he said about making amends.” She paused long enough to draw her second blade, “I’ll make this simple. Yetteje, Ash, Brianna—go through. Arek, you and the red mage stay.”
Arek stepped forward and said, “The blackfire is gone.”
“It’s true, I swear it,” Brianna concurred. “I was able to heal the part of—”
Kisan held up a hand and said, “I don’t care. These two are staying, not because they’re a danger to Edyn, but because they’re murderers.”
When Brianna looked at her in shock, the master arched one eyebrow and continued, “The red mage killed hundreds, perhaps thousands to gain what he wanted. He bargained with the demon queen at the expense of Edyn’s safety and directly caused the deaths of many we know and loved.”
There was silence at this. Only Brianna looked surprised, the rest having come to some form of acceptance of Duncan’s actions when insane, with varying degrees of success. The most hostile, and it was still plain for all to see, was the princess. It was clear that in her eyes Duncan couldn’t die too soon. Only her care for Arek tempered it, if at all.
“You’re right,” the archmage said simply. “But Arek hasn’t done anything. Take me, but let him go.”
“Nothing?” Kisan said, acid in her voice. “He killed an innocent boy, my son Piter. Weakness and indecisiveness stayed the lore father’s hand.”
Her eyes strayed to Arek but did not look directly at him, as if the very sight of him sickened her. Into the air she said, “I told Silbane that whatever else may happen, you’d not escape justice. I had to hold my hand because the blackfire would’ve destroyed Arcadia and freed Sovereign. Now, with the blackfire gone . . .”
Kisan finally met Arek’s eyes. “The truth is that your master signed your death warrant when he healed you.”
Kisan’s gaze wandered over to Silbane’s bod
y and her eyes seemed to soften a bit, then she turned back to Arek, “But that’s how he was, helping to a fault. At his worst though, he was a better person than you at your very best. Your actions forced my hand. Therefore, I also lay the charge of Silbane’s death at your feet, apprentice.” The way she said the word, it sounded like a curse.
Kisan stepped forward, changed form to her full armored height, and pitched her voice so the king could hear. “Pull those you love back before it’s too late. Anyone left here will be trapped, and if they try and help these two, will be killed.”
The king’s voice sounded distant but his order was clear: “Ash, get the princess out now!”
Ash began to move but Yetteje countered, moving closer to Arek and the group. Her expression mirrored her words. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re not taking her,” Arek added. He looked at the firstmark and added, “We’re staying together.” He noticed Tej nodding, and a part of him swelled with pride.
Strangely, the firstmark gave up more easily than Arek expected, instead turning to face Kisan. He moved forward deliberately and said, “What you do with Arek doesn’t concern us, but the red mage is ours. You admit his crimes against Edyn are many, and he will stand trial for them before the King of Bara’cor.”
Kisan shook her head, “A trial? Not good enough.”
“He’s torced. Believe me when I say he will pay for every death he’s caused.” The firstmark took a step closer to Duncan and met Kisan’s gaze unflinchingly, “But he stands under Bara’cor’s aegis. Stand in my way and we fight again.”
“I’ll kill you again,” she stated flatly.
“Maybe. Or Arek realizes his best chance is to side with me. You’ll face us all and jeopardize getting no one.” When Kisan didn’t immediately answer, Ash took a breath and said, “Agree, and we both walk away with something we want.”
Shocked, Arek spun to look at the firstmark. “I’m not letting either of you take my father.”
Ash flicked a glance at Arek and said, “I already beat you once by myself. Now you’ll be facing both me and Kisan. You’re good, but unless you’ve learned something new in the past few days, you’re not that good.”
“I’ll stand with him, Firstmark. Would you fight me too?” Yetteje, coming to a sudden decision, asked simply.
Arek looked quickly between the two, stepping back toward Duncan. “You’re not taking him,” he said as the white armor of Azrael flashed into being, surrounding him like a second skin in its protective embrace.
Kisan edged out to her left, flanking Arek. “If you have any honor left, you’ll agree to my judgment peacefully.”
“Do something!” Sonya cried to Duncan.
Arek looked at Yetteje and then his father. “I’m not going to let anyone kill us.”
Kisan slowed, then put her blade point down in the ground, considering. After a few heartbeats she said, “I admire your pragmatism, Firstmark. Well played.” She paused, her eyes flicking back and forth blazing through possible outcomes, then she said, “Very well, Duncan is yours. But if he’s alive in a week, I’ll kill everyone in Bara’cor.”
Such a threat from anyone else would be considered idle, but Arek knew it was very real. But Kisan wasn’t going to get her way. He wasn’t going to allow it. Arek drew both blades and his shining wings curved forward protectively in front.
“Take a step toward us and we’ll see what new things I’ve learned.”
Kisan took his dare like a black angel of judgment. She rose to her full height and said, “For the murders of your name brother and fellow apprentice, Piter Winterthorn, and Master Silbane Darius Petracles, I sentence you, Arek Winterthorn, to death.”
Arek let the words roll over and through him, her verdict delivered with such finality it brooked no argument except absolute guilt without reprieve. Yet a calm had stolen over him, a new temperance. He calculated distances, timing, trajectories . . .
Then a movement caught the corner of his eye and he flicked a glance, only to see his father walking toward the blood gate.
“Father?” Arek said, now swiveling his head and backing up, trying to keep both Duncan and Kisan in view. “What are you doing?”
Duncan met his gaze, his features drawn. His severance from the beneficence of the Way rendered him worn and haggard, physically healed from most of his torture but still nowhere near recovered. Duncan hadn’t paused at Kisan’s decree, but now he stopped, then slowly sank to lean against a broken statue’s pedestal.
He shook his head and over a rueful laugh said, “Firstmark, if you agree to aid Arek, I’ll go with you to Bara’cor.”
“What?” exclaimed Arek. “He’s not taking you!”
Duncan, still addressing Ash, held up a hand for his son to wait. “She can’t be allowed to survive. Our best chance is to join forces. If you leave her alive, you’ll pay for it later.”
“No!” Arek surged forward but Kisan was there, blocking his way with blades poised. She stabbed twice but Arek rolled quickly and then faded back to a stance.
The master seemed content at that point to wait, saying, “It’s fine with me if Ash stays. He’ll die, and I’ll get you both.”
“Take the Binding—”
Duncan cut Ash off, immediately saying, “I take the Binding Oath, to cause you no harm by my action or inaction, to follow you peacefully to your next destination, be it Bara’cor or elsewhere.” A blinding flash of yellow light surrounded the archmage, fading with afterimages of purple and green speckling Arek’s vision.
“Wearing that torc?” challenged Kisan. She turned to Ash, “How do you know he’s even bound?”
Duncan replied, “The Binding Oath encompasses anyone, or it would have been rendered useless to all except mages.”
The answer seemed to satisfy Ash, for the Firstmark merely shook his head, slowly looking over to Arek with an expression that asked, Is this worth it? It was clearly rhetorical, because the firstmark then let out a sigh mixed with an expletive, then turned and faced Kisan, taking a combat stance as well.
“You’re awfully confident for someone with a hole in her shoulder and no friends.”
“Oh, Firstmark, I’ve seen your skill. I don’t need to be confident,” Kisan sneered. “And as for my shoulder, well, you know how fast I heal.” She began to move forward to engage the two.
Yetteje fired two arrows without hesitation, both of which were casually deflected by Kisan’s blades, but for some reason the master stopped. She looked at the princess and said, “I spared you because, unlike the rest, you’ve got smarts. Consider that before drawing Valor again.”
Though her eyes and body didn’t move, Arek knew Brianna was being addressed next when Kisan said, “Take the princess and go. Let something good leave here. Edyn needs it.”
Brianna shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. Kisan’s eyes flicked down, looking at the drawn gun in the healer’s hand. When Brianna caught that, she quickly holstered it and held up her hands.
The dwarven woman swallowed and softly said, “I won’t fight, but I think we’re staying.”
Arek closed his eyes, knowing what saving his life had already cost. When he opened them Brianna’s look of concern told him she knew too. The patch on her neck was glowing green and pulsing steadily as she met his gaze with empathy. Then he glanced at Duncan sitting there, the afterimage of his fading Oath a reminder of his fate should they survive.
The need to act seized him and he looked around for any solution, his mind doing what it always did when facing real combat. Time slowed and his awareness expanded. Every miniscule detail, every thin slice of time, became clear to him.
The firstmark’s grip tightened, the bones of his fist cracking as it closed around the soft, leather-wrapped handle of Orion’s blades. Arek heard metal on leather and recognized it as Brianna’s weapon being hesitatingly drawn again. He could feel the air disturbed as Tej pulled back on Valor, despite Kisan’s warning not to do so. He could feel Kisan’s indraw
n breath in response to them all. He even saw the half smile his father gave him, a look filled with regret and remorse. That look told him Duncan expected to die here, and nothing anyone could do could stop it.
This isn’t happening again, he thought. I won’t let it. He wouldn’t lose another he loved to Kisan, no matter how skilled she was. She’d killed his master, and she would pay for it. He knew he wasn’t Ascended yet, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He stepped forward, his form illumed with argent power and screamed, “NO!”
Whitefire exploded in a conflagration that rivaled the sun itself. Everyone fell back, arms raised to shield their eyes. Both Kisan and Ash took defensive stances, however their actions weren’t necessary. They expected Arek to act with anger, but he did not. Cold calculation ruled his mind, a gift that felt like a gentle hand from his dead master.
Those surrounding Arek blinked, clearing their eyes, then looked to each other first to see who had been the target of Arek’s fury. Yes, he’d often acted rashly in the past, but his master’s gifts had tempered him, like an alloy forged from different metals. Arek was no longer just Arek, but an instrument made, unmade, and remade by the greatest wielders of the Way. He was a student of their teaching and born from their shaping.
His focused blast incinerated Mikal where he’d fallen, burning up the blood that pooled and fed the portal. It disappeared, vaporized in the blink of an eye, and the shimmering curtain clouded over, closing the exit from Arcadia to Bara’cor.
When Kisan noticed what had happened, she cursed and exclaimed, “Are you crazy? You’ve sealed your own escape!”
Arek thought about what the Piter-like shade had revealed, then looked directly at Kisan and shook his head, saying, “I closed that door because I’m not letting you get away. You may be the most dangerous person I’ve ever known, but whatever was in you that knew how to love is gone. You cannot be allowed to return to Edyn.
“I am Arek Illrys, son of Duncan and Sonya Illrys, and trained by Master Silbane Petracles. It pains me, but for the murder of my master, I sentence you, Kisan Talaris, to death.”
