by K L Reinhart
The Hexan smiled.
15
A Null’s Purpose
“Kol,” said Tanwen, leading the elf across the darkened green and past the low walls of the ruins where the bird-masked storyteller had so recently entertained the now-thinning crowds.
The tale of the leading Emarii had been a dark one and full of woe. It seemed as though the assembled throngs had not wanted to stay, in case another such warning met their ears.
“So . . . You’re about to tell me that you want to go see the Elder Beings?” Kol said, surprising the elf that approached him.
What? Terak froze in the night. He hadn’t even opened his mouth to say anything to the man, but he kept his face expressionless as he stood stock still. A trick that Jacques had taught him. Only give people the information they need.
Not that any of the Black Keep’s techniques and exercises appeared to make a blind bit of difference to the Emarii, as he turned with a suave, sophisticated flourish and fixed the assassin with a sharp eye.
The human had removed the crow-like bird mask from his features. Terak found himself a little surprised to see that he was human after all, underneath it. There was something of the bird-like Elder Being persona that he had donned, however, as the man cocked his head to look at him through only one hard glittering eye, just as a bird might.
“Here,” Tanwen was already gesturing to help the man with his black feather-cloak, which Terak now saw was heavier than he had imagined. It was actually a wrap-around garment, with several straps and strips of feather-stitched materials, revealing a thick harness that girded the man’s upper chest and again at his hips.
Probably how he had managed to give the appearance of flying, Terak saw, as the younger woman undid buckles and rings from the harness, unlacing cords that trailed on the floor behind him. The cord itself appeared light and only gleamed a little in the direct torch light.
No wonder people didn’t see it at first, the elf thought.
“Ha! Learning all our secrets, too, are you?” Kol said with a sarcastic cough. He was a thin, almost emaciated human in what must be his sixth decade, the elf thought, with a fuzz of dark colored hair cut close to his scalp. Terak thought it must have once grown into a thick close curl in his younger years.
“How about this one?” Kol continued. Suddenly the older man, freed from his harness and cloak, was at Terak’s side, one slender and dark hand raised toward the elf’s face.
“Hss!” Terak reacted, dodging to one side from the sudden attack, one hand already raising in a defensive block—that met nothing but air. Kol had already snatched his hand away as he lightly bounced back on the balls of his feet.
Terak, Kol, and Tanwen all froze, with the assassin’s mind already racing with the thoughts on all the ways that he could disable the man.
“You probably could take me down, too,” Kol said in a measured tone, as if he had read Terak’s thoughts. “I know that’s what you’re thinking,” the storyteller explained with a smooth gesture of his hands. “I can read it in your face as plain as day. Don’t they teach you anything up there in that cold locker they call the Black Keep?”
“Hss!” Another startled exclamation from the elf as Terak took a step backwards. How does he know where I’m from?!
“Or maybe it’s the fact that you’re an elf, am I right? Did those grim-faces never want to tell you how to hide your intentions?” Kol murmured thoughtfully, stroking his bare chin as he looked at Terak, like the elf was a particularly peculiar horse that the storyteller was considering buying.
“How did you know?” Terak said, earning a snort of mirth from Tanwen, who was busy coiling up the ropes and wires and moving across the ruins to where secretive pulleys and stage mechanisms were clearly in place.
“Oh, Kol can read the life story of the fleas by looking at the dog!” she called out in exasperation.
“Read—?” Terak remained stock still, looking at the older human. Maybe there was something a little fey about him, the elf considered. Something in the way that he could move whisper-quick, to then return to stock still with just a thought.
“It’s the Emarii art, elf!” Kol said, dismissing Terak with a shake of his head as he turned to gather the cloak. “The Emarii are storytellers, but we’re also listeners and watchers—if you’d listened between the words of my tale, you would have figured that out already,” Kol explained.
“That was why the Elder Beings approached Edar Marvas, first of our kind, to begin with. Edar listened to the Forest of Hon, and listening isn’t just about using your ears—pointed or no—it’s about using all of your senses.”
Terak nodded, moving to keep pace with the older storyteller as he started to walk to the back of the ruins with the feather-cloak bundle. The elf could understand that much of what the Emarii art must be. It was similar in some ways to the Black Keep’s training, he mused.
“It helps with the passing on of the Elder tales, of course,” Kol said. “To know how and when to give the crescendo, the punchline, or to draw out the suspense. You have to listen to your audience and read what their eyes and hearts are telling you—and what they are ready to hear, of course.”
The storyteller paused at the back of the ruins where the ancient block wall was highest, to be joined by Tanwen with bags of cords. There was a little refurbished door there, which Kol opened with a key kept on a chain about his neck—no magic unlocking words here, Terak saw—to reveal a cozy wooden hut-room on the inside.
“And I could read how your body straightened up, and you looked and listened with your full attention when I started talking about the Elder Beings,” Kol explained. “Just as it’s plain as day to anyone who has spent a moment in their company how a Brother or a Sister of the Black Keep holds themselves.”
It is? Terak thought. This was a level of body or mind reading that reminded Terak of Magister Inedi’s impressive abilities.
“But then, of course . . .” Kol turned to drop himself into a comfortable, blanketed round-chair in one corner of the shed, beside a small metal stove which still had cherry-red coals inside. The rest of the small room was given over to work benches and open shelving boxes, all wood, and all laden with the tools of the Emarii’s art: costumes, masks of fantastic creatures, more clothes, pots of salves, powders and creams, alongside leather and ropework tack that Terak presumed had something to do with the hidden stage workings outside.
There was a low bench covered in a thick-weave blanket opposite Kol’s comfortable chair. As Tanwen was already crushing herbs into water to put onto the stove top, Kol gestured for Terak to take a seat. He did so, tentatively.
“But then, there is also the mystery that you are a null, like the rest of us,” Kol said with gravity. “You are trying to hide your injuries in the way you walk, but you’ve had many over the last couple of years, and your body has to compensate in small ways because they never got magically healed,” Kol said, once again turning his head to one side to glare at the assassin in his bird-like fashion.
Terak didn’t particularly see much reason to deny what was the truth. “I am,” he said. “And I take it that you are, too,” he added. “That all of the Emarii are.”
The edge of the storyteller’s mouth quirked a little. “I am. We are. But don’t go telling everyone that, will you?”
Terak shook his head, but found that Kol was still looking at him with a broad grin. It was a friendly grin, and the elf found himself—absurdly—starting to like this difficult improbable human.
“But I should let you in on a secret, elf of the Black Keep,” Kol said, his tone and shoulders relaxing as if some test had been passed between them. “Not all of my knowledge comes from just what I can listen to. I’ve heard of the null elf of the Enclave before—”
“You have!?” Terak couldn’t help but say. “Was it Father Jacques?” His heart instantly leapt to the similarly difficult, but actually kind and infinitely loyal Chief External who had taken him in. Father Jacques had saved his
life, although there was a small part of Terak that wondered whether that had been the Chief’s plan all along, as Jacques was a master of spinning circles within circles.
“Ha!” Kol slapped his knee, as if what Terak had said had been an expected joke. “No, but I’m not surprised that you mention his name! We Emarii travel far and wide, and I’ve heard of the traveling Brother called Jacques who wanders many leagues from his frozen home.” Another fierce stare from the storyteller, but this time Terak remained silent. The protocols of the Enclave External demanded it, after all.
“No, it wasn’t your traveling Chief who told me that there was a very interesting null elf being trained in the North,” Kol said, leaning forward with both hands on his knees.
The storyteller’s voice went low, and if Tanwen was still pottering or making tea in the background, then Terak couldn’t hear it. A bit of that glamor that the Emarii had spun earlier in the ruins swelled in the room. Terak could have well imagined that just he and Kol were the only beings that existed at all, if he hadn’t known better.
“The forest told me to look out for you, elf. The earth and the wind spoke to me. The Elder Beings spoke to me.”
Terak sat stunned for a second.
“The Elder Beings speak to you?” he said, as the world slowly resumed its existence around them. Tanwen sat down to press small cups of something that smelled fragrant and light, like sweet-grass or alpine moss.
Kol pulled a face. “I told you before—I listen. And the Elder Beings have a way of speaking to people in ways that others don’t pay attention to. In waking dreams. In the middle of a forest at night. In the way that a tree loses its leaves.”
Terak blinked. “This sounds like magic—”
“There are many kinds of magic!” the older storyteller suddenly said hotly, slapping his knee once again.
Hyxalion—or Hyx—said almost that exact same thing, Terak remembered.
“Even nulls are a form of magic,” Kol sighed in a much softer tone.
Terak frowned. It wasn’t something that he could understand easily, and it surprised him to hear this other null be so ready to talk of their lack of magic abilities like it was a possible good thing. In his experience, magic gave him a queasy headache, made him feel sick, and as though every bone he possessed in his body was trying to jump through his skin.
“Why do you think the Elder Beings chose to talk to nulls in the first place?” Kol asked. “Why is every Emarii a null?”
Of course, Terak had no answer to these questions and so remained silent.
“If you had listened to my story, you would understand. Magic is ingrained into this world, but the natural magic of the Midhara is something called root magic.”
Terak nodded. He had heard his friend Vorg the Unwanted talk of root magic. It was something that had no special power words or gestures or cantrips, and just was.
“And the other, higher, more showy forms of magic all come from the Aesther!” Kol explained, making Terak blink.
“That explains why the First Family wanted to draw the Aesther closer,” Terak breathed.
“Precisely. But they failed. Ung’olut had spent centuries seeding nasty little thoughts and raising up cultists in every small way she could manage when the worlds were apart. And it was they who made sure that the Blood Gate was constructed and was attuned to the realm of the Ungol, not the Aesther!” Kol said.
Terak nodded.
“And so, this world of Midhara is now awash with magics that are not natural to it. It is filled with Aesther magic, which everyone thinks is normal magic, and Ungol magic! Root magic is almost entirely lost!” Kol exclaimed, raising both of his palms upwards.
“All of those magics create a sort of noise, you see? Just as the first breath became a noise. And the Elder Beings have decided that they will only be able to have their voices heard through people like you and me and Tanwen here. Through nulls.”
Terak slouched backwards in his chair. It seemed such a heavy task. How could one freakish fraction of the population of the Midhara, three or four people that he had never heard of and who all lived right here in the kingdom of Tor, turn the tide of war!?
Kol the storyteller, however, did not appear to be reading—or listening—to him this time as his face lit up.
“And so, that is why I will take you to places where I go, and if you are worthy, and if you can learn to earn their trust, then perhaps the Elder Beings will tell you what you must do next to save this world.”
Terak nodded before a wave of tiredness overtook him. “But I intend to ask more of them than that,” he said, earning a deep frown of alarm from Kol.
“I’m through with taking advice from strange people and stranger beings,” Terak said grimly. “I’m not here to ask for advice—I’m here to enlist the Elder Beings into a war.”
16
A Rude Awakening
Terak’s quest began not with purpose, but with desperation.
WHAM! The elf was shaken awake where he lay, once again in that tiny cot-bed in the small convalescence room behind the audience area of the ruins of the ancient Tor castle.
What is it? The assassin lay still for a moment. He allowed his ears to attune to what was going on. His body felt tired, wrecked, and ruined, despite the flagons of Edgeman’s Draught that Tanwen and Gryff had been supplying him fairly non-stop since his arrival.
It’s still early. He couldn’t hear any birdsong, which meant that it was probably before dawn.
WHAM! Another vibratory shake, which set the oil lantern on his wooden bedside cabinet juddering. Terak could feel the vibrations coming up through the floor and the bed he lay on. Was this a usual occurrence in the middle kingdom of Tor? Or was it something else—
“Ach!” His question was answered by the sound of a muted voice, human, cut off suddenly.
In one smooth movement, the elf threw aside the blanket and rolled to the sanded wooden floor. He was shirtless and with bare feet as he held himself in readiness. Silence, this time, but the hairs at the back of his neck pricked up. His body had long been trained to pick up these small signs of danger.
We’re under attack. He moved, seizing his tunic, weapons belt, and outer robes as he pulled them on with practiced ease. Twinges of pain sprouted across his side and his thigh where the orc dagger had held fast in his skin, and for a moment he caught a sight of his own pale form in the water of the wash basin. His body was a network of red and white scars, some silvered from Hyx’s magic.
But the Enclave assassin paid no heed to the complaints of his body as he laced his soft boots and moved to the door.
No sound on the other side. He took a breath and eased the door open a crack—
To see that he wasn’t alone in the narrow corridor beyond. There was a crouching shape at the end near the stairs, and another on the floor—and from its outflung arm and bloodied scalp, Terak was sure that it was the uncharitable Emarii called Gryff, dead.
“Ssss . . .” the hunched and crouching shape at the far end of the corridor was doing its best to creep toward the other doors where Tanwen and the other Emarii slept. From its gray-green mottled skin and long arms, from its misshapen leather cuirass that was dirtied and rough-cut, Terak could clearly see that it was a goblin.
Breathe. Concentrate only on that which is necessary. The words of the Chief Martial of the Enclave filled Terak’s mind as he slipped from the doorway, one of his long daggers in his hand as he padded fast toward his foe.
“Wha-?” One of the doors between the goblin and Terak unexpectedly opened, spilling a pool of yellowish oil-light as Tanwen’s sleep-heavy face appeared at the door.
“Sss!” The goblin turned and hissed, seeing Terak in the same moment as it began its attack.
“Down!” Terak cried, jumping forward to extend his blade as far and as fast as he could.
Clang! He managed to parry the downward slash of the goblin’s blade just in time, as the female Emarii fell backwards into her room. Terak presse
d the fight against the goblin.
“Pointy!” The goblin challenged him, swinging a black-taloned hand at Terak’s face, forcing him to duck to one side in the narrow passageway.
But that was only a feint, as the goblin suddenly lunged forward with the knife. Goblins were quick and full of cruel cunning. But not quite as quick as an elf—and certainly not an elf that had been trained at the Enclave.
Terak made no attempt to jump backwards, but instead slid one foot back as he swiveled on his hip, allowing the goblin’s blade to lance past the thin fabric over his chest. Terak dropped his long dagger into the other hand and punched forward—
“Sckrargh!” The blade found gray-green flesh, and the goblin fell backward with a surprised gurgle, clutching at its neck. It was dead before it hit the floor. Terak had already turned to extend a hand to Tanwen.
“You’re under attack,” he said grimly.
“You don’t say,” she responded, refusing his hand as she seized her own heavy cloak, a travel bag, and last of all, a stout quarterstaff. “The Emarii get attacked by bands of fanatics and thugs, but never goblins! Tor is a strong kingdom—”
WHAM! There was another sudden tremor through the wooden walls, and this time, it was met by the muted clamor of bells.
“I hope you’re right about that,” Terak said, already moving to the stairs as more of the Emarii emerged from their rooms, hastily buckling on sword belts or seizing up weapons. The elf left them to their worried conversations as he quickly padded up the stairs to the door, waiting to hear any sound of intruders before lightly pushing it open.
There he saw that the stage area which had held last night’s audience was still intact, and thankfully, with no more bloodied bodies on the floor. The open gable end once again showed the green sward of the old castle, crossed with the low tumbled walls of the interior ruins, but the gray-and-pink dawn skies beyond were scudded with thick black drifts of smoke.
