Slowly he sat up on the side of the bed. Just moving from his position on his back to the sitting position took far more energy from him than it should have. An injudicious movement brought weight onto his left shoulder, which immediately buckled. Fire shot through his shoulder and arm. He did not recall screaming, but the chiurgeon and two of the maids rushed in to see what had happened.
“My lord, we did not expect you to wake for some time. Your wounds were most grievous. You barely survived.”
“I feel like it. Tell me, how long have I been unconscious?”
“Over a week, my lord. Most of the wounds have healed nicely, but you had lost much blood. Your healing has been slower than I would have liked.”
“What of Kahji? He fell in the battle.”
“He is gone, my lord. The rest of his warriors took him when they left.” Genuine remorse and sympathy filled the chiurgeon’s voice.
The words hit Alaric like a hammer. He had only known the great Igni for a few months, but they had grown quite close. He had known, he supposed, back at the battle. Nothing short of death would have kept Kahji from finishing the fight. At least his people could take him home to honor and mourn him properly.
“I believe I need some time alone,” Alaric managed to say through his constricting voice. His throat felt think and his shoulders heavy.
Perhaps the news would not have hit him so hard had he not also been injured. His arm would take weeks, at minimum, to heal. They never said it, but Alaric knew the chiurgeon and his assistants believed he might not ever fully gain reuse of it. Most of his blood loss had come from innumerable small cuts; the vast majority of those had been suffered when Frost Fiends had exploded. Despite that, there were a few major wounds as well. They had been stitched, but he had to take care.
All of this meant that Alaric had lots of time to think, and very little to do to take his mind off of it. He saw himself sliding into a deepening depression, but he could not seem to do anything about it. Mass and his private prayers helped some.
He never became as despondent as he had after Martin’s death, but he seemed somehow reduced. Those around him became concerned, though none of them took Sergeant Jehan’s prior approach to the situation. They simply watched and waited.
Alaric took to spending time on the castle walls at night. It was a good way to get away from everyone’s concerned glances and be alone with his thoughts. So it was that he was on the wall as evening fell, and a lone figure came walking from the desert.
For some time the figure was indistinct. The men on the walls watched carefully; they were still on alert from when the Frost Fiends had attacked. Few would come to the castle this close to nightfall. Fewer still would do so on honest business.
They watched as the figure grew. Soon they realized it to be far larger than any human would be. It was moving faster, as well. The sinking sun prevented them from making a positive identification. They dared hope this stranger was a friend, they gripped their weapons tighter in case it was a foe.
Finally the figure drew close enough to identify. An Igni, large for race, with bright yellow and orange fur came into the light of the exterior torches. He seemed young, from what Alaric could tell. His time with them at least told him this one had not been a warrior for long. The Igni loped easily up to the gates, and stopped just short.
“Identify yourself,” the sergeant of the watch called.
“I am Thoravin par Havrath. I come with a message for Alaric, son of Boores!”
Alaric had moved over to the gates, and nodded at the sergeant, “Let him in.”
By the time the portcullis had been raised and the gate opened to allow the Igni in, Alaric had reached the ground. He stood there waiting whatever the news was. He had, after all, lead the Prince of Infierno to his death.
The Igni came forward. He was tall for an Igni, but did not match Kahji’s sheer size. His exposed skin lacked the cuts and scars that Igni accumulated throughout their lives. This close, Alaric was sure he was young; he had to be an adult to have been allowed to cross over into Mediatus, but if he had obviously gained his majority only recently.
“Say your message, child of Infierno,” Alaric said formally.
“The message is written,” he said, pulling a scroll from a satchel, “My lord Kahji bid this be given to you. He said it would ease your mind.”
“Kahji lives?” Alaric felt his knees go weak. He had spent the last three weeks believing his friend dead.
“Yes, my lord, he does. His wounds were grave; even now he still recovers from them. That is why he did not come himself.”
Alaric took the scroll with shaking hands. He stared at it, unbelieving, for several long moments. Suddenly he remembered himself and the duties of hospitality.
“Please, join us. There should still be some warm food, and we can find you somewhere comfortable to sleep.” Alaric motioned to one of the soldiers to see to it, then retreated to read the letter.
“Brave One,” it began. Alaric could almost hear Kahji’s voice.
It is my hope this finds you well. My men bore me back to Infierno to care for me. Before I was conscious, I was back in my own realm. They did not know your condition, though one of the men who found me believed you to be alive. Indeed, it is only that hope that allows me to write this missive. Know that I am well. I find the thought of your passing to be distressing; I hope a similar thought about mine would be similarly painful. Therefore rest your mind; I will recover fully. We have defeated the Frost Fiends for a time. My father, who does know of Rajack, also seems to know of Parakmi, though he refuses to speak of him. I believe that ministers hostile to your people have gained influence while I was away. It may take some time to make my father see reason. What I do know is that no one here believes Parakmi could be a threat at this time. I hope they are correct, but I will be sending my own men out to make sure of it. I recommend that you do the same. From the reaction the name gets here, it is clear that this Parakmi being freed would be bad for all of the Realms.
Reading the words, Alaric felt his heart lift. Much of that was due to knowing his friend yet lived. As he considered the stirring he felt, he decided the rest of it was a spirit of adventure. Not simply having something to do, but having a goal. The tablets still existed. They still needed to be studied. Perhaps in them an answer could be found. Who was Parakmi? What did he mean when he had said his prison was weakening?
Epilogue
The ceiling arched beyond sight. Massive columns stood, holding up the massive structure. The room was dark, lit only by a shimmering light on the wall.
Purple, green, and blue light began to swirl and coalesce in the center of the chamber. The air, previously still, began to rush as though a hurricane were blowing through. With a final flash of light, the figure of a appeared.
In appearance, he seemed in his late fifties with a balding head and the soft hands of a scholar. He wore a scholar’s robes and a sash that marked him as a part of the royal court.
He made his way to that shimmering light. Someone watching his movements would see that they were unsteady and weak. Obviously something was wrong.
As he reached the wall, he looked directly at the light. On the wall hung the reflection of his own form, shimmering silver. It was bound to the wall by cords of eldritch flame, and it writhed in obvious agony. Nevertheless, it turned toward him as he approached.
“It seems you were right, Monsignor. The Firemarch was not the place to start. No matter; I will win my freedom. When I do, I will destroy these realms and move on to the next. Your people have delayed the inevitable, and no more.”
The shimmering form seemed to speak, though no sound escaped.
The man cocked his head to the side and answered, “Because I am Entropy. I am Decay. I need no reason other than my existence.”
Fire and Frost (Seven Realms Book 1) Page 26
