The Arclight Saga

by C. M. Hayden

  “Why not?” Taro asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” Sullen said. “Just be quick about it.”

  Taro took a deep breath and put his back against the wall, just outside of the Netherlight chamber. When he was in position, the Sun King gave the signal and the entire cell block started to shout. They hollered, banged on the walls, scraped stones against the bars. It didn’t take long for the farseer to leave the room, glaring furiously at them.

  “What’s this?” he said, all manner of friendliness in his voice draining away. “I thought you lot wouldn’t be ready for another templar bleeding for another few days but, low and behold, you seem to have found the energy.”

  At this point, Taro was staring directly at the farseer’s back as he stood with his arms folded, staring at the shouting cellmates and trying to pick which one he’d take to the Netherlight.

  Taro’s templar didn’t coalesce as easily as it normally did. With the energy from the Netherlight pressing against him, it was like trying to swim with a lead weight strapped to his back. Still, he found what he needed and balled his hand into a fist. With the element of surprise on his side, he charged at the farseer and smashed his fist against the back of the man’s head.

  The farseer fell face-forward onto the damp ground, blood pouring from the back of his head. Taro leapt onto him, pressed him down with one hand, and wailed on him with the other.

  Before Taro’s fist could land a third time, Sullen called to him from the cage. “Taro, don’t!”

  Taro’s fist stopped just an inch short of the farseer’s body, trembling and blood-soaked. The man was unconscious. When Taro released him, he fell to the floor. For a long moment Taro could do nothing but sit there, half-bloody and shaking. He stared at the man on the floor until Magister Sullen and the Sun King snapped him out of it.

  “Taro,” the Sun King called.

  Taro glanced over at the cell with a dazed expression. “I…I’m sorry…I…” Taro said dumbly. He gathered himself quickly and pulled himself up. He had a job to do.

  Taro entered the Netherlight chamber, pausing briefly to inspect the crystal before moving to the crates on the floor. Aris’ inscriber was inside, which he pocketed. Also inside were the Endran weapons he expected to find, and one strange bit of twisted ironmongery that stood out from the others.

  It appeared to be the hilt of a sword; but it had no blade or grip, and the bare handle was covered in strange Deific flourishes. He pocketed it as well and hauled the other inscribers and swords to the cells.

  Taro was the only one with enough templuric energy to manage an appropriate cutting enchantment, and it took fifteen minutes to get each of the cell doors open. As the minutes passed, Taro knew that any moment a patrol was bound to come by.

  With the presence of the Netherlight crushing his templar and the exertion required to subdue the farseer, the entire process was exhausting and left Taro a panting mess against the wall while the others took stock of who was left in their company.

  The Sun King offered his hand to Taro. “Will you be okay?”

  Taro nodded, glancing toward the farseer. “I think so.” He coughed hard and looked at the farseer’s unmoving body. “Is he alive?”

  “If he wasn’t, we’d know,” the Sun King said. “When they brought us here, they executed one of my men. Lord Commander Vicen. When he died, whatever that device in there is turned his body into…into a creature. Tendrils, a thousand eyes...”

  “A void apparition?” Taro looked to Magister Sullen, who confirmed his suspicion. “Like the one that attacked you back when the Magisterium lost power last year.”

  Sullen nodded. “Veldheim still has the one summoned from Antherion’s body, locked away for study. Whatever this Netherlight is, it might be the source of Vexis’ shadowmancy.”

  Before they left, Taro approached the Netherlight. As his hand neared the purple flames, he felt his entire arm go numb up to the elbow. Still, he pushed forward and seized the black crystal from its pedestal. He wrapped the light in a shroud and stuffed it into his cloak pocket.

  “Let’s move,” the Sun King said from the doorway.

  Caution was key to escaping the aculam. For the moment, they had stealth and the element of surprise. If they were seen, especially with the magisters amongst them virtually powerless, they stood no chance of getting out of the city alive. Mica was nothing but dead weight, and one of the warders had to carry him, further slowing down their group. Fortunately, with the Festival of Lights occurring just outside, the halls were empty as the guards were patrolling the event.

  The company made it to the side door, and Taro opened it and peeked out. Bran was waiting for him, looking horrendously bored and sitting next to his half-empty candle cart in the deserted alley. He was throwing rocks at a gargoyle hanging from the side of a building.

  “Psst,” Taro whispered.

  Bran’s eyes widened when he saw a dozen Endrans exit the door. Taro kept the door propped open and waved Bran toward him. “Bran, meet Sun King Godrin.”

  Bran looked like a frightened deer.

  “Can you hide them somewhere where they won’t be seen?” Taro continued. “Just keep them away from the festival square.”

  Bran nodded dumbly. “I…I think so. There’s an old fishing shed out by the Riverward Dock, nobody goes there.”

  “Perfect. Just be careful. Don’t tell anyone that you saw them. Not your mom, not your dad, not your brothers or sisters. Got it?”

  Bran nodded again and gulped. He looked tiny next to the soldiers and magisters he was about to lead to safety. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “I can’t,” Taro said.

  “It’s not safe here,” Sullen said, tightening the bandages on his missing arm’s stump.

  “Believe me, I know. But my sister is around here, somewhere. I can’t leave her by herself. I’ll catch up, I promise.”

  The Sun King paused and placed a hand on Taro’s shoulder. “Once again, I owe you my life. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve proven your loyalty ten times over.”

  “Tell that to Kyra,” he said, half-jokingly.

  “I will,” the Sun King said, then looked to Bran. “Lead the way, my boy.”

  Taro watched as they disappeared into the night. It wouldn’t be long before the Netherlight was found stolen, the prisoners escaped, and the alarms were sounded. He knew his time was rapidly diminishing.

  With the Netherlight covered by his cloak, its effects dissipated significantly. He could still feel its lingering presence, but it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as before. His first order of business was to stash the Netherlight somewhere relatively safe. If he were searched and the crystal discovered, he was as good as dead.

  Not far from the coatroom was a small chapel tucked away in a dusty corner of the aculam. It was unlocked and looked as though it hadn’t been used in years. It was little more than a closet, but for three short benches on each side of a tiny floral carpet that led to a statue of Sarona. She was the life goddess, a matron of the dragonkin, and the shrine didn’t seem to get much foot traffic. A few scrolls and pamphlets were tucked in the backs of the pews, bursting with cob-webs and dust.

  The wall behind the statue had a few loose bricks. With some effort, Taro was able to yank some out and stash the Netherlight and the strange sword hilt inside. When he put the bricks back, it was impossible to tell they had even been disturbed.

  Content with the Netherlight’s safety, Taro turned his attention to finding Nima; but as he drew out of the chapel, he saw a flood of guards storming down the hallway. They were searching rooms and corridors. When Taro pulled the door closed to get out of their field of view, they seemed to spot the movement and footsteps hurried toward him, accompanied with someone barking orders.

  He’d been caught.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  The Shahl

  The guards dragged Taro through the aculam in much the same way as they had the fortune-teller: strung up by both arms so that he
was practically gliding over the stone floor. They were noticeably gentler with him, and Taro suspected it might’ve been due to his handicap.

  There was no doubt that they were aware of the escaped prisoners and the missing Netherlight, though none of them spoke of those things. Instead, they asked more general questions about what he was doing in the aculam. He told them that he’d gotten lost delivering prayer candles. Not surprisingly, they didn’t seem to believe this story.

  They passed through the basilica on their way to their destination. It was in a state of aggressive repair, scaffolding and ladders lined the sides of the cracked dome. The bits of clay mural that had adorned the ceiling was in pieces on the floor, each swept into piles as the workers toiled to fix the ancient stonework and stained glass window.

  As they hauled him through the basilica, he saw Vexis standing outside a set of double doors, having a rather heated argument with a tall, thin man in distinctive white robes plated with silver armor. Their eyes met, and Vexis ended her conversation and approached Taro and his escorts.

  “What’s all this?” Vexis asked, with an aura of authority.

  “We found him in the eastern chapel, my lady. Says he’s a chandler hocking wares, but I ain’t ever seen him. And he’s Endran.”

  “You’re taking him to my father?” Vexis asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll take him the rest of the way.”

  The guard stammered a bit. “With respect, I have strict orders to—”

  “And now you have strict orders to let me escort him.” She put her hand to her heart. “I take full responsibility. I mean, I’m sure I can handle a boy, don’t you think?”

  “Of course, my lady.” The guard-captain ushered for his men to let Taro go, and they returned his walking stick.

  “Please allow me to at least accompany you,” the guard-captain said as Vexis led Taro away.

  “That won’t be necessary.” Vexis waved without looking back. “Keep doing what you’re doing.” As soon as they were out of earshot, Vexis gave Taro a grin that chilled his blood. “I figured you couldn’t stay away.”

  “I have to get to Nima,” Taro said simply.

  Vexis chortled. “Well, you’ll certainly get your chance now.” She pinched his cheek. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to actually cause so much ruckus. I figured you’d be caught before you got past the front door. I keep underestimating your resourcefulness.” She sighed thoughtfully. “Normally, I’d be furious; but I think we can help each other out, if you can survive this.”

  “Survive what?”

  “My father.”

  Vexis led him to a grand throne room. It was arranged in a crescent circle of flourished marble, interlaced with clear pools of water, flowing from culverts in the walls behind an enormous golden throne. Sitting on this throne was a silver crown and scepter. Beside the throne was a smaller wooden throne several steps down.

  There was no part of the ceiling, columns, or walls that wasn’t decorated with some finery. Ivory sculptures of the Old Gods lined the rafters, and fine green and white linen banners draped the archways. Each of the banners had a different church emblem stitched into it, the most prominent being the compass sigil.

  The trickle of the waterfalls and soft flow around his feet would’ve been soothing, if it weren’t for the dozens of people funneling out of the chamber in a quiet panic. Though they were orderly and civil, the look of fear in their eyes was impossible to miss.

  A set of doors near the thrones opened, and everyone who had been moving to leave suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. From the door appeared what Taro could only assume was a person, a man, though he looked only a step from death.

  He couldn’t walk, and his guards had to escort him with every step he took. His body was surrounded by what appeared to be an iron gibbet, though its purpose wasn’t to restrain him. Rather there were areas of his body where iron rods stuck directly into his flesh and seemed to hold onto his bones. The gibbet was a complex bit of ironmongery that supported him.

  There were bits of blood where the rods entered his body, and he seemed much like a rag doll propped up by pins and needles. There were dark circles under his eyes and his once blond hair was all but gone; what was left were a few strands of gray, running along liver spots. He seemed like nothing more than a sick, pitiful old man; but the look of terror in the eyes of the assembled gentry was overwhelming, as if they were staring down a rabid crocodile. This was the Shahl? If it weren’t for the people’s reaction, he wouldn’t have believed it.

  The ancient man limped toward the small wooden throne, wheezing all the way. The iron brace around him bent and allowed him to sit. He coughed up a bit of blood onto his gray cleric robes, and licked his cracked, dry lips. His hands trembled as his long, gangly fingers gripped the armrests.

  His eyes scanned the room like searchlights in the dead silence. Hanging from the iron gibbet was a leather bag with a tube attached to it. When the Shahl wanted to speak, he took the wide end of the tube to his mouth and breathed in hard. There seemed to be some sort of medicine inside that helped him speak.

  Even with the medicine, his voice came out a hoarse, weak crackle. “Traitorous half-wits,” he said shakily. “My Inquisitors. My farseers. Is there no one I can trust?” He pointed a crooked finger at one of his commanders. The tall man stood with his hands locked together in a stoic pose. “Grand Marshal Uresh.”

  “Yes, Your Lordship?” the man called Uresh said.

  The Shahl took another huff of his medicine. “Where is Farseer Theel?”

  “Recovering from his attack, Your Lordship.”

  “Bring him here.”

  Without word or hesitation, Uresh left and returned moments later with the farseer that had been guarding the Netherlight. He was bruised all over and blood ran down his nose. His face was puffed up, and he didn’t seem to be able to see out of his left eye. His injuries, however, didn’t seem to concern him. He wore the same terrified expression that the others did, but it was made all the worse as the Shahl’s heavy gaze was fixed on him. Uresh brought the farseer before the throne, and returned to his place beside the Shahl.

  “Farseer Theel,” the Shahl rasped, and steepled his fingers. “Speak.”

  “Your Lordship…Your Grace…please.”

  “How many were there?” the Shahl asked.

  “I didn’t see.” Theel seemed on the verge of tears. His body shook even worse than the Shahl’s. “They surprised me from behind. It was a magister.”

  “You didn’t see who attacked you?” the Shahl asked.

  “N-no,” Theel said.

  “Good,” the Shahl said. Theel seemed to breathe a short sigh of relief before the Shahl finished his sentence. “I was afraid there would be something keeping me from meting out your punishment. But, since you’re of no use to me—” The Shahl held forth his right hand and the room went cold.

  Theel’s demeanor turned into panic and he tried to run, only to be stopped by a wall of guards blocking the doors. Seeing that escape was hopeless, he dropped to his knees and pleaded with the Shahl.

  “My Lord! I can set this right! I just need a little time,” Theel begged.

  The Shahl’s emotionless expression didn’t change. Theel’s body went rigid and he threw back his head as if he was being held by some unseen force. All at once, every pore in his body erupted with shadow magic. It ripped him apart from the inside out so quickly it was like a balloon popping. The fragments of him that were left melted into shadows and congealed on the Shahl’s outstretched hand.

  When this happened, the Shahl drew a sharp breath; all at once, his complexion softened, his breathing improved, and he looked many years younger. Again, he spoke to his commander. “Grand Marshal,” he said, “you told me there was a boy found near the scene of the crime?”

  Uresh spoke curtly. “Not quite. It seems he was found praying in one of the smaller chapels.”

  “Praying?”

  Ures
h singled-out Taro, and Vexis led him forward.

  “An Endran,” the Shahl said. He seemed to speak directly to Taro. “What is the meaning of this, boy?”

  Taro’s voice cracked, still shaken by what he’d just seen the old man do. “I-I got lost, sir,” Taro said meekly. He put on his most sincere, most anguished face. “I’m a chandler’s apprentice. We were selling prayer candles to Undercleric Isen. They went off to do business, and I had a look around. I didn’t think looking around would get me into trouble.”

  The Shahl rubbed his temple and rasped. “Isen? ISEN? Are you here?”

  The elderly cleric stepped from the crowd. “Yes, Your Lordship.”

  “Is what the boy says true?”

  Isen took a good look at Taro and nodded. “Yes, sir. He came with a boy named Bran. I know him and his father well. Good citizens to a fault.”

  Vexis spoke up, too. “Perhaps he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Father.” She motioned to Taro’s prosthetic. “Besides, are we to believe a cripple was able to defeat a farseer?”

  The Shahl seemed to concede the point and waved Taro away. He shot a furious gaze at the guards who’d apprehended Taro. “Consider asking a few basic questions before you waste my time with cripples and children.”

  The guard-captain nodded fearfully. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  Taro was happy to fade from the Shahl’s attention. The old man took a huff of medicine and spoke again. “I want the city on lockdown. I want every ship and carriage leaving thoroughly searched. The Netherlight cannot leave Helia.”

  “I have already given those orders, Your Lordship,” Uresh said.

  The Shahl made a sweeping gesture of elation. “Good. At least someone around here has half a wit.” His eyes scanned the room again. “Where are my Inquisitors? Come to me, my children.”

  Vexis stepped forward immediately and the Shahl gave her a significant look. “You are not an Inquisitor.”

  “I’m as good as one, Father.”

  “Don’t call me that,” he snapped. “You haven’t earned that right.”