The Arclight Saga

by C. M. Hayden

  The reading alcove was exceedingly tiny, hardly large enough for the desk and chairs it contained. Kyra was starting to look a bit worried.

  “All right, you read the report about the escape from Helia, right?” Taro asked. “The part about the Netherlight.”

  “Vexis has it,” Kyra said.

  Taro leaned in. “I found something else in the Netherlight chamber. Something I never mentioned to anyone, not even the Sun King.” He reached into his uniform and retrieved the battered, black cross-shaped piece of metal he’d found with the Netherlight.

  All along the charred outside were tiny markings. Kyra took it, and began to inspect them.

  She murmured to herself as she tried to read them. “These are very old,” she said, then her eyes seemed to widen. “I’ve seen this kind of script before.”

  “Is it not Deific?”

  “Partially. It’s proto-Draconic, from when the dragons and the Old Gods lived side-by-side. I’ve only ever seen it in one other place before…Syseril.”

  “Can you read it?” Taro asked expectantly.

  “No, but I know someone who can.” She made a face. “But what’s all the secrecy about? It’s just an old artifact, nothing to get excited about.”

  “Really?” Taro said. “Go ahead, apply some templar to it, see what happens.”

  Kyra glanced down at the artifact, and Taro could feel a wave of templuric energy pulse through the tiny alcove. The script on the sides of the hilt glowed red, and a rivet extended out of the end. It took the form of a blade composed entirely of hardened shadows.

  Kyra ran her fingers over the black edge, and looked up to him. “Some sort of sword?” She set it on the table. “I think you should turn it in to Magister Veldheim.”

  “No,” Taro said quickly.

  “Why?”

  Taro choked on his response. How could he tell her that he suspected that some of the magisters might be corrupt? Magister Sullen, he knew of, but how many others knew about Magister Ross’ deal with the Shahl? “It’s just…” he began slowly. “I have to be careful with who I trust.”

  Kyra crossed her arms. “Taro, this is the Magisterium. If we can’t trust our own people, who can we trust?”

  “I know, I know, but let’s keep this between us for now.”

  “Keep what between us?” She tapped the sword on the table. “Some musty old sword?”

  Taro lifted the sword off the table. “There’s one more thing.” He pointed it at her. “Sit.”

  Kyra immediately sat on the floor. Her eyes looked bewildered.

  “Stand,” Taro said.

  Kyra bolted to her feet.

  “Turn,” Taro said.

  Kyra’s body jerked sideways.

  After a moment of shock, Kyra seemed to gain control of herself. When Taro said “sit,” her body made a motion to do so, but she was able to force herself not to obey.

  Taro set the sword back down. Kyra was panting, and looked almost horrified. “What the hell,” she said sharply. “What was that?”

  “You see?” Taro said. “It’s not just some old artifact.”

  Kyra turned the sword over on the table. “It was with the Netherlight…”

  Taro nodded. “Who knows what the Shahl intended it for, but I’m sure Vexis not having it is a good thing.”

  Just then, a knock came at the door. Taro briefly glanced at Kyra, then compressed the shadow blade back into its hilt, stuffing it into his uniform pocket. Afterwards, he removed the chair propped against the alcove door.

  He opened it slightly and peeked out. There stood the head librarian’s assistant, Fenn. He was a short, stocky man in his early twenties. He had eyes like an owl, and what could only be described as a permanent scowl on his face. He walked with a strange hesitant shuffle, favoring his left side; rumor had it that he’d been stabbed through the chest on his magister’s trial, and only barely survived. Taro had only had a few interactions with him over the years, none particularly memorable.

  Fenn expression was not pleasant. “These doors aren’t to be barricaded,” he said sharply.

  Taro opened the door the rest of the way. “It was just stuck.”

  Fenn sneered. “Stuck. Sure.” Kyra caught his eyes. “I thought I saw you coming this way. I tried to catch you.”

  “Sorry, Taro was showing me something.”

  Fenn looked around the reading alcove. “No books. A barricaded door. What exactly was he showing you, Your Highness?”

  Kyra fought off a momentary blush, not really having an answer. “Nothing.”

  “Uh-huh,” Fenn said flatly. He gestured to a stack of ledgers under his right arm. “Well, if you two lovebirds are done, I’ve got the lists the Curia requested. Every living magister and artificer abroad. It took a while, I had it cross-checked with the Registrar’s office. That leaves us only a dozen to track down.”

  “‘Only,’” Kyra repeated with a sigh.

  “Could be a lot worse,” Fenn said. “But yes, it’s going to be a colossal pain in the ass. I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming.”

  Kyra shrugged. “It’s because you love me so much, right?”

  Fenn rolled his eyes. As he walked off, he raised one hand and waved. “I’ll meet you on the Eventide for the debriefing. Nineteen hundred hours.”

  When he was a fair distance off, Taro turned to Kyra. “I didn’t know you two were so close. He’s not the friendliest sort, is it?”

  “He’s not as bad as he seems,” Kyra said, then hesitated. “Okay, maybe he is. But we went through a lot a few years back. Plus, like I said, he’s one of the smartest people anywhere in the Magisterium. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d read every book here.”

  “But he’s not a magister,” Taro said.

  “It’s not something he’s especially interested in anymore. And, to be frank, that injury to his chest will probably keep him from—” Kyra seemed to realize what she was saying mid-sentence. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “It’s okay,” Taro said, though he was a little hurt.

  “You remember your first trial. It’s always going to be harder for someone with a handicap.” Kyra seemed to realize she wasn’t helping, and cleared her throat. “Anyway, like I said, Fenn knows his stuff. I know you said you wanted to keep the sword secret, but if there’s anyone who’ll know what it really is, it’ll be him.”

  Chapter Seven

  Oathbreakers

  While final preparations for the Eventide’s departure were being made, Lord Cassin called a meeting in the captain’s cabin. The room was very unlike the man himself; whereas Cassin was grizzled and wolf-like, the cabin was opulent and extravagant. Not surprising, as it had once belonged to Amelia Ross.

  The many pieces of furniture were made of fine, polished wood, covered in red silk padding. Waist-high on the walls and trailing up to the ceiling were panes of frosted glass that could be tinted darker with the proper application of templar. In the very back, behind a sturdy oak desk, were several enormous maps of Arkos clipped to the wall. Pinned to several points on the map were tiny needles with yellow tips.

  Taro slid past the crowd of warders and magisters to find a seat near Kyra and Fenn. Kyra was looking over a notepad, while Fenn was helping himself to some of the wine from Magister Ross’ private stores.

  Lord Cassin leaned forward on the captain’s desk, tapping his fingers against the lid of a flask. When Taro sat, Cassin took a swig from the flask and wiped his whiskery mouth with his sleeve.

  He made a content sound and peered down into the flask’s top. “Damn, that’s good whiskey. Can’t say I cared for the woman, but I’ll be damned if she didn’t know her brew.” He pointed to Kyra. “Lass, can you get the windows?”

  Still sitting, Kyra touched her fingers to a pan
e of glass. At her touch, all of them frosted over until the only light in the room was coming from a magistry lantern on the captain’s desk. Cassin turned it up, and used the rheostat switch to focus the beam onto the map behind him.

  “It looks like everyone’s here,” Cassin said, pushing off from the desk. He pointed to a spot on the map marked ‘ENDRA EDÛN’ and traced his finger all the way up to ‘CASTIANA.’ “Weather permitting, we’ll arrive at the dragon city within the week. They’re not used to getting visitors, so we’ll need to step lightly. I’m honestly not sure how they’ll react to our presence. Assuming we’re allowed berth, we’ll stay a few days before heading off to our primary mission: bringing in the oathbreakers.” He pointed to Fenn, who was finishing off a glass of white wine. “Who do we have up in Caelis Enor?”

  Caelis Enor encompassed all of the dragon lands. There were a few scattered human settlements and fortresses there too, as dragonkin largely ignored anything on the ground. The scattered pockets of humanity that lived in the valleys and mountains were called the Nuren—or, more commonly, Northmen. Taro had never met one, but they had a reputation for being boorish hunters and fierce warriors.

  Fenn set his cup down and rummaged through a leather satchel until he found what he needed. Slightly drunk, he made his way to the map, pinned several pages of parchment to it, and passed several others around the room.

  “Caelis Enor is crawling with them,” Fenn said. “Some of the most notorious oathbreakers in the Magisterium.” He pointed to the first picture. It was of a man in his late twenties; he had a deep scar going down his neck. “Some of you might remember Pyke. Couldn’t make it past his magister trial, decided it’d be better to run off into the mountains. Threat level: moderate.” Fenn proceeded to list off several other men and women, all of whom seemed very tame. However, when he got to the last name on the list, there were audible gasps from several people.

  “Gods below,” one of the warders said. “We’re really going after him?”

  Cassin gave a wolfish smirk. “You didn’t think this would be a cakewalk the whole way, did you?”

  The last image was of a man in his early forties. Hard-eyed, a strong build, and a dark complexion. There was a nasty burn going over his right eye, and searing off a large chunk of his smooth, silky hair.

  “They call him the Rieu,” Fenn said. “The Red Demon or the Red Dragon. Though I assure you that, unlike Kurian, he doesn’t actually have any dragon blood in him. He’s our top-tier threat. He caused the fiery deaths of four artificers several years back, almost destroyed the Librarium. Rather than face his court martial, he fled north.”

  Taro leafed through the file. “What’s so bad about him?”

  “He is without a doubt one of the strongest magisters in the world,” Fenn said. “He’s somehow found a way to channel his templary into a sort of fire magic, and can control the distribution of heat around his body.” He pointed to the charred scar on the picture. “As you can see, it’s not always completely effective.”

  Cassin sipped his whiskey, some spilling on his gray beard. “Reports say Rieu has been terrorizing one of the Free Cities near Cardaeros. I won’t lie, I doubt he’ll come willingly.”

  “Why hasn’t the Magisterium tried to bring him to justice earlier?” Taro asked.

  “They have,” Cassin said. “The magisters they sent never returned, save Amelia Ross herself. And even she couldn’t close the deal. Let’s hope we’re more fortunate.”

  _____

  While Taro was loading his second bag onto the Eventide, he learned that he was to share a cabin with Fenn. Not particularly surprising, as space was limited, but he honestly didn’t know what to make of the boy. From the dank, creaking corridors of the Eventide’s underbelly, Taro could hear men outside shouting orders and the airship coming to life. The boiler roared, sending a hiss of steam through the thick pipes lining the walls.

  Taro hurried to drop his things off in his room, as he didn’t want to miss the launch.

  When he found his cabin, he turned the handle on the outside and the heavy metal door creaked open. Inside were standard quarters for an airship: a simple rectangular-shaped room. It had a bunk bed, a dresser, and a single porthole that peered out into the busy Skyport.

  At the moment, the cabin was also full of bottles and flasks. The floor and the bottom bunk were covered in them, some empty, others half-full, all smelling strongly of alcohol. Fenn sat on the edge of the bunk, sipping directly from a wine bottle and pretending to conduct an orchestra as he sung.

  Caulder’s daughters were fair and fine,

  With hair and lips like honey spring wine.

  Tassel, tussle, hassle, rustle,

  and when they’re done, they’ll have to—

  “—oh, it’s you,” Fenn said with slurred speech, interrupting his song. He held his bottle out. “Fancy a drink, hero?”

  Taro glared at him. “You’re not supposed to drink on duty.”

  “Duty? Oh, little boy, I’m just a librarian. I’m no magister.” He looked left and right. “Do you see a library anywhere? No? Then I’m not working.”

  Taro snatched the bottle from him. “You’re an artificer, and you’ve been called to serve. You’re on duty.”

  Fenn laughed and gave him a faux salute. “You’re so right, I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that not all of us can be heroes like yourself.” He retrieved a second bottle from the bed and pulled the cork out with his teeth. “A toast, to the hero of Endra. Our savior.”

  “Hilarious.”

  “Now, don’t be that way,” Fenn said. “I want us to be friends. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, hero.”

  Taro’s displeasure must’ve been plain on his face, because Fenn bulled ahead, smiling like a wolf. “Kyra’s pretty smitten with you. I guess when you save the city, you can get any girl you want.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Out of curiosity, how’s she in bed? I’ve always wondered, but I—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Taro’s fist was hurtling towards Fenn’s face. He struck him so hard that the bottle in Fenn’s hands went flying and shattered against the wall. Somehow, Taro was able to stop himself from striking Fenn again.

  Fenn’s mouth was bloodied, and he seemed monetarily unconscious until he spoke. He touched his hand to the steel plate on his chest, and took four quick breaths before speaking again.

  “Normally I’d call you a coward for striking a cripple,” Fenn said, motioning toward Taro’s prosthetic. “But I think we can call it even. Maybe we could sell tickets.”

  Taro turned to leave. “Clean yourself up,” he said. “You’re embarrassing.”

  Fenn saluted and wiped some of the blood from his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

  Slightly shaken by the whole ordeal, Taro decided to relax and watch the airship depart the dock. Just as Taro reached the main deck, the Eventide trembled as the mooring lines were unhitched. The reactors fired up, and all at once the airship felt like it was floating in the water. It rose, kicking up gusts of air and ruffling the clothes of the port workers below.

  At Lord Cassin’s command, the Eventide inched out of the dock doors and into the open air above Endra Edûn. The evening air was crisp, and the Arclight warmed the back of Taro’s neck as the ship headed north toward the snow-capped mountains.

  When he looked back at the sprawling city, he thought of his mother and brothers. He hated himself for leaving without speaking to them—again. But what could he say that would change anything? What could he do that hadn’t already been done? And he couldn’t bear to tell them that Nima had killed her own father. Perhaps letting them live in ignorance was the right thing to do. The truth was too painful.

  He’d seen to it that they’d have money to live on. Enough for food, clothes, school, whatever they needed. That would have to be enough.


  Chapter Eight

  A New Order

  “What did I tell you about outbursts?” Dr. Halric said, looming over Sura Andurin. His eyes were dark and dangerous, and he seemed to be contemplating hitting her.

  Throughout the council meeting, he’d seemed put off by Sura’s behavior, and now that they were far away from the lords, in Vexis’s quarters, all of his anger showed plain on his face.

  “I’m sorry,” Sura said through gritted teeth.

  “Not nearly sorry enough,” Halric said, clenching the handle of his cane. “If you can’t control yourself, then there’s a free space in Praxis’ cell waiting for you. Is that what you want?”

  Sura’s looked horrified by the thought, quickly shaking her head. “No, sir.”

  Dr. Halric wasn’t one to shout, but this was the closest Nima had ever seen him get. He didn’t seem to care that half a dozen people were watching him berate her.

  Nima sat near the fireplace, kicking at a hearthstone, just hoping it would end. Vexis leaned by the door, her arms folded across her chest. She didn’t seem particularly perturbed by what Sura had done. Kadia sat on the floor nearby, pulling at her sister’s trouser leg. Prince Lethen and Cecil Andurin sat on armchairs, looking just as uncomfortable as Nima. Berric Mathan was nowhere to be found, and Nima mused as to what assignment he might be carrying out for Halric.

  Halric calmed slightly. “I won’t have you sabotaging your sister again,” he said to Sura. “Whatever enmities you had, they stop here, now. Understood?”

  Sura looked down. “Understood.”

  “We must show a unified front,” Halric said, speaking to everyone in the room.

  Vexis spoke up for the first time. “I think we got through to them. Not the loyalist of men, but they have to know which way the wind’s blowing.”