Rook stood to his feet as Commander Tarquin approached him. Tarquin stood about as tall as himself, and Rook thought the man carried a strange odor—damp metal and rust—just like the being who had stolen him away at the church.
“Rook Gatimarian.” said Tarquin, circling him, and Rook craned his head around to follow him with his eyes. As he did, Rook became aware that behind him was an opening in the skull and it looked straight down into the molten inferno below.
“Why am I here?” asked Rook.
Tarquin placed something light and cold into Rook’s hand and he looked down. It was the dagger. The one he had stolen from Karver and Garrot when he was just a boy; the one he had given Chazod all those years ago. “Did you make that?” asked Tarquin.
Rook looked at the dagger a moment longer, unable to believe it could be the same one. But it was. Undoubtedly it was. “Where did you get this?”
Tarquin fixed him with a cold gaze. “Did. You. Make. That?”
Rook’s eyes narrowed slightly, though he did not avert them from Tarquin’s. “No. This was made by my great-grandfather’s great-grandfather. It is a relic of my lineage; a progenitor of my own skill.” Rook flipped the dagger around in his hand. So close to Tarquin, he could see that whatever plagued the left side of his face were not scabs. They actually looked like flakes of rust. He also noticed that the man wore a gruesome necklace of what looked to be fingernails made of iron. Rook faced Tarquin squarely. “I gave this dagger to somebody many years ago. How did you come by it?”
Tarquin’s eyes glinted a fiendish way in the fiery light. “Is it important to you to know that the one it was taken from is safe?”
Rook knew that he was now in dangerous water. Tarquin was fishing for weaknesses; fishing for leverage against him. “Not really, no.” lied Rook, looking back down at the dagger in his hand. He held no ill-will against Chazod and knew it would devastate Kierza if something ever happened to him. He returned his eyes to Tarquin. “I traded this for something, long ago. I never thought I would see it again, is all.”
A smile touched Tarquin’s lips. “Traded it for something important? I can’t imagine a dagger such as that would be parted with cheaply.”
Rook smirked, though inwardly he was beginning to worry. It was now clear why Chazod had seemingly vanished. The question now was, was Chazod still alive? Rook decided it was his turn to cast the line and fish Tarquin right back. “At the time, I didn’t care much about the dagger because I could make the metal myself. I traded it to a fellow slave-boy. I believe his name was Chazod.” Rook sighed and bounced the dagger in his hand. “I was young and foolish and didn’t understand the value of a family heirloom.” He looked at Tarquin. “I can’t imagine he held on to this all these years. You find this in a pawn shop?”
The smile grew on Tarquin’s lips. “Chazod is fine, and I’ll have you know he didn’t let this go cheaply. Seems there is a common value to this dagger. He let it go for the same price you did: his sister.”
Rook bit his bottom lip and tried to stay calm; tried to think of something to say that might work for him rather than against him. But nothing came to mind. The seconds ticked away, and now Rook knew he had lost this game. It was over. He had given away his weakness.
Tarquin chuckled. “Well, I think it’s obvious I have an interest in this metal.” he said, raising his left arm. Rook could now see it fully, and beneath the steel plates painted to match his armor, there were pistons and gears that whined. There was a hiss of steam, and Rook realized it came from some sort of tank on the man’s back, hidden beneath his cape. His hand flipped around, replaced by a long, sharp dagger. “Seems I might be able to auction Kierza Fausts off, piece by piece, and get myself an entire armory made from that metal, eh?”
Rook swatted out with his left arm, striking Tarquin square upon his chest. Instantly the energy disc cracked to life, sending Tarquin stumbling back. He flipped the dagger around in his other hand as he spun and jammed it down through the armor of the closest knight. The knight howled and toppled as the blade sunk into his knee and Rook deftly stole his sword from its scabbard. He knew all about Crystallic Swords—Starbreaker itself was one—and swiped his thumb over the sword’s activation rune, igniting it into a roaring, blazing blade of fire.
The other two knights jumped back and drew their weapons and ignited them as Rook turned to face them. One of their blades crackled with yellow energy and the other knight’s blade tinkled like breaking glass as it was encased in ragged stone. The gray rock crept up the man’s arms and spread over his chest, armoring him into a hulking, stone champion.
The knight with lightning on his sword swooped the blade around, sending crackling bolts of yellow energy toward Rook. Rook dashed toward him, his own sword’s fire absorbing the energy. The knight brought his sword around and Rook parried it, the two blades exploding in a burst of lightning and fire. Rook spun and kicked the man in his chest, sending him back a step. Then he whirled in at the stone knight.
The knight moved his sword up and Rook’s flaming blade cracked against it. The knight swung out with his free hand, the stony fist narrowly missing Rook’s gut as he flinched back. Then the knight brought his powerful sword down and Rook tumbled as it hit against the bony platform of the skull, rumbling it like an earthquake.
Rook rolled up to his feet but now noticed that the two, rigid specters that had been standing behind Tarquin’s throne had stepped forward. In their gloved hands they wielded long, wicked, obsidian daggers. Rook took up a defensive stance as the pair bent forward at an eerie angle and swam toward him.
“Wait! No!” cried Tarquin as he scrambled up to his feet. “I need him!”
Rook’s eyes darted in all directions as he gauged the reactions of the knights and the two specter-like beings before him. And a smile touched his lips. Tarquin might know that Kierza was precious to him, but now Rook knew he was precious to Tarquin. He had some power back. He had his own leverage to work with now, and that would be more effective than dying trying to fight these men.
Rook deactivated the fire sword and lowered it. The other two knights did not lower their weapons, but one of them grabbed him harshly around the shoulder. The two iron-shrouded beings slunk backward into the shadows of the throne.
Rook fixed Tarquin with his gaze. “Threats hold no sway with me.” He tossed the sword to the injured knight who was struggling up to his feet, cursing as he clutched at the dagger that still stuck in his knee. He looked back at Tarquin. “Kierza is precious to me. The city you stole me from is precious to me. I will make you Everlight. I will make you all the Everlight you want. But not because I fear what you threaten me with. I will make you Everlight because of what you’re going to do for me.”
Tarquin scowled, his face turning hard and cold. But Rook could see the cracks in that mask. He had gotten Tarquin’s attention, and he had earned the man’s respect. But Tarquin was not the type of man to show weakness. Rook knew men like this; men like Grandon Faust. Men like this would rather die than show weakness; rather give up what they want than look weak before others. But weak they were, and Rook knew that all he had to do now was make his demands with tact. “And what, pray-tell, do you really think I would do for you?” growled Tarquin.
Rook held his gaze. “It’s what we’ll do for each other.” said Rook. “You’re a Commander. You have soldiers, an army. Send them to the city you took me from, to help my people fight what comes for them, and I will make whatever you want of Everlight.”
Tarquin regarded him for a moment, and his hard countenance seemed to soften a bit. His dagger-hand spun back around to the mechanical hand and began to stroke at the braids of his beard. “Tell me, what comes for your people?”
“An army from Jerusa.” said Rook.
Tarquin turned from him, and now Rook could see the symbol painted upon the back of his cape. It looked something like dragon fire, and Rook wondered i
f it was the symbol of his order. “Jerusa? Are your countries at war?”
Rook licked his lips. He wondered just how much he should tell this man. But the words of Saint Adonael still haunted him, Gatima is ancient. He is a King of Kings. His Exalteds are more terrible than your imagination can allow for. Goliath Minotaur shall tear your walls from their foundations. Titan Mammoth will grind you to dust beneath his feet. And what they leave behind, Colossus Dragon shall reduce to burnt offerings in the name of Gatima, the King of Kings.
He had grown up in Jerusa. He knew the cruelty in which Gatima ruled. He knew first-hand that there were no lengths which Gatima would not go to make something his own. Adonael had come to warn the others, and Rook didn’t think he would have done so lightly. Perhaps, Rook thought, he had a chance to turn the tide. He had some bargaining power, it seemed. He had to take the chance.
“I led the people of the city you took me from against the King of Narbereth.” said Rook. “He and his daughters were defeated, and my own sword took his head. His Queen went to Jerusa for aid, but King Gatima had her killed. He now marches upon Narbereth, to take it for his own.”
Tarquin turned around. “You led a rebellion against your own king?” His eyes went to the slave brand on Rook’s neck.
Rook tore his shoulder free from the knight behind him and stepped forward. “I am Rook Gatimarian, leader of Free Narbereth, and I speak to you one commander to another.”
Tarquin’s eyes inspected Rook for a moment. “You obviously know how to fight. Those were ancient techniques taught to Dark Star Knights. The shield in your armor is powered by one of our crystals.” He looked Rook in the eyes. “Who trained you?”
“I was trained by a Jinn whose name shall remain anonymous.” said Rook. “I have studied much about your order.”
“Is that so?” said Tarquin. “It seems you are destined for more than you were branded. What if I told you that here in Duroton your greatness could be made? That here in Duroton laid your true destiny? What if I told you that you were already here to help bring the armies of Duroton south?”
Rook was having a difficult time trying to gauge whether or not Tarquin was a man of honor; a man who could be trusted. He made no attempt to answer the man.
“If you can do what I need you to do,” said Tarquin. “I’ll give you an army. I’ll make your Dark Star training complete.” A smiled curled his lips. “Fire. I believe a Fire crystal would suit you well, with armor to match.”
Rook chewed his bottom lip. The Golothic burned like a coal in his pocket. “What do you want me to do?”
Tarquin walked up to Rook, confronting him face to face. “I want you to make star-metal as light as that dagger.”
Rook knew that surprise had betrayed his face. Star-metal? He had to admit, the idea intrigued him. He had had the idea himself before, but he knew it was an impossible dream. Nothing could melt star-metal. But this skull? Rook had a feeling that this skull could, and all at once Rook understood what this place was meant for. “You mean to armor your men in star-metal to face off against the Saints Caliber?”
“Oh, it goes beyond that.” said Tarquin. “I mean to take the very palace of Sanctuary.” Tarquin smiled. “The final age comes upon this world, one need only look to the night sky to see that. The Jinn tell us that the new age shall be one of death and destruction. King Dagrir, the King of Duroton, seeks to change that. Duroton shall herald the new age and topple the corruption of the southern kingdoms.”
Rook eyed Tarquin with some suspicion. “To rule all the lands yourself? To rule as you do here?”
“I am no King.” said Tarquin. “I am merely in command of this operation. In Duroton men are free. In Duroton men have rights granted to them by the very Lands. Duroton can come to rule the kingdoms of the south, and it will be a new age of peace and prosperity for all. You say you want an army to fight for your people against what comes for them? Then help us. We have been looking for one such as you. I was desperate, I admit, in having you kidnapped and taken here. Desperation drove me to use threats against you. But time is short, there is but one star left in the sky, and then the final age is upon us all.” He looked at Rook squarely. “Chazod is alive and well. He is in the city of Durtania, happier than he has ever been. I can take you to see him, if you wish?”
Rook regarded Tarquin for a moment, wanting to trust him. He had heard all the stories from Diotus about Duroton’s greatness, and their honor. He knew above all things that they held their very sky and lands dear. “Swear to me beneath the Duroton sky.”
Tarquin smiled. “Beneath the Duroton sky, I swear to you the armies of Duroton shall be sent south.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Kierza opened her eyes. Dreary, gray light from a closed window bathed her and she felt a hand slip out of her own as she sat up from the floor. It was Ertrael’s hand she had been holding. She had fallen asleep with him after Rook left. Everything had been a dream. It was just a bad dream. But needles of cold panic suddenly coursed through her. She screamed Rook’s name as she looked around frantically, tossing away the blanket that had been draped over her.
She shot to her feet, her hands clutching at her hair. “No. No.” she breathed, shaking her head. “No. It was a dream. It was a dream.” But it wasn’t a dream. And she knew it wasn’t a dream. It wouldn’t be a dream no matter how hard her mind tried to deny reality. Laying upon the bed, covered with a blanket, was Saint Ertrael. Crusts of white spit and yellow vomit were caked around his blue lips.
She spun. Outside the window the sleepy, late-morning light filtered through overcast skies. She saw the tree beneath which Karinael’s armor had been laid to rest, and its pink flowers blanketed the ground and rained down upon those gathered nearby. She saw the crude star of Aeoria that had been placed at Karinael’s grave, but there was another beside it now and she saw her mom and dad there. Sierla was collapsed upon the freshly turned earth of a small mound, Callad crouched beside her, stroking a large hand through her hair, trying to coax her to her feet. She saw Blake there, and Dontis, and a gathering of soldiers and knights.
Kierza fell to her knees and buried her face into her hands and sobbed. She didn’t know how long she sat there before she heard the door squeak open. She sniffed and turned around and saw Diotus come into the room. He was in his brown robe, the one with the fabric over his eyes, and in his hands he carried a cup of water and a small vial of olive-green liquid.
“The poison in Ertrael’s blood is an exotic one.” he croaked, setting the cup and potion on the nightstand. “If he were not a Saint, he’d have died last night.”
Kierza sniffed and stood up, wrapping her arms around her body. She didn’t look up at him or Ertrael. She couldn’t bring herself to. She wanted to ask if he would survive, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that either.
“He may yet survive.” said Diotus, his bony hand shaking and rattling the vial against the cup as he poured a few drops into the water. He set the vial down and from his robe pocket he pulled out a long, slender, leather tube. “Hold his head up, please.”
Kierza stepped over to him. She looked down at Ertrael and wiped the tears from her eyes. Then she brushed the ruby hair from his face and tilted his head up. As Diotus began slowly pushing the tube down his throat, Kierza turned her head away and began to sob.
“You must speak to him.” said Diotus. Kierza could hear the liquid trickling down through the tube in Ertrael’s throat. “He is in this body yet, and you must get him to realize that as well.” Kierza’s eyes clenched hot tears away. She wanted Diotus to stop speaking. She didn’t want to have to hear any of this. She wanted things to be like they were last night, before Rook had left. Why didn’t he stay home like he had promised? Why did he have to go? In her mind she cursed fat, stupid Ralf. She cursed Blake. She cursed that Saint Adonael who had come to the gate. She cursed Rook for breaking his promise. �
�Speak to him. Squeeze his hands. Touch his cheeks. He may yet live.”
Kierza felt the tube slip from Ertrael’s throat and she gently laid his head back down on the pillow. She turned from Diotus and cupped her hands over her face. Then she felt his hand upon her shoulder.
“You buried Rook’s sword, but not his body. Remember that.” said Diotus. “Even if you had, the spirit cannot be buried; the memories cannot be buried.”
Kierza nodded even as she began to cry again. She fell onto the floor, weeping into her hands as Diotus stood by her side, his hand upon her shoulder. And that’s when the sound of bolt-thrower fire began. It was like a soft thunder outside the walls of the house, drifting up the hill from the city. Kierza looked up just as the bedroom door swung open.
“Diotus,” said Blake. He was accompanied by Dontis and a small number of soldiers. “Grandon and his men are sweeping the city. Lucus and Tamus from the First Council have sided with him. Many of my own men have left to follow Tamus’s lead. I can’t find Sir Rivenal, and don’t know if his knights fight with us or Grandon.”
Diotus pursed his lips into a frown and nodded. “Any word about the Saints who were at the church? What of Hadraniel who got left behind?”
Blake shook his head. “Nobody knows. Nobody’s been able to get near the church to find out.”
The name of Hadraniel made Kierza cringe. Ertrael had dropped him before they could all get away. Ertrael had looked as if he were going to go back for him, but she had yelled to him to just keep moving. Perhaps if she had let Ertrael get Hadraniel, they could have healed each other. Perhaps Ertrael would be awake and better already. She had been selfish, but at the time all she could picture in her mind were the charred bodies beside Rook’s sword, and a bolt going through Ertrael’s head.
Blake stepped up to Diotus and leaned into his ear and Kierza heard him whisper, “What do we do now? We don’t have any Saints, we don’t have Roo—” he choked on his words and then composed himself. “We don’t know how many men will still fight with us. What do we do?”
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