by R. T. Kaelin
Feeling a touch impatient with the man’s tale, Broedi rumbled, “I still fail to see how any of this pertains to Indrida.”
The mage peered over at him.
“For you to understand the destination, I needed to take you on the journey.”
“Might the destination be coming soon?” asked Wren.
“We are close,” said Gamin, nodding slowly. “Something happened during our last night in Fernsford. Something I did not learn of until we had been living at the enclave for a time.”
Hopeful, Broedi prompted, “And what might that be?”
“Five years after we arrived, Thaddeus and I were sitting alone in a tavern in Claw. It was Rintira’s Leisure Day and the town had celebrated appropriately. Claiming exhaustion, Marie had excused herself early—” he glanced at Jak “—she was carrying you at the time. After one or six cups too many, Sevan had left as well. I don’t remember how, but somehow Thad and I got to talking about our escape of Fernsford. I asked him—jovially, mind you—if Marie and he had second thoughts about helping me escape.”
A harsh chuckle slipped from the mage.
“His demeanor changed quicker than the weather at Storm Island. One moment, he was smiling and jesting, and the next, he was deadly quiet. He stares at me across the table and says, ‘Can you keep a secret?’ I claimed I could and he proceeded to tell a story that, until two days ago, I thought was nothing but the ramblings of a wine-addled friend.”
“You are talking about our father, yes?” asked Nikalys. “He never drank more than a cup of wine at any festival.”
Gamin looked over at the young man.
“Perhaps he learned his lesson. Too much of the stuff loosens the tongue. He certainly would not have shared the tale he did otherwise. He sought me out the next day—bleary-eyed, mind you—and made a point to laugh off his story as a playman’s tale.”
“What did he share?” asked Broedi.
Looking up to him, Gamin said, “That when he returned to his room in the smithy, he found a strange woman there. A woman ‘draped in a dress that had been dipped in a rainbow.’ That she ‘shimmered in light as though she stood on a mountain’s peak at midday.”
His subdued announcement was met with stunned silence. Even Broedi was taken aback a bit. He had suspected Gamin was harboring some sort of knowledge of Indrida’s involvement, but nothing like this.
Gamin continued, saying, “He said the woman—Hells, I might as well name her for who she was, shouldn’t I? He said that Indrida ordered him and Marie to leave Fernsford that night. She told them they were ‘important.’” He turned his gaze to Nikalys and Kenders. “We all know why, now, don’t we?”
The pair, along with Jak, remained quiet, clearly taken aback by Gamin’s revelation.
An amused chuckle slipped from Wren, as unexpected as a seagull’s cry in the middle of the Borderlands.
“Based on those faces, might I assume your foster parents never shared this with you?”
Kenders, Jak, and Nikalys all shook their heads slowly, almost in unison.
“No,” mumbled Jak. “This was one story Father never told us.”
Nundle chimed in quietly, “So Indrida has inserted herself into…whatever is happening three times, then?”
“Three times of which we are aware,” rumbled Broedi.
“Oh,” muttered the tomble. “Good point.”
Everyone in the room went quiet as they tried to sort out this new information. After a few moments, Nikalys sat tall in his chair, cleared his throat and announced, “Well, that settles things, then.”
Broedi, along with everyone else, turned to stare at the young man. Nikalys pushed himself from his chair and stood tall, placing his hands on his hips.
“We have two tasks laid before us.”
The confidence with which he spoke surprised Broedi. He himself had yet to come to any sort of conclusion as to what their next move should be.
“And what might those be?”
“First, we need to find out where the bulk of Tandyr’s army truly is. We all agree now that Demetus was merely a ruse to keep us occupied, yes?”
Heads around the room bobbed up and down.
Turning to face Duke Rholeb, Nikalys said, “My Lord, send messengers to every town and city in the Marshlands, seeking any word of the Sudashians’ passage. Rumors, whispers, whatever. Also, I would like as many scouts as you can spare to your northern border. Duke Everett has thrown his lot in with the Cabal. Perhaps Tandyr has gone there with intentions to invade the northern duchies.”
“What are you basing this on?” asked the duke. “Logic or intuition?”
“Both,” said Nikalys. “More of the latter than the former, though.”
Duke Rholeb’s eyebrows rose high.
“You’re asking me to take a lot of definitive action based on a guess, young man.”
“Yes, I am,” agreed Nikalys. “But we cannot wait around, hoping Miriel Syncent will smuggle us another message about Tandyr’s plan. We need information and we won’t get it by sitting here. Send the messengers and scouts, my Lord.”
Duke Rholeb sat in silence for a moment, rubbing his fingers over his moustache, before nodding once.
“Agreed.”
“Good,” said Nikalys. Turning to Broedi, he added, “Secondly, we need to know what Nelnora’s true intentions are. To my eye, she is putting the outcome of this struggle in jeopardy. Although, to be honest, I am starting to wonder if that might not be her goal.”
Broedi frowned slightly. Nikalys had just given voice to one of his own concerns.
Sabine asked, “Why would she do that?”
“Don’t forget who we’re dealing with,” said Tobias. “Nelnora’s dominion is balance and order. She strives for equilibrium. Too much good in the world is as abhorrent to her as too much evil.”
Jak muttered, “I would say evil’s got the better hand at the moment.”
“Agreed,” conceded Broedi. “Yet Nikalys is correct. We must try to determine what her intentions are.”
Reaching up to scratch his chin, Tobias asked, “I suppose that means you think we should go back to the Seat of Nelnora, then?”
“I do,” said Nikalys. “I’m tired of the Gods and Goddesses playing with our lives like we’re some blasted peg on a radigan board. My fate should be decided by one person alone: me.” Looking around the room, he added, “I’m not the only one who feels that way, am I?”
As most everyone nodded in agreement, Broedi shared a look with Tobias and Wren, silently inquiring what they thought of Nikalys’ plan. Both nodded.
“Agreed, then,” said Broedi.
“And what if she won’t tell us the truth?” asked Jak. “Or worse, what if she does and tells us the Gods aren’t going to help. What then?”
As Nikalys turned to his brother, his face moved from a shadow into the light. A set of deep lines spanned his forehead. The muscles in his jaw rippled.
“Then we fight the blasted Cabal ourselves.”
The skin around his eyes twitched.
“Alone.”
Epilogue
Year’s End, 4999
A tiny vibration ran through the cold, damp stone floor.
The lone figure in the darkened cell opened his eyes and looked to the dim rectangle on the far wall. Stubborn bits of light fought their way through the crevices of the door he knew was there. Lying on his side with his bearded cheek pressed on stone, he stared and waited, wondering if he had imagined the sensation, hoping he had.
He could not judge how long it had been since her last visit, whether it had been days or weeks. The gloom of his windowless cell was constant. There was no day here. No night. The only way to mark the passage of time was counting the number of putrid breaths he drew, and he had ceased doing that a long time past. Years ago. Decades perhaps.
As he stared at the dim edges of the doorway, waiting, a broken part of him rose up inside, silently pleading the door to open, yearning for a break to his
life’s maddening monotony. He shoved that part of him away, knowing what was to follow should she be coming.
A deep thud filled the hall outside, followed by a hollow, echoing clang. Dread—and a bit of relief—washed over him.
He tried to push himself up from the cold stone, determined to meet his visitor on his own two feet, but his first effort was a futile one. His captor fed him enough food to keep him alive, nothing more. The trough in his cell was full of water that was so dirty and rank that he only drank when he had to. The dark, crawly things living in it seemed to like it fine, but he did not.
Grunting, he tried again to rise from the floor. He failed to stand, yet managed to shift into a sitting position. The effort left him panting and exhausted. He reached up to pull back his long hair and smooth his matted beard as best he could. He slowed his breathing, composing himself for what was to come.
In a cracked, dry as dust voice, he whispered, “Stay strong.”
Scuffling footsteps approached the other side of the cell door.
“Be resolute.”
He lifted his head to face the entryway.
“Live well.”
With his gaze fixed on the dim rectangle, he summoned forth an old memory and locked the scene in his mind’s eye. It was the only way he could survive these sessions.
“Love fully.”
A young boy with sandy brown hair matching his own scrambled into his lap and, using the broken speech of a toddler, demanded to see the baby he held cradled in his arms. Smiling wide, he helped situate the boy on his right knee, careful to ensure the toddler did not inadvertently bump his new sister. The baby cooed softly, drawing the attention of father and son alike. Tiny curls of golden hair the color of Harvest straw poked from under the blanket wrapped tightly around her. Her rich, brown eyes stared up at him, wide and alert. He shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable, and accidently let the sunlight streaming through the window shine in her face. Her eyes flashed hazel before she quickly shut them against the sudden brightness. A small whimper of discomfort slipped from her, prompting the boy to reach out and grasp his sister’s hand.
In the cell, the man smiled, happy and interminably sad at the same time.
A click and a clink announced the door’s lock had been undone. Setting his jaw, the man stared at the lines of light. His eyes turned cold.
The heavy iron door opened with a rattle and swung into the cell slowly, letting in a rush of light. Squinting against the sudden brightness, the man lifted a hand to shade his eyes as a waft of sweet, fresh air washed over him. The hallway beyond was lit with torches and magical lanterns alike.
Before the pain began anew, he took a brief moment to play a game with himself. Betting that it was night, he blinked repeatedly, trying to see past the figure looming in the doorway and down the long hallway. At the far end was the only window he had seen in years. It was dark outside. He smiled, right yet again.
His captor spoke, her voice echoing with a dark and worrisome power.
“You are in a good mood today.”
The man shifted his gaze to the silhouetted figure. Light from the hallway shone through the edges of her long, lustrous hair, creating a haloed line around her head. It reminded him of the sun shining behind a dark and stormy cloud.
“I had a good rest,” rasped the man.
“Did you now?”
Nodding, he turned his head to look about his filthy cell.
“Although I would sleep better if I had that mat I requested. When might I expect that to arrive?”
“And here I was, considering having a bed made for you. With a goose-feather mattress, even. But if you would prefer a mat, I can surely accommodate that.”
Her sarcastic tone triggered a flicker of alarm in his chest. His captor did not have a sense of humor.
He hesitated for only a moment before replying, “How kind of you, Cadrin. The bed sounds wondrous. I rescind my request for the mat.”
Cadrin tilted her head to the side while remaining ominously silent. He could feel her eyes studying him and was glad he could not see them. They made him uneasy.
The silence between them stretched out.
His gaze flicked down the hallway and, for a brief moment, he considered another attempt at escape. As his gaze locked onto a spot below the window, Cadrin spoke.
“Oh, please try. I would enjoy watching you fail again.”
She was right. Any attempt to flee would be futile. The part of him that had once made him special was still there—he could sense it—but his body was incapable of responding to his will. Years of malnutrition had withered him. With a defeated sigh, he dropped his gaze to the floor.
“As I thought,” muttered Cadrin. “A pity, though. You were much more fun to play with before you had given up.”
The man glared at her and spat, “I have not given up.” The strength in his voice surprised him.
“No?” inquired Cadrin as she took a few, slow steps into the cell. “Are you sure about that?”
He stared at the robed figure still shrouded by the shadows, drew in a quiet breath, and let it back out again.
“Can we just begin today’s session? I have a busy day ahead of me and you are wasting my time.”
“There will be no session today.”
Unable to keep the surprise from his voice, the man asked, “Why not?”
“There is nothing you can tell us that we do not already know for ourselves now.”
A sick, empty feeling gripped the man’s chest. Trying to keep his voice even, he asked, “What does that mean?”
Cadrin lowered herself into a crouch, arranging her robes as she knelt. The soft, bluish tint of one of the magical lantern lights illuminated the left side of her face, revealing pale, wrinkled skin. A blood-red pupil surrounded by a cat-like, bright orange iris, peered at him. She spoke, her voice soft and full of wicked anticipation.
“I have a recent development to share with you.”
He remained silent, waiting, the pit in his chest yawning wide.
An evil, supremely confident grin crept over her face.
“We found them.”
He shook his head, muttering, “You have tried this tact before, Cadrin. Didn’t work then, won’t work now.”
The smile on her face widened.
“Ah, but this time I speak the truth.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
Cadrin remained motionless, her unnatural eye boring into him, studying, watching. Her smile widened a fraction more as she whispered, “Believe whatever you like, you poor, broken, foolish man. I no longer care.”
With a great swish of robes, she stood, spun around, and strode to the door. Reaching out with a pale hand, she gripped the ring handle, stopped, and half-turned to look over her shoulder.
“Apparently, your son looked just like you. At least how you did when you first came to us. He was a strapping lad from all accounts. Good with the blade, too.”
Bile rose from his stomach and caught in the back of his throat. He struggled to show no reaction, not wanting to grant her satisfaction or confirmation. She could be guessing.
“And your little girl?” continued Cadrin. “She grew into a true beauty, her hair golden and bright. Just like her mother’s.”
He bit the inside of his cheek so hard that blood filled his mouth. Any bit of hope that Cadrin was lying went plummeting down a deep, black chasm inside his soul.
With a soft, delighted chuckle, Cadrin said, “You would have been proud of them. They fought valiantly.”
Unable to help himself, he asked, “What does that mean?”
“It means what it means. They fought valiantly. Then they lost, dying as Demetus’ walls came tumbling down on them both. How sad for you.”
“Impossible,” muttered the man. “You are lying! The prophecy—”
“Is wrong, apparently,” interjected Cadrin. “It would seem Indrida was wrong. Again.”
Cadrin, the mortal incarnat
ion of the God of Pain, turned back to the hall, stepped through the entryway, and began pulling the door shut.
“Have a good night, Aryn. Sleep well.”
Aryn watched the door shut with a resounding thud, plunging the cell into blackness. Utterly numb inside, he dropped his head into his hands and squeezed his eyes shut tight.
“No…please, no…”
Appendix
The Gods
The High Host—the nine good Gods and Goddesses
Name
Other Names/References
Sphere
Ceruna
The Hammer of Innocence
Purity, Hope, and Justice
Khanos
The Vital Soul
Life
Luraana
The Villager
Community
Mu
The Bright Blade
Light, Sun, Honor, War
Rheoc
Delver of the Deep
Earth, Mines, Smiths
Roden
The Rebellious One
Change and Freedom
Sormina
Graceful Guider of Hearts
Beauty and Love
Sutri
Guardian of Eras
Summer and Time
Tirnu
The Ruler of Rules
Law
The Gods and Goddess that are Neither
Name
Other Names/References
Sphere
A’shana
The Inspired One
Ideas and Innovation
Chalchalu
Filler of Purses
Commerce and Wealth
Duryn
The Great Artisan
Industry and Crafters
Gaena
The Master Weaver
Magic
Greya
Cold Twister of Fate
Winter and Fate
Horum
The Strong Arm
