The Aether of Night

by Brandon Sanderson

  Darro stood silently, watching Raeth’s false Amberite disappear in wisps of darkness.

  “Do you see now?” Raeth asked. “Do you see why I can’t afford to let myself pay attention? There’s a chance that whatever I see could compromise the Imperium. This is my duty, Darro. I have to remain as uninvolved as possible. Part of me is a Forgotten.”

  Darro continued to stand quietly, and Raeth felt his nervousness grow. He wasn’t so paranoid that he thought Darro would run in fear, but a part of him worried. Darro knew the truth—he knew what Raeth was. How would he react?

  Finally, Darro just shrugged. “So?”

  Raeth frowned. “So?” he repeated. “Darro, they can see through my eyes!”

  “You sure about that?” Darro asked.

  “Well,” Raeth admitted, “not completely. But it makes sense. Whenever I’m watching the battles they seem to be able to anticipate our moves.”

  Darro shrugged. “They do that when you’re not watching, Raeth.”

  Raeth paused. How could Darro not see the danger?

  “It seems to me,” Darro continued, “that whatever happened to you is an advantage. I mean, even if they can see through your eyes, won’t having a piece of them inside you let you understand them better too? We haven’t been doing too well against them on our own—maybe you’re what we need. Besides, your Aether obviously works a lot better now. That’s a blessing in itself.”

  Raeth just shook his head, leaning back against the door. The things Darro said sounded tempting, but were they rationalization? “I don’t know, Darro,” he said frankly. “I don’t think I can trust myself. If there’s even a possibility that I’m a security hazard, then it’s my duty to stay as far away from important events as possible.”

  Darro frowned, walking over to seat himself in one of Hern’s plush chairs. His bulk made the wood groan slightly in complaint. “That’s one thing I don’t think you’ve ever understood, Raeth,” he said.

  Raeth frowned slightly, moving to take the chair opposite Darro. “What?” he asked.

  “Duty,” Darro explained, staring contemplatively at the floor.

  “I don’t understand duty?” Raeth asked with surprise.

  Darro nodded solemnly. “I always used to watch you during our lessons with the mentors,” he explained. “Every time they talked about duty or responsibility, you perked up. You were so concerned with proving to father that you understood how to be Shaeth—that he didn’t have to make you a Dari—that you missed the entire point.”

  Raeth wasn’t certain whether to be amused or offended. “And what point would that be, Darro?” he asked.

  Darro shrugged. “To you, Raeth, duty forbids. It’s always about what you can’t do. You shouldn’t be involved with the war effort, because of duty. You shouldn’t express your opinions because you know your duty. You can’t do anything but sit in your cubicle and pray, because that’s a Dari’s duty.

  “You never got to the real essence of it all though. Duty isn’t about what you can’t do. It’s about your heart, and it’s about applying what you can do well to what will help the Imperium the most. At least, that’s how I’ve always understood it. I know I should be more reserved, but I don’t think understanding responsibility means that I can’t be me. Maybe I don’t know anything, but at least I’ve always been happy with myself.”

  Raeth sat, feeling himself slowly grow stunned. His mind went back to his visit with the Patriarch a week before. The old man, thinking he was Hern, had spoken with disappointment about Raeth. He had said that Raeth never fulfilled his potential because he couldn’t get past feeling he wasn’t suited to be a Dari.

  “Darro,” Raeth said softly, “I think that’s the wisest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  Darro smiled. “Wisdom strikes even the best of us once in a while,” he mumbled.

  “I don’t see how it helps now, though,” Raeth said with a shake of his head. “What if the Forgotten are really watching through my eyes?”

  “Then find some other way to help,” Darro said. “Use your talents; don’t just sit there.”

  Raeth sat thoughtfully. What could he do? What wouldn’t give any more information to the Forgotten? Finally, he looked up, meeting Darro’s eyes. “When’s the next defensive strike slated to happen?” he asked.

  “In about an hour,” Darro said. “I was on my way to be Sent when I saw you were in your rooms.”

  Raeth nodded, rising. “Let’s go, then. I might not be able to direct the fight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t lend my sword. If I’m fighting directly then I won’t be able to give them any more than they already know.”

  Darro smiled broadly, slapping Raeth on the back and walking toward the door.

  “Wait,” Raeth said, pausing.

  “What?” Darro asked.

  “I have…an appointment,” Raeth confessed. “Lunch, with Lady D’Naa.”

  Darro raised an eyebrow. “I’m all for carousing, Raeth, but there’s a war going on.”

  Raeth turned guilty eyes down the hallway. “I’ve already rescheduled her a couple of times,” he mumbled. “I supposed I could do it again.”

  Darro grabbed him on the shoulder, towing him along. “She can wait,” he said. “If you try to reschedule, that Shenk of an attendant of yours will never let you onto the battlefield.”

  #

  Apparently, her estimate that Hern would take another thirty minutes had been conservative. An hour later, D’Naa was still waiting in the cold dining room, growing increasingly irate. She knew the Aedin were an arrogant people, and she knew that Hern was the worst of the worst, but even still she hadn’t expected such treatment. He’d postponed their lunch twice, now he made her wait for an hour and a half—all after implying that he was vitally interested in speaking with her.

  Why do I let him get away with this? D’Naa wondered, sitting petulantly in one of the dining chairs. It was her secret. Hern was holding it over her again. He had her in a vice grip—if she didn’t do what she said, all of Kavir would suffer.

  The chamber door opened with a creek just a few minutes later, and D’Naa sighed in relief. Finally. It’s about time he came to—

  Hern did not enter. Instead, a faintly-familiar Shorriken scribe strode in. He was an aging man in the robes of an imperial bureaucrat, his beard-braid filled with beads to indicate a lofty rank.

  “My lady?” he asked, his eyes betraying a bit of chagrin. “I’m afraid the Emperor will not be able to join you this afternoon.”

  “What?” D’Naa demanded. “Where is he?”

  “Um,” the elderly scribe said. “To be honesty, my lady, I’m not quite certain. We seem to have lost him.”

  D’Naa gritted her teeth. Enough was enough; Emperor Hern knew her secret, there was no way to change that. The Imperium was bound to find out sooner or later—allowing Hern to blackmail her would accomplish nothing.

  She would have to return to Kavir and inform her cousin that they had been discovered—right after she acquired an Amberite Bud, of course.

  #

  “My lord Hern!” Taenen said with a surprised voice. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Nonsense,” Raeth said, stepping out of the ‘Sending platform,’ a roped-off section of frozen ground. The general stood beside the ropes, probably supervising troop arrivals. “I can hold a sword as well as anyone; I might as well be doing something useful.”

  Taenen frowned in displeasure, but Raeth ignored him, looking over the battlefield. In the near distance he could see a quiet farming community, but it was hollow and empty. It would have been evacuated like most of the towns directly in the Forgotten’ path. Imperium soldiers were arranging themselves into ranks along the snow-covered hills, waiting for the inevitable. In the distance Raeth could see the darkness—like a cloud shadow moving across the landscape. He exhaled softly, his breath puffing white before him, as he regarded the tide of creatures.

  So this is what it feels like, Raeth thought, trying
to still his nervousness. By the twins! These poor men.

  The Imperium forces looked grand, but Raeth knew that was simply a matter of perspective. He wasn’t watching the battles, but he did hear occasional bits of information. The army’s numbers had dwindled—they had barely half the force they’d begun with. Even with reserves and recruits from the Aedin population, they were still outnumbered two-to-one.

  Raeth frowned, noticing a discrepancy. “Where are the High Aedin?” he asked.

  Taenen nodded to a block of troops a good distance behind the main line, in a reserve position. Most were wearing either red or green cloaks.

  “What are they doing back there?” Raeth asked. “Did the War Counsel finally come to its senses?”

  “No, my lord,” Taenen said. “But I think the High Aedin have. It seems they’re tired taking inordinate casualties. The ones left have refused to fight in the last few battles.”

  Darro growled quietly. “Most of them aren’t really soldiers,” he said with a snort. “There’s a reason I prefer the company of regular men.”

  “I don’t see any Bestarin with them,” Raeth noted.

  Taenen shrugged, holding up his owl’s claw. “We’re not the same as Verdant or Amberite, my lord. We aren’t accustomed to invulnerability, so we aren’t frightened of mortality. Some of us die in every battle, even the ‘easy’ ones against the Harrmen. We’re just not politically important enough for it to matter.”

  Raeth nodded slowly. The Bestarin Aether was far less potent than the others. Usually, it was only used to heal its members—a piece of animal skin grafted onto a wound would heal the Bestarin Bond immediately. However, Bestarin’s power was nothing like that of Amberite or Verdant. Bestarin had always been considered second-class High Aedin by most.

  “Well, it seems your Aethers have served you better in this instance, general,” Raeth said. “At least you know how to fight.” He stood for a moment, trying to keep his eyes off the advancing wave of darkness. Instead, he studied the troop layout. “What is the Counsel’s plan?” he asked, then cringed slightly. Keep your mouth quiet, Raeth, he told himself. The less you know, the better, remember?

  Fortunately, Taenen didn’t have much to reveal. “I don’t know, my lord,” he said. “I’m not privy to their intentions. But, assuming they hold to their strategy of the last three days, we’ll engage the Forgotten, fight like madmen for an hour or so, then withdraw like wounded dogs.”

  Raeth frowned. “That’s it?” he asked. “They don’t try new strategies?”

  Darro snorted. “I don’t think they’re clever enough for that,” he mumbled.

  “There’s not much more to try, my lord,” Taenen said. “Terrain doesn’t seem to affect the creatures, and they see through our ambushes. We can’t distract or divert them. It seems that the only thing left to do is to fight, slow them as best we can, and pray for a miracle.”

  Raeth looked through the ranks of men, studying their faces. Most of them seemed to feel as Taenen did—they saw a war that could not be won. They saw death approaching as a wave of darkness, and they didn’t see any way to escape.

  Darro was right, Raeth thought, feeling guilty for his actions of the last few days. I’ve been ignoring them. I thought I had a good reason, but I still abandoned my duty. We have to fight—we have to find a way.

  Raeth took a deep breath, Amberite crackling in his hand. Then he paused, looking down. “General, bring me a sword,” he said, letting the Amberite drop to the snowy ground.

  “My lord,” Taenen said. “You don’t really intend to stay, do you?”

  “I do,” Raeth said firmly. A chill breeze blew against him, but it didn’t make him shiver. He could feel his heart pounding in anticipation of the conflict.

  “I don’t think that is wise, my Lord… .” Taenen began.

  “This isn’t a point that can be argued, Taenen,” Raeth said firmly.

  Taenen sighed, but nodded in acquiescence, quickly locating Raeth a sword. Raeth pulled the weapon free, feeling its unfamiliar hilt in his hand. Beside him, Darro regarded the weapon with a frown. “Hern,” he said quietly, “I don’t know how to fight with anything but my Amberite.”

  “That’s all right, Darro,” he said. “You’re probably more effective that way. Just try not to get hit—remember, your armor doesn’t make you invulnerable any more.”

  Darro nodded, and began to grow his armor. He stood perfectly still as the Amberite grew up his arm, then coated his chest and grew down his leg. Once he had support, the Amberite began to grow beneath him, lifting him up off the ground, thickening and growing. A few minutes later, Darro’s armor was complete, and he stood like a massive red statue of Amberite. As he finished, Taenen rode up, followed by a group of twenty regular Aedin soldiers.

  “What’s this?” Raeth asked.

  “Your honor guard, my lord.”

  Raeth opened his mouth to complain, but Taenen cut him off. “If you insist on fighting, my lord, then I insist you do so with at least some protection.”

  Raeth sighed. “As you wish,” he said quietly. The men formed with Taenen, Raeth, and Darro in the center. As the men moved, he noticed something irregular—something he didn’t expect to see. There was respect in their eyes. He frowned quietly to himself as they moved forward, walking carefully on the icy ground—sleet had obviously fallen recently—Darro’s massive feet thumping beside him.

  He saw it in the eyes of the other men as well, heads turning and ranks shifting slightly as they realized Raeth intended to fight. He had grown so accustomed to seeing dislike and resentment in people’s eyes over the last few weeks he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be respected.

  “General,” Raeth said softly. “Why are they looking at me like that? I was under the impression that I wasn’t well-liked.”

  “As a person, my lord, you aren’t,” Taenen admitted. “But they respect you as a commander—they always have.”

  Raeth’s frown deepened. “But, I’m not a very good commander, Taenen.”

  The general shrugged. “At least you’re here. Most commanders—the War Counsel included—never even visit the men. You practically lived on the northern border these last five years. The men have always respected that, sir.”

  Raeth felt a stab of mild surprise as his small force took its place at the head of the ranks. Hern, he thought, you actually did something right. It was a startling revelation. However, it was forgotten the moment Raeth looked up. The Forgotten were getting closer.

  What am I doing? He thought. The dark army was close enough for its occupants to begin resolving into separate splotches of darkness. They marched forward uncaringly, as if they hadn’t even noticed the Imperium forces. Raeth began to sweat in the cold air. There are so many of them… it’s hopeless.

  He’d spend most of his childhood and early adolescence trying to prove that he would make a good warrior. Now, for the first time, he was actually in a battle. It felt different from what he’d anticipated—he’d expected the nervousness, and the apprehension. He hadn’t predicted the cowardice. A part of him—a strong part—felt like bolting. He could go. No one would think less of him—how could they? They already thought he was Hern.

  No. Raeth thought, gripping his sword tightly. I will fight. I will understand what we are asking of these men. I will stand with them; I won’t hide in Vae Annitor. This is my duty.

  “The ice patches will almost negate the usefulness of the Mahallen cavalry,” Raeth whispered quietly, going through a strategic analysis to keep his mind off of running. “We can’t depend on them for flanking, or to cover our retreat. We’ll have to use the Verdant High Aedin instead. The Forgotten might be able to cut through their vines, but a wave of Verdant will slow them down nonetheless.”

  Taenen nodded thoughtfully. “I hope the Counsel realizes that,” he mumbled.

  “They have the larger force,” Raeth continued, mostly to himself. “Two, maybe even three, creatures for every one of us. Our gravest dan
ger would come from being surrounded. We have a smaller force, but not that small. If we spread our lines thinly enough, we should be able to keep them from getting behind us. It’s dangerous, but it’s better than being flanked.”

  “Reserves will be important,” Taenen agreed. “To shore up weak points. I just hope we can get the High Aedin to move.”

  “We should hold something back,” Raeth said, turning eyes toward the back of the lines. “Something the Counsel won’t notice—something we can use if the line weakens too much. How well can those Mahallens fight off of horseback?”

  “They won’t like that,” Taenen noted.

  “They’d rather risk breaking their horses’ legs?” Raeth said, kicking at the snow. “Even where there isn’t sleet, this snow is thin. It will get beaten down quickly once the fighting begins, revealing the ice underneath. I’m surprised they even brought their horses.”

  “The other battlefields weren’t so icy,” Taenen replied, moving to wave over an aid, then quietly giving the order for the Mahallens to dismount. Raeth blinked in surprise, realizing what he’d done as Taenen gave the order for the Mahallens to dismount and be prepared to act as reserve infantry.

  Raeth, you fool. What will it take to keep you from trying to lead? You’re just supposed to be a regular soldier.

  “Be ready, my lord,” Taenen said. Raeth turned, hearing a crunching sound steadily grow louder. Snow being crunched beneath the feet of an approaching army. Taking a deep breath, he raised his sword and prepared for the onslaught.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Forgotten crashed into the Imperium line. Raeth forgot nervousness and worry as the fighting began. Raeth’s honor guard stood in a double line to either side of him, but Raeth paid them little heed as he raised his shield to block the first Forgotten attack. The force of the creature’s blow shook his arm, and Raeth struck immediately, training a half-decade old reacting within him. Before he knew what had happened, his found his sword piercing the dark void that was his opponent’s chest.