by Matthew Wolf
Yet she feared slumber, for only nightmares waited there, brought upon by her dark deeds.
Gray…
The old man’s words echoed again in her head, haunting her as her footsteps sounded softly on the richly woven rug that ran the marble hallway. Who is this Gray? Hope bloomed abruptly. Perhaps he could aid her—perhaps he could find a way to make this nightmare end… With that thought, her fists gripped her scarlet robes, and Reaver Meira pressed on faster, as if she could outrun her own darkness.
* * *
Meira scuttled through the hallways, sneaking into the kitchens.
Smells of meat and bread lingered, assaulting her senses and making her stomach growl. She had disobeyed High Master Venasi Suroth and, as punishment, the man had forbid her from breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She was starving. Meira shivered and reached out, grabbing a sweet cake from a tin near the wide double doors. Sweet cakes were her favorite.
Suddenly, something snatched her hand. “Thief!”
Fear flushed through her. “No, please!” Meira cried. “I didn’t mean to! I was just hungry!”
The servant woman said something she didn’t understand. Her gaze was taken as a man appeared, his tall imposing frame filling her vision. Calmly, he pulled back his hood. Dark grey hair fell around a wise-looking face with stern features. He stood tall and commanding as he spoke. “Leave her be,” he commanded.
The servant woman was suddenly gone.
The man looked to her, and she tried to explain, her voice a squeak. “I’m sorry… I was just…”
“Your name?”
“Meira.”
“Mine is Ezrah. And you are simply hungry, Meira. Do not apologize. No one should be hungry.” Calmly, the man reached out, and the tray filled with fresh baked treats moved closer, as if held by invisible hands. The spark, she knew in awe. “Go ahead. Take as many as you want, and share with your friends.”
Meira didn’t question the man. Standing in the white light coming from the corridor, he looked like a spirit. Eagerly, she filled her hands with her favorites, hiding those she couldn’t carry in her baggy sleeves.
“If anyone gives you any trouble, including High Master Suroth, tell him to see me. The Citadel is a place of light, not darkness. Remember, Meira, always do what you believe is right first, and what is told to you second.”
“I promise…” she said.
Meira awoke.
Her eyes opened slowly, taking in the lacy canopy above her with its four elaborately carved posts. Her hands gripped her blankets. It had been such a sweet dream, yet sweat covered her again, making her thin shift stick to her slender frame.
Her room was shrouded in darkness—but still she could faintly make out finely made cabinets, rich rugs, velvet chairs, and several stands holding Serilian silver vases.
Outside the nearby window, it was still dark. She clenched her eyelids, hoping to drift off to sleep, but immediately opened them again. It didn’t feel right. None of it did. Something inside her was stirring restlessly.
She threw off her covers, slipped on her red slippers and moved across the room, splashing cold water from her Seria porcelain washbasin before gliding across the cold stone to the huge oval window beside her bed. The night was still heavy. She’d barely been asleep for an hour, and yet the dream seemed so long—and powerful. It still clung to her like walking through a spider web. And this time, she didn’t want to peel it from her. Let it cling, she thought. I deserve this guilt. It wracked her insides. Something knocked and her heart skipped a beat.
No… The summons? So soon? She hadn’t even rested! How could they want her back? Despite all her strength and years of confidence, tears began to stream down her face. She couldn’t do it.
She waited for another knock, but it didn’t come, and she breathed a sigh and then…
It hit her.
What was this? Who was she, all of the sudden? Frightened like a little girl by imaginary knocks on her door? Terrified and intimidated into being a puppet for Sithel? Was this the price of life? Her nails scraped on the polished stone lip of her windowsill.
Ezrah’s deep voice floated to her, sounding as clear as it had that day so long ago: Always do what you believe is right first, and what is told of you second. He had told her even then, and she had listened, always following her heart, and her curiosity. It had led her to such great heights, she knew, feeling the trappings of success around her. Yet somehow she had forgotten the words of wisdom along the way.
But no longer.
“It is time to do what is right,” she said fiercely, staring out the misty window. Tears, anger, and purpose rose inside of her, and she smiled. Still in her shift, Meira moved from the window, seizing a heavy woolen cloak from her dresser and throwing it around her slender shoulders. She moved towards her door. She didn’t have time to change, nor did she want to. She needed the others to see their urgency.
It was time for action, Meira thought.
It was time to save an Arbiter and a friend.
Questioning Darkness
THE NIGHT WAS A SHROUD OF black, the moon barely a sliver, and Karil was a shadow. A faint rain fell. It was a fine mist, but her shroud was waxed, repelling the light downfall.
Karil wrapped her cloak tight around her, moving with purpose. She had a contingent of ten Lando, her best men, including Temian, at her side. Their armor rustled as they strode briskly with hands on their weapons.
She was going to check on her prey, and she was going prepared.
Still, she hadn’t told Rydel. She knew what his reaction would have been. He would have forbidden it, and she would have gone regardless, but ignoring her trusted guardian felt wrong. Instead, it was better to avoid the matter altogether. Besides, last she’d heard he was drilling her army. That was more important.
Few recognized her in the moving troop and, if they did, she moved too fast to acknowledge their bows. She could not be fazed in her current mood. The more she ruminated on Rydel’s words, and on Hadrian’s, the more she felt she was missing a crucial piece in a puzzle—one that may spell salvation for her people, or destruction. She would ensure it was the former.
She passed low-lying green tents, long pickets of horses, and campfires that steamed, her stomach growling from the smell of roasting stew. She saw the curious commotion among humans and elves. Everywhere, they were groaning or tending wounds. But most prominent of all was the sound of snoring. Man, woman, and elf lay sprawled, many half inside their tent and half out, sleeping where they fell—as if too exhausted to move another step.
She smiled. Rydel was doing his job, as she knew he would. It meant her men would be strong. The sleeping men and elves still gripped swords tightly. It was a sign that it was truly Rydel’s influence.
She had a flashing memory.
Karil hit the ground hard, almost bouncing. She cracked open her eyes and realized her whole body smarted. Spots swam in her vision. When they cleared, a wooden blade dangled before her. She looked up into frozen blue eyes, to see the elf’s tall, lean frame. She blew dust away from her lips, brushing aside tears when she saw a hand before her face. Karil gripped it, rising.
The elf before her was only several years older, but in that moment, despite all her training and her noble heritage, she felt like a little girl. She was young, but he made her feel small.
“What did you do wrong?” he asked calmly.
“I lost,” she snapped back at him, feeling annoyed.
He shook his short-cropped black hair. Though he was the youngest Terma of all time, skill only meant so much for elves. He was still too new to grow his hair out long. “Wrong. Try again.”
“Just tell me,” she said, tired but mostly curious.
“You’re improving, Karil, but you still care too much about my blade, and not enough about your own. You sacrificed your sword to land a hit, and it cost you much more.”
She scratched her head. “Who cares? A blade is simply a tool. A person is the real weapon.” A breeze passed betwee
n them, ruffling branches and leaves. Eldas was in summertime. The air was warm, but the cool breeze felt good on Karil’s sweat-slicked skin.
Nearby, huge trees were in full bloom. They sat beneath their gargantuan brothers—trees that reached the heavens, a city in the rafters—and despite being fully grown oaks and Silveroots, these trees looked like tiny saplings.
“Your blade is your life, Karil.”
“No, my life is my life,” she replied.
“Not if it is taken from you. If you face someone stronger than you, what will you do then?”
“I have more than just the blade,” she countered. “You taught me to use my hands, feet, elbows, and knees—even my head. Everything is a weapon, you said. I am the blade.”
“One day you may be a blade, but not now. You’ve still much to learn. For now, you will treat that sword of yours like it is a part of you, and never let it go,” he said, and then quoted, “‘A soldier never loses his blade. Never lets go. Never surrenders.’” She sighed, but he held her gaze. “I mean it, Karil. Do you understand?”
She agreed at last, grabbing her wooden sword from the leaf-strewn ground, and Rydel attacked again.
She returned to the moment as a cart rumbled past her, carrying supplies.
Something unnerved Karil as she looked around at the starlit camp. On the surface, all was normal. Crickets chirped in the crisp air. She heard water being poured into a trough for a row of silken-haired cormacs, their coats shining in the dim night. All was tranquil. And yet… Somehow, she felt the camp wasn’t safe, as if there was a deadly desrah snake in their midst—one was obvious, yet just out of sight. The Terma. And no one else knew. She felt almost guilty. Well, she would end that worry tonight.
At last, she reached the tent. On the backside of the sprawling camp, it sat alone, just as she had requested. Only a ring of guards surrounded it. Otherwise, it was a good three hundred paces to the nearest tent and closer to the nearest tree line. In the dark, the forest of Aenor looked like a black fog.
Her entourage approached, she nodded to the nearest guards in greeting, and they made way. They looked vigilant, but there was something odd about their expressions. She saw edginess in their postures and a black rim to their eyes. But she didn’t ask. There was no time. She had been running them ragged. Perhaps they were just tired, but she didn’t truly believe that.
Inside the tent was crowded. It was smaller than her command tent, but there were no tables, or chairs or beds to clutter it, simply Elvin guards and an elf in shackles.
Metal shackles were fastened around his wrists, feet, legs, and arms—each was connected to a heavy steel chain that was fixed to a thick spike driven into the ground far away. Lastly, a wide clasp around his neck led to a chain wrapped around the massive wooden post in the center of the room. He was more shackles than elf. How had she been afraid?
Despite being without sight and hearing, Hadrian looked up at her entrance.
“Remove his blindfold and earplugs. I wish him to hear what I have to say,” she commanded.
A nearby elf obeyed, though he approached the elf as he would a poisonous snake. The cloth band over his eyes fell, and Karil held back a gasp, holding onto her fire and her weapon. If she expected sorrow or timidity from Hadrian, she was wrong. His eyes were all fire and, suddenly, she felt as if there were not nearly enough fetters on the elf. But then the fire was gone, as water thrown onto a flame, and sorrow returned to his sad face.
“My queen…” he said in greeting. “Have you discovered the truth yet?”
She drew a regal breath. “That is why I am here. It is time for you to tell me everything you know, Hadrian.”
His faced remained impassive. “I told you all I know already. If that is the reason for your visit, then you have wasted your time in coming here.” He looked back to the elf with the blindfold. “Kill me or leave me be.”
“I’m afraid you will not have it so easy. I have questions.”
“Then ask them and find silence my answer.”
Karil strode forward. All around, the other twenty elves gripped their blades tighter, many unsheathing them. She stood several paces from Hadrian. And despite the emptiness in his eyes and the slouch to his shoulders, she felt his power and strength.
“Where is your friend?” Hadrian asked. “The one you called Rydel. The Hidden.”
“On his way,” she declared.
“A lie,” Hadrian replied. “You did not tell him you were meeting me, did you? I suppose that is better. I doubt he would have let you come. He believes I am evil.”
“And are you?”
Hadrian’s eyes flashed. “What do you think?”
She waved the matter aside. “Evil or not, it does not matter to me. I simply seek the truth, and you will give me it. How do you not remember killing? And tell me how a Terma, one as noble as you, became so tainted?”
Hadrian’s face was bluff, stone-like, once more. “Again, my queen, you travel down a path that is without sight, without end, and devoid of footing. What you seek is gone. It is simply blackness.”
“I will not accept that.” Karil took a steadying breath then called, “Temian.”
The white-haired elf came forth, a black cloth bundle in hand. He handed it to her reverently. “My queen.”
Karil thanked him, and he remained at her side, hand on his hilt, which she was even more thankful for. She pulled back the cloth, unveiling a bloody sword, its blade shattered. It was Elvin-make. It should not have shattered. “Does this look familiar?”
Hadrian’s eyes fell upon the blade. “What is that?”
“It is the blade of the elf you killed, or what remains of it.”
Pained, Hadrian looked away.
“Do not look away!” she commanded harshly. Slowly, he looked back. “Leahwin was her name,” Karil voiced, fury growing. She grabbed the broken blade and put its jagged edge to his neck. She summoned the pain, imagining what Leahwin had suffered in her final moments. She needed to feel that pain, to hold onto that anger to be strong—to never forget what was at stake. “You took her life. You will answer me how she died, or you will face a similar fate. Yet yours will be slow, and it will be painful.”
Hadrian closed his eyes. “Put it away,” he breathed.
“I will not, and you will tell me.” She nodded to nearby elves, and they understood, grabbing his head and forcing his eyes open. “Look at this blade, and tell me how she died.”
His eyes opened and something strange roiled across their surface—an inky blackness, like oil swimming in the whites of his eyes. Evil, she knew. Hadrian may not be evil, but whatever lurked within that gaze was pure evil. “I told you…” His eyes clenched again, tears welling, not from sorrow, but from an inner struggle Karil could not witness—a battle he seemed to be losing. “I saw Leahwin and Sunvai… but I did not want to kill them… I opened my mouth to speak and…” More tears leaked from his eyes, Hadrian’s body began to convulse against his chains, shaking, muscles flexing. The elves struggled to keep hold of him. Karil motioned them away, stepping back herself. The chains rattled as he spoke through gritted teeth, “Words… I spoke… ‘Lay down your weapons!’ I called,” Hadrian shouted, eyes clenched shut, as if consumed in the memory. “They hesitated. I… couldn’t help myself… something came over me. I remember seeing light, and then darkness. They cried out. It was too quick. I was too quick. Sunvai took my knife to his throat, gurgling blood before he could rally a warning. Leahwin was quicker, parrying my sword, but her blade shattered. She had no chance. My blade found her stomach. I cut her in two. Her gaze… it was confusion. I enjoyed it. Reveling in the difference between her pitiful strength and mine. She had tears before she died, life fading from her eyes. She spoke to me, but the words made no sense. Terma, she said. But she was wrong.”
“Wrong? Why was she wrong?”
The chains rattled louder, and Hadrian caught Karil’s gaze, head bent, “Because… I am a Hidden.”
Outside, the w
ind was picking up. It raged against the tent, slipping through the canvas’ cracks, creating an eerie howl. It can’t be, she uttered inwardly, but kept her face strong. “You lie,” she posed. “Rydel said the Hidden were nearly all dead, that there were only two left.”
His body shook, and she realized he was laughing. “Lies!” he bellowed. “Your dear companion lied to you. You should ask him why.”
“Then you tell me!” she demanded, “Are you the last of Rydel’s kind? The second Hidden?”
“No,” Hadrian laughed and his gaze flashed up, agony and amusement churning in those piercing green orbs. “I’m the third, and the weakest of the three.” The chains continued to rattle in an otherwise quiet tent. Rain fell upon the roof, echoing the chorus. Hadrian’s arms were coiled steel, tendons flexing. Karil’s gaze flickered to the spikes in the ground. She breathed a sigh. They held.
“What did Dryan do to you?”
“Let me go.”
“Not before you answer me,” she demanded, holding onto her own restrained fury. “Tell me, where are Dryan’s forces? Their routes, their fortifications, their patrols—you will tell me everything.”
“Even if I knew, and I don’t, it’s pointless. Dryan is too clever. He switches his routes and changes the guards constantly. Nothing is ever the same. He trusts no one. And even if that wasn’t the case, you’ll never be able to get in. Not unless you can fly. The entrance is now locked.”
She growled. “Locked? How did he move the Great Doors?”
“Dryan holds a strange item of power. It gives him dominion over people and certain objects. I was there the day they moved. I saw him extend the object into the air and the Great Doors shuddered and moved, closing with a thunderous boom.”
Karil’s brows furrowed. “What does this item of power look like?”
“A great red orb. It—” Hadrian gasped, eyes glazing. His body shook, head twitching. The other elves gripped their blades nervously, but the chains held. At last, the elf looked up. Karil froze. Death filled his eyes. Not just the lethality of power she had seen in elves like Rydel, or the high-elf Jirah, but death in the sense of the absence of life. Whoever this was, it was not Hadrian. Murky blackness filled his once green eyes.
