The Arclight Saga

by C. M. Hayden

  Eventually, the footsteps became unnecessary. Taro saw where the figure was headed: a small, makeshift tent and smoldering fire in the middle of two bent trees. The figure was sitting beside the fire.

  It seemed to be a man, though his robes were so thick and layered that it was impossible to tell. He had a cowl covering his hair and a blue cloth covering his face, making only his eyes and eyeglasses visible. There were long buckles going up his trouser legs, connecting it to his billowing robes. On his back were four staffs of differing shapes: one was long and smooth, with a gold handle and a ruby at the end. One was older, made of craggy wood, and was shaped like a deer head. Another was bow-like, curved, and plain. The last had the end bent into a large circle, and in the middle hung various charms and baubles.

  There were runes on each of the staffs, and though Taro couldn’t make out what they said specifically, he recognized them as being true Deific markings.

  Other small bits of magistry were attached to the man’s clothing: a fist-sized magistry lantern hung from a chain on his hip, and a long inscriber was tucked into a specially stitched pocket on his belt.

  The man made no motion to stand. Instead, he reached his hand out toward Taro and waved him closer. When he did this, Taro noticed that his hands and fingers were wrapped tightly with white bandages.

  Taro continued down the small hill toward the man’s campsite. He was cooking a slab of meat over the fire, and it was beginning to crackle and smoke. The man retrieved a curved dagger from his side, causing Taro to momentarily back away before the man cut off a piece of meat and tossed it to Taro.

  “Eat,” the man said.

  Even accounting for the cloth covering the man’s mouth, the voice that came from him was…wrong. It was much too deep, much too loud, and it echoed unnaturally.

  “Thank you,” Taro said, moving closer to get a better look. Along the cloth covering the man’s face were magistry runes that glowed when he spoke, and from the few Taro could make out, he realized this was what was causing the man’s strange, augmented voice.

  “Sorry for chasing you,” Taro said, looking down at the food.

  The man turned away as he ate. After a few bites, he responded in his metallic burr of a voice. “Chasing me alone is unwise. If I were hostile, you’d be dead. A tactical miscalculation if ever I saw one.”

  Taro looked back, surprised he’d gotten so far away from the hill fort. “I have friends nearby…”

  The man’s echoing, deep voice was more than a little off-putting, but he sounded slightly apologetic. “I’m sorry for startling you. I’m not used to travelers in the old fortress,” he said.

  “We’ll be on our way in the morning,” Taro said.

  “Fair enough,” the man replied. “Off with you, then.”

  Taro hesitated.

  “Something wrong?” the man asked.

  “It’s just…I wouldn’t expect to find a member of the Magisterium so far away from Endra.”

  The man glanced back. “What makes you think I’m a member of the Magisterium?”

  “The runes on your scarf and staffs—”

  The man waved the comments aside. “Rubbish.”

  Taro stared at the man. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “You couldn’t be a magister or artificer, since they’re all oathbound to return to Endra Edûn.”

  The man winced, his stoic expression cracking slightly. When he gathered himself, he simply looked down at his food, then to the fire, then to Taro.

  “I think you’ve wasted enough of my time,” the man said. “Off with you.”

  _____

  Taro hurried back to the hill fort, waking the others and explaining what had happened. Lokír was furious at hearing that he’d gone off alone, but the mention of the mysterious man Taro had met took the forefront of the conversation.

  “I think he was a magister,” Taro said, still panting from the sprint back.

  “If he was using magistry to disguise his voice, it’s certainly possible,” Kyra said. “It’s called veromancy. Sound magic. It’s not something an early year recruit or artificer would dabble with. In fact, I’ve only ever seen one person use it.”

  Fenn was drowsy and disheveled. “If he really was a magister, then you’re lucky to be alive. There are a few oathbreakers in Caelis Enor, but the only commissioned magister is Rieu.”

  Taro leaned closer to the fire, warming his hands. “You mentioned him on the Eventide. You called him the Red Demon.”

  Kurian was sitting, balancing on a bedpost, and almost fell when he heard the name. “Rieu? But he’s dead.”

  Fenn shook his head. “Not according to the Magisterium’s intel.”

  “But the fire destroyed the entire floor and alchemy lab—”

  “I remember.”

  “It was quarantined off for months. They couldn’t clean up half of what spilled onto the floors. Veldheim was—”

  “I remember!” Fenn repeated, waving him down. “Listen, we don’t know if it’s Rieu for sure.”

  “Well,” Kyra said. “If it wasn’t Rieu, who was it?”

  Nobody had an answer. It was a minor mystery at most, but the more Taro thought about it, the more it seemed a bit too much of a coincidence. Caelis Enor was huge, what were the chances of happening on a magister in the middle of nowhere?

  With the mysterious stranger’s intentions unclear, they decided to sleep the rest of the night in shifts. The next day they travelled as a group to the stranger’s campsite, but the only trace left of the man were a few crumbled embers in a long-dead fire.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Rieu, The Red Demon

  As they neared Thrain’s Pass, Lokír grew increasingly quiet. The burly old warrior was never prone to long bouts of conversation, but the look in his eyes as they approached the roots of the mountains spoke volumes.

  The pass was difficult to make out amongst the high, rough rock face and sea of pine trees that ran up the sides of the mountains.

  Lokír spoke in hushed tones as they approached. “We must move quickly and softly. We mustn’t spend any more time in Thrain’s Pass than is necessary.”

  “Why not?” Taro asked.

  “Some say the pass is haunted,” Lokír said.

  “You don’t strike me as somebody who believes in ghosts,” Taro said, smiling.

  “I don’t. But this would be a terrible time to be proven wrong, Taro-sin. And there are more earthly things to fear: bandits, cutthroats, wild beasts.”

  Fenn scoffed. “It’d be a bad day for any bandit. They try to rob some innocuous merchants, and end up fighting a magister, two artificers, a dragon, and a Nuren general.”

  Kyra frowned. “What’s the first thing Magister Sullen teaches recruits?”

  “That hope is a lie? That everyone starting his lessons are morons?” Seeing Kyra’s expression, Fenn held up his hands defensively. “Just kidding. ‘Even the strongest magister can be felled by a single arrow.’ I know, I know.”

  The group continued on through the narrow road carved into the forest. It was barely wide enough for two horses to walk abreast, and twisted around rocks and large trees. More than once, they had to leave the trail in order to find their way around some overturned log too high for the horses to leap over.

  Soon, they were just outside of Thrain’s Pass. It seemed darker than the rest of the forest, and the rocks were oddly shaped, jetting up like spears topped with bits of ice and snow.

  “What kind of ghost stories do they tell?” Taro asked, to break the silence as their horses trotted.

  Lokír gave him a thoughtful look. “Perhaps ‘ghost stories’ is the wrong term, Taro-sin. This is the pass that Thrain the Bold led the ancient Nuren through. Back then, it was no easy journey.” He pointed to the mountains. “The range serves
as a natural barrier from the Helian lands. This narrow pass is the only way through for hundreds of miles, and bottlenecks any who try to cross.”

  “And I’m guessing some didn’t approve of Thrain leaving?” Taro asked.

  Lokír nodded. “A grand understatement, if ever there was one. The old shadowmancers beset foul creatures after them: beings of a thousand eyes, born of the reach between worlds. Scores died. Women. Children. By the time the Nuren reached Caelis Enor, the dead were beyond the count of grief. My ancestors were amongst the survivors that came through this very trail all those centuries ago.”

  A sour feeling swelled up in Taro’s stomach. Void apparitions. Shadowmancers. Some stray thought touched the outer edge of his consciousness, as if he were musing over a puzzle that was missing just a few pieces.

  Vexis used the power of the Netherlight and Arclight to raise Craetos from the dead. It was an idea born from her father’s plans to bring the continent under his control. Dr. Halric said that he’d given Vexis her shadow magic, but based on everything Taro had learned so far, shadow magic was once considerably more common.

  “Lokír, what about—”

  “Stop.” Kurian’s voice didn’t rise above a whisper, but his tone was so grave that Taro stopped dead in his tracks before he even felt the dragon’s hand on his arm. Lokír stopped too, startled by the sudden outburst.

  Kurian sniffed the air, his eyes narrowing. “Something’s wrong,” he whispered, pulling at them, ushering everyone to hide behind the cover of a wide spruce.

  “What is it?” Kyra whispered, peeking around the sides.

  “Fire,” Kurian said, smelling the air again.

  Taro sniffed the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

  Kurian tapped the side of his nose. “Trust me.”

  Fenn rubbed his hands together. “It’s cold. It’s probably just a merchant or a troupe of travelers.”

  Kurian’s yellow eyes stared seriously at Fenn. “It’s not the smell of burning wood. It’s burning flesh. And something else…something not normal.”

  “Is it Craetos?” Taro asked.

  Kurian shook his head. “No. If gramps were nearby, I’d know it.” He pushed some of the branches aside so he could get a better look at the pass. “And there are faint voices, too.”

  “Can you make out what they’re saying?” Taro asked.

  “No, but they don’t sound friendly,” Kurian said.

  “Is there a way we can go through without being seen?” Kyra asked Lokír.

  Lokír grimaced. “None. It’s much too narrow for that.”

  “Then we don’t have a choice,” Kurian said. “Whatever it is, we should be able to handle it.”

  “You don’t sound too confident,” Kyra said, eyeing him.

  “We can handle a few bandits…it’s just…some of the voices sound familiar.”

  Realization struck Taro. “Lord Cassin would’ve had to go through this pass to get back to Endra, right?”

  Kyra’s eyes darkened. “Is it my uncle, Kurian?”

  Kurian seemed to strain himself to listen, but finally gave up. “I’m sorry, I’ve never met your uncle. But some of the voices sound Endran.”

  Taro peered through the pine leaves, trying to get a better look at the terrain before them. “It could be a trap,” he mused.

  “It’s undoubtedly a trap,” Lokír corrected. “But Kurian-ata is right. This is our route, whether we wish it or not.”

  Kyra nodded, and her voice shifted into a command-style. “Kurian, go on ahead. Stay in the treetops. Cover us in case something happens.”

  Kurian nodded. “Can do.”

  “Don’t be seen,” Kyra added.

  “Me? Seen?” Kurian scoffed with exaggerated confidence. He then sidestepped the rest of the group, crouched slightly, and leaped a full fifteen feet onto the branches of an immense redwood. His feet barely touched the first branch before he leapt to the second, then the third in rapid succession, disappearing into the treetops.

  “Alright,” Kyra said. “Let’s move. Fenn, watch our backs.”

  They continued down the main path, and Lokír noted wagon tracks underneath a thin dusting of snow. There were several pairs, each relatively fresh and all heading south.

  Close to the mouth of the pass, Taro spotted one of the wagons. Rather, what was left of one. It was in charred pieces, the black contrasting hard with the white snow. The burnt carcass of a dead mule lay in front of it, its reins still tied to the wagon frame.

  “Dragon fire?” Taro asked, inspecting the burns from a distance.

  Kyra shook her head. “There’d be nothing left of the animals or the wagons if it was dragon fire.”

  Hesitantly, they moved toward the debris. It was only now, just an arm’s length away from the contorted piece of wood and rubble, that Taro understood the smell Kurian mentioned. It wasn’t natural. It smelled like an alchemical accelerant.

  Lokír picked through the bits of blackened wood, and pulled out the dented helmet of an Endran soldier, dusting it off with the back of his sleeve. “It’s your kin,” he said.

  Kyra clenched her fist, looking more angry than sad.

  “There are no bodies here,” Lokír offered. “Perhaps the passengers made it out in time.”

  “It makes no sense,” Fenn said. “How did a fire start so quickly while the carriage was in motion? And the ground is disturbed, like the explosion came from—”

  “Underneath,” Taro interrupted.

  Everyone tensed, and began searching the ground with their eyes. Taro saw it first: the faint glimmer of metal beneath a layer of wet dirt and snow. Unfortunately, his staff was resting directly on top of it.

  “Guys,” he said, holding the staff firmly, trying not to tremble. He nodded his head toward where he wanted them to look, and after they were sure of their own safety, they moved closer to help him.

  Kyra knelt and blew hard on the snow and dirt, brushing it gently away with a bit of cloth. The landmine was a triangular-shaped, solid piece of metal with a glass center. Inside, it seemed to be filled with alchemical liquid, and on the top bevel were magistry runes. Taro didn’t need to read them to know what they did. There was no question as to the device’s origin; these types of military-grade mines were made in only one place: the Artificium.

  The sale and creation of magistry devices for warfare was strictly controlled by the Magisterium. There was no way these devices got here by chance.

  “What is it?” Lokír said.

  “It’s an explosive,” Kyra said. “Weight-triggered. If he removes his staff, or the weight shifts too much—”

  The voice that interrupted her was not familiar to Taro. It was male, and had a strong, hard accent that he couldn’t quite place.

  “It’ll blow the pretty boy’s legs clean off his body,” the voice said, then spat. “What’s left of them, anyway.”

  Taro was almost afraid to even move his head, lest the weight of his hand shift too much and set off the device. However, slowly, he did so.

  The voice belonged to a thin, lanky man standing near the opening of the pass. He was perhaps forty years old, and was wrapped in ragged cloth dangling from his limbs. His face and chest were severely burned, but his injuries were clearly years old, and he’d had extensive medical work done on them. Still, he didn’t look quite right. One eye was a little higher than the other. The flesh on his face sagged, he had only one eyebrow, and the hair on his head grew in patches.

  “Magister Rieu,” Fenn said, bewildered.

  “That’s him?” Taro asked. It wasn’t the same man that Taro had met in the dead of night just a day prior. It certainly didn’t look like the picture he’d been shown aboard the Eventide.

  “Why, it must be my lucky day,” Rieu said with a look of sheer disgust on h
is face. “If you sons of bitches thought that you could just waltz in here and take me back to that shithole in Endra, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  Kyra started forward, but hesitated, remembering the minefield before her. Rieu smiled, showing off a few of his missing teeth, then held up a finger. “I’d advise against running at me. I can detonate that mine from where I’m standing, so if you’d like to live, I’d suggest you start answering some questions.”

  “We’re not here for you, Rieu,” Kyra snapped.

  “Kyra! Gods all around us, is that you?” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Oh, where are my manners, missy. That’s Magister Kyra now, from the looks of it. Congratulations. After that mess at Syseril, I never thought you’d make it.”

  “We’re just passing through,” Kyra said. “Just let us go and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Funny, that’s what the last group of Endrans passing through here said. But when I searched ‘em, I found out that they were hunting oathbreakers. What a mighty coincidence that you’d happen by just a few days later.”

  “It’s the truth,” Fenn said, starting forward a bit.

  Rieu held up a gnarled hand. “Now, now. For your crippled friend’s sake, stay still. He can get by with one leg in life, not sure if he can get by with his organs dangling out the bottom half of him.”

  “Did you kill them?” Kyra asked, seething.

  “Kill who?” Rieu asked.

  “The others that came before us. Did you kill them?” she asked more forcefully.

  “I’m asking the questions here, love.”

  Kyra took in a hard breath. “If they’re dead, so are you.”

  “That’s quite a mouth on you for someone standing two paces away from a live mine.” Rieu tapped the tips of his fingers together, then moved to retrieve a bundle of rope on the ground. He tossed it across the clearing between them, just in front of Kyra’s feet. “Tie Fenn up, then the big fellow.”