“Who do you hope to find here?” one Veratii asked.
“Please,” Floriana bowed her head in reverence. “We only want to know where Stefan has gone.”
“Stefan died,” another Veratii declared. “The blood of the Prophet has cleaned away the sins of the past. We stand here to deliver an immortal brother of Dranasyl back to the dryads, and thus, our service is ended.”
In a brilliant flash of magic, the Veratii disappeared. The two women were left alone, as the dawn crept to illuminate the empty altar and broken chains where Stefan, Magnus, and Matthias were once held. Floriana sunk to her knees, a great wave of relief and awe washing over her.
Braya was filled with a terrible sense of dread as she wrapped a hand around Floriana’s shoulder. “Princess… we must make for Fosporia with all haste. Your father must be told about this.”
Chapter 26
Reunion
As the days wore on, the galley came into calmer waters, propelled by a persistent spring wind. Matthias remained at his post on the bow, watching for signs of land, but he had become aware that the priestess Song Wei had been watching him intently ever since the storm. Whenever he looked over his shoulder, her blue eyes would be staring back at him.
“Is there something you want, Priestess?” he grumbled when they both moved toward the galley’s supply of ale for a drink.
“You have spoken with Providence,” she spoke plainly, never taking her eyes off Matthias.
“Providence?”
“The Divine—heavenly entities,” she explained. “When you collapsed and the storm broke, you were visited by something not of this world.”
The warrior was silent. He had not spoken to anyone about his vision; as far as he knew, it was a hallucination, another trick of the mind like his berserker trance. “How do you know?”
“The priesthood of Shinai, the faith of Qingren, is divided into male and female priests. The male priests are soothsayers and diviners, the readers of prophecy and advisors to great leaders, but my sisters and I are empaths; we see the past and the present, counseling others on past sins and current tribulations.” She reached out, her fingernails long and painted as she ran a finger down Matthias’ cheek. “I can see that you have been marked.”
The warrior grunted as he pushed her away. “What do you want me to say, then?”
Song Wei smiled mysteriously. “Nothing. But, I admit, it is not the only reason you so fascinate me.”
Matthias frowned. “What’s fascinating about me?”
The Priestess chuckled. “Word travels fast in Qingren; we know about the ‘Disgrace of House Zhen,’ when its favored daughter ran away with the human rebel leader—oh,” Song Wei bowed her head. “Forgive me. That was insensitive. I am certain there are members of House Zhen who desperately wish to meet you. You are family, after all.”
Matthias scoffed. “You think I care? They’re not my family. They’re nothing but a name to me. Qingren is no home of mine.” He pointed out to the distance, to the rolling waves of the sea. “We’re traveling to my home. My people. The only ones I’ve known all my life.”
The Jaoren looked over the water, then softly shook her head. “No, we’re not.” She turned back, her blue eyes bearing into him. “Where we are heading, it is no home to you, not anymore. You are looking for one, however.” She rested a hand on his chest. “I am not unsympathetic to the plight of humanity. My lord, the Hegemon, must command my loyalty, but I will not act against you. You are a good man, I see it in you; but if you are still looking for a home when this is ended, may you at least consider Qingren. More people would welcome you than you think.”
Song Wei bowed again, and left Matthias alone. He watched her leave and sighed; she wasn’t going to be shaken off easily. After a deep drink of ale, he saw Magnus had taken up his usual post at the bow of the ship. Since the storm, the short mage had become quiet and withdrawn, grateful for how the crew had treated him, but something was weighing on his mind.
Matthias approached his friend, passing him a cup of ale. “Are you alright, Magnus?”
The mage was quiet, staring out at the waves. “I’ve stopped praying. I was so tired after the storm, I forgot about it. Then the day after that, I shrugged it off, then the day after that…” he looked back to Matthias. “I’ve prayed every day since Stefan came to me, for twenty five years. But now, I don’t even know if anyone is listening.”
The warrior nodded. “There’s something I want to tell you, about what happened when the storm broke.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t know if it was just something in my head, but I think I’m a little more certain, now.” He locked eyes with Magnus. “I spoke with the Creator.”
The mage frowned, narrowing his eyes. “What?”
“I didn’t know if it was real or not, but I saw him. He was made of sunlight, and he spoke to me in my father’s voice, then a woman’s. I think it was my mother’s.”
Magnus shook his head. “That could have been anything, Matthias. You were exhausted beyond any mortal limit—you probably dreamt it.”
“Song Wei doesn’t think so.”
“Then talk to her about it,” Magnus snapped, rubbing his forehead. “Why are you so adamant? We had to drag you into this, me and the other disciples, and now you want to talk to me about faith? Why?”
“I can’t say that what I saw was really the Creator, for sure. But, I know this much. You’re mad at him for the same reason I was; if he’s there, then he did nothing as he let us and his own son suffer. But having faith is more than just blind belief, isn’t it? It’s believing in something that made sense to us once, even if we don’t always feel like it. It’s like the sun, during the storm. What proof did we have that we would ever see the sun again? All around us were swells of rain, wind, lightning, and darkness, things that would either kill us or chill us to the bone. But you never doubted the sun would rise again, did you?”
Magnus was silent as he studied Matthias, and soon, a thin smile spread across his lips. “You sound so much like Stefan, there.” The mage chuckled in spite of himself. “He really had an effect on you, didn’t he?”
Matthias grinned. “He did. You thought he was gone for twenty years, and I never even knew he existed, and he found a way back to us once. Maybe there’s more than what we’re seeing.”
His friend looked back to the waves. “Let’s say I believe you. What did the Creator say?”
“He said I was more than a killer. That I had been many things to many people; a friend, a brother, a son, a champion. And what I am now is up to me.”
Magnus gripped the side of the ship, gasping softly. “Stefan said that to me.” He shook his head. “When he found me skulking in that warehouse, what won me over is that while some saw me as a murderer, to one woman, I was a son. And to him, I was a brother.” He looked over at Matthias, his eyes wide. “Could it be possible?”
The warrior nodded. “I think it is.”
The two were silent, until something caught the warrior’s eye. “Land!” He turned back, shouting to the crew. “I see land!”
On the edge of the horizon, alabaster cliffs crowned by rolling green fields ran North and South, as far as the eye could see. Matthias took in a deep breath, knowing what awaited him beyond.
As the galley sailed closer, Bai Feng, Song Wei, and the captain met with Matthias and Magnus.
“Me and my crew owe our lives to you two,” the captain, named Brutus, declared to the two Fosporians as he stroked his beard. “If we sail straight into the Qingrenese Imperial Navy, then so be it. We await your command.”
“We need not fear a battle,” Matthias explained, looking out to the shore. Some ways inland, there was a sprawling makeshift city, with hundreds of tents, bonfires, and a wooden palisade ringed around it. “The Great Moot is a gathering of all seven remaining Altani tribes, and all weapons are kept locked away until the Jarls officially declare its ending.” He pointed to the cliffs, which were adorned with
intricate carvings of griffins. “So long as the Altani are under the shadows of griffins, battle will not be joined.”
“But you've never been to one of these Moots, is that correct?” Bai Feng asked.
Matthias nodded. “This was to be my first year, but I was taught in all its traditions. No Altani tribe would dare cross the gods on this sacred ground. Our forefathers fought a great battle here, and legend says the gods would forever guard this land as a graveyard of heroes.”
“Then I volunteer my services,” Bai Feng said. “I have spent years dealing with similarly tribal entities on behalf of Qingren. I'm sure I can explain our intentions.”
The huge man crossed his arms as he stared down the Jaoren. “Do not talk down to the Altani. They are a proud people, and will not suffer an insult.”
The Jaoren chuckled dryly. “Believe me, I know my trade well enough to not insult someone I'm trying to ingratiate myself to.”
Matthias grunted, letting the subject drop. “Captain Brutus, prepare to send one of the Magister’s guards ahead of us, to Stefanurbem. I want him to pass on a message when Floriana returns to the city.”
Brutus nodded. “I have a man in mind. He can slip into the ranks of soldiers Cyril took with him.”
The warrior returned the nod. “The rest of you, lay low. The Altani are wary of strangers at the best of times.”
The others agreed, and soon, Matthias was left with Magnus. “Do you think you’ll find Alfred here?”
Matthias thinned his lips. “I'm afraid for him. I don’t want to see how this dark magic has twisted him. He's not like Cyril. He was a good man.”
“So was Cyril, once.”
The galley came as close to the Altani encampment as it dared, and Matthias, Magnus, Bai Feng, and Song Wei disembarked, feeling solid ground beneath them for the first time in weeks.
“Remember,” Matthias said. “Show them respect.”
The four traveled up to the palisade, the main gate under guard from a warrior from each tribe. Matthias instantly recognized the griffin sigil of the Bybics painted on one of the shields, and the squat, broad-shouldered warrior holding it gasped.
“Hakon?” Ingvar took off his helmet as he approached. “We were told you were dead!”
Matthias frowned. “By who?”
“The bast—” Ingvar stopped himself, clearing his throat. “Jarl Alfred.” The warrior shook his head. “He showed us your head! By Faolen’s Fangs.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Have you come to deal with Alfred?”
Matthias grimaced. “I have. I request an audience with the Jarl.” He gestured to the two Jaoren. “I need to speak to him about Sinrun’s brood.”
Ingvar and the other Altani guards stared at the Jaoren. “Are they safe?” the Bybic asked.
“I assure you, warrior, we mean you no harm,” Bai Feng stepped forward, bowing low. “I am Ambassador Bai Feng, representative of a great empire across the sea.” He turned to Song Wei, who likewise bowed her head. “And this is Song Wei, a priestess of our faith.”
“These two are friendly,” Matthias explained. “But they are both trained in the ways of magic, as are all their countrymen; and there’s an entire army of them heading for our lands. I need to speak to Alfred, Ingvar.”
The shorter warrior shook his head. “Hakon, you were banished.” He quickly held up his hands in defense. “Not that we don't regret it. We spent all winter looking for you, but Alfred found out, and…” Ingvar shivered.
Matthias was shocked; Ingvar was a hardened warrior, but now he was trembling like a newborn lamb. “The things he’s doing, they’re not natural. His powers have twisted him. He's a monster, Hakon. No one can stop him.”
Matthias’ gaze hardened. “Then I must see him. Now.”
Ingvar slowly shook his head, raising his shield. “I'm sorry. We can't let you pass.”
The hulking warrior crossed his arms as he glared down at Ingvar. “Are you going to stand against Hakon Wolfborn, Ingvar? I was Gunnar’s champion, the hero of a dozen raids; I killed my first boar when you were still pulling on your mother’s skirts.” Matthias snatched the Bybic’s spear, snapping the shaft in two like it was a brittle twig before throwing the remains down at Ingvar’s feet. “So will you raise your weapons against me, when I come with demons at my side, and risk angering the gods while shaming yourself with defeat, or will you step aside and let me pass to deal with Alfred?”
Ingvar and the other guards balked, and one by one, they stepped aside. “Do as you will, Wolfborn,” he said softly, letting them pass.
“Was that how one shows respect?” Bai Feng muttered as he looked over his shoulder at the stares of dozens of Altani warriors. “That is still the plan, yes?”
“We got what we wanted without a fight. That is how diplomacy works, is it not, Ambassador?” Matthias grumbled, puffing out his chest and taking up as much space as possible to intimidate the crowds of Altani around him. “Alfred’s done something vile; he has seasoned warriors cowed like frightened children.”
“Does he often change tack so quickly?” Song Wei asked Magnus quietly.
The mage scoffed. “Like a weathervane.”
The four of them traveled through the encampment without delay. The Altani that knew Hakon gave him a wide berth, and the others could only stare at the strange, marble-skinned beings at his side. They came to the Bybic Enclave, which was noticeably larger and grander than the ones around it. Griffin banners fluttered from tall watch towers and a stout palisade, and the cloth of the Bybic tents was well made, all of them a uniform black edged with gold.
“I had no idea Alfred had a flair for the dramatic,” Magnus observed. “This looks like something Cyril would do.”
The words tasted bitter to Matthias, who merely grunted as he approached the large, central tent. As he lumbered up to it, however, a sense of dread washed over him as he saw the Jarl’s honor guard. One was an imposing warrior nearly as tall as Matthias, his face obscured by a helmet, but the other looked horribly wrong.
“...Jarl Osbren?”
The face was instantly recognizable. The Jarl’s great, shaggy beard marked him, but everything else was off. He was noticeably taller, but all his body was mismatched. His arms were noticeably long and thick, though one was shorter than the other, and his thick gut was gone. His skin was sickly and pale, his eyes clouded, and there was an ominous stench coming off the Altani.
Matthias grimaced. “Jarl Osbren, what happened to you?”
Osbren suddenly snapped to attention. “I am Jarl no longer,” he croaked, his voice distorted and strained. “I bent the knee to Alfred Gunnarson after a shameful act of treachery. The Ilani are no more; there are only the Bybics. Hail Alfred Gunnarson, the true High King of the Altani!”
“Hail High King Alfred!” the other guard echoed in an equally distorted voice.
“Matthias,” Magnus touched his friend’s arm, disgusted at the guards. “They’re dead.”
“Necromancy, is it?” Bai Feng clarified. “I thought the Altani feared magic.”
“Evidently,” Song Wei said, studying their faces. “There are pieces of many souls inside; they know nothing but pain. They can't think past it.” The priestess shuddered. “There's something more—a presence recognizes you, Hakon.”
“Hakon!” Osbren’s face twisted into a sneer, and Matthias’ heart sank as he heard Alfred’s voice mixed in with Osbren. “You dare show your face here? I banished you!”
“I come unarmed.” Matthias held up his hands. “I need to speak with you. Sinrun’s brood has returned, Alfred. There’s an army that will sweep through these lands like a plague.”
Osbren’s face twisted, then Alfred’s distorted voice spoke again. “Enter, then.” The gray, milky eyes swiftly snapped up, glaring at Matthias’ companions. “Alone.”
Matthias nodded to Magnus, then took a deep breath as he pushed the tent flap aside. The unmistakable stench of rot hung stale in the air, and the smoky incense that clung to the
floor did little to hide it. More of the misshapen, undead guards flanked a throne-like chair, where Alfred sat, and Matthias’ heart sank as he saw his old friend.
In a matter of months, Alfred seemed to have aged years. His skin had a deathly pallor, and his hair was already streaked with gray, hanging in oily clumps over the silver crown of the Bybic Jarl. He wore a set of shimmering, silver scale armor over his black clothes, but it only drew attention to his emaciated body as it hung loosely on him. “Look at you,” Alfred rasped. “You’re not even ashamed to hide your mongrel blood. Do you feel pride in your pointed ears, Wolfborn?”
Bloodshot eyes glared at Matthias as he drew near, and a sneer spread across dry and cracked lips, a dry cackle escaping him as the huge warrior’s hand instinctively went to cover his ears with braids of hair that were no longer there. “What do you want, Hakon?”
Matthias respectfully took a knee, as he would have done to Alfred’s father. “You should know my name is no longer Hakon. I have taken up the name I was born with; Matthias.”
Alfred scoffed, listlessly tossing an empty silver goblet to the side. “You think changing your name will hide your dishonor?”
“I mean no harm to you, Alfred.” Matthias knelt before his old friend’s throne. “I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness.”
Alfred leaned forward. “What?”
“I was wrong to try and take the Jarl’s crown from you.” The warrior hung his head. “I have done so many things I am ashamed of now, and that is one thing that has weighed on me ever since I left.”
“He lies! Even now, he comes with mages at his back to protect him!” a new, harsh voice called.
Matthias stood up and saw a gray furred creature whose eyes glowed in the gloom of Alfred’s tent; a Vocendi smirked back at him. The warrior turned back to Alfred. “You’ve been listening to poor counsel.”
“I told you I had other friends.” Alfred smirked bleakly. “He’s taught me things I could scarcely dream of, and thanks to him, I will be High King.”
“Is he the one that told you to treat Osbren’s corpse like that?”
Ages Unending_Dusk Into Dawn Page 31
