by C. M. Hayden
Stopping Vexis from acquiring the Deeplight was important, but Taro knew the truth buried deep in his heart: he would trade Endra Edûn, himself, even the entire Magisterium if it meant bringing her back home, and repairing his broken family. Regardless of what she’d done, she was his little sister, and he was going to save her.
The Riverstone was one of the nicer inns in Aleth, much nicer than anywhere Taro had ever stayed before. Its white, squared rooftop towered over the other buildings on Plenary Street. Despite the rain, there were a dozen people outside, though most were underneath a cloth overhang. They were all well-to-do individuals, each richly dressed—silk gloves, fine hats, pearls, and jewelry. These weren’t nobility or gentry, rather they were wealthy merchants. While their clothes were fine, their mannerisms were distinctly common.
With his clothes wet and torn, and his hair disheveled, Taro realized he might not get terribly far into the inn before getting tossed out on his ass.
The two burly, thick-necked guards at the door didn’t seem friendly. Each wore a long cudgel and sword, and their faces were locked in a permanent scowl as they scanned the immediate area for riffraff. Taro moved as close to the entrance of the Riverstone as he dared, then touched his hand to Raethelas. As taxing as the ordeal in Thrain’s Pass had been, he was able to summon just enough templar to activate it.
“Go,” he whispered. The guards didn’t move.
“Go,” he repeated, pushing his concentration to the breaking point.
A moment passed, and the guards winced and struggled; and, as if quickened along by some unseen force, they began running into the dark streets.
Taro didn’t waste a second. He zigzagged through the few merchants and tables outside, and into the Riverstone.
The palatial inn was divided into six wide rooms on the first floor; two bars, one room with music, and one room with a stage play, a quiet lounge, and a backroom for workers. It was thankfully dark inside, and people were quiet as they watched the theatrical performance on stage. Taro recognized the play; his old boss’s wife, Miss Craiven, used to drone on about it endlessly. It was the story of Hidreaon’s treacherous voyage across the Caeris Sea. It was rife with devious plots, shipwreck, sea monsters, romance, and piracy. Everything a good story needed.
The set pieces and costumes were quite elaborate; there was even crude machinery moving blue-colored cutouts of waves to simulate the sea. While Taro crept through the seated crowd, trying to surreptitiously dodge the serving staff, Hidreaon stood on the bow of his ship, staring down the sea serpent Jormung and pontificating.
The actor had a strong, booming baritone that carried well over the small band playing at the foot of the stage. He sang:
Set forth on a fortnight voyage,
Cursed to scour and flee,
Seeking the Dread Serpent,
On the waters of the Caeris Sea.
Old Gods be merciful,
May I find my wife-to-be.
In the wide sprawl of Kalacris,
Off the waters of the Caeris Sea.
And when all has faded and fallen,
And I return to my love and see,
May I find peace and new life,
From the waters of the Caeris Sea.
Taro moved past the tables, and into an alcove where an older couple was enjoying the play
“Excuse me,” Taro said, sounding as ragged as he looked. “Have you seen an Endran girl?”
The startled couple shook their heads, and the woman made a motion for her purse on the table.
Taro tipped an imaginary hat to them. “Sorry to bother you.”
He moved briskly between booths, asking the same question, but nobody had seen her. It was only after startling the fourth couple that he realized he was being foolish. Nima didn’t care for theater. Nima didn’t drink. If she was there, she’d be in her room.
The way to the upper levels was conspicuous; the narrow hallway led into an elegant stairwell, going straight to the upper floors. As Taro ascended, it grew quieter, until he could only hear the faint, muffled sounds of the actors on the stages below.
Just about everyone was downstairs enjoying the show, which would make his search for Nima easier. When he was at the top of the stairs he held his breath, and listened closely. Somewhere, almost inaudible to his naked ear, he heard voices, and moved toward them.
Down a long hall, past colorful buttresses and elegant marble statues, he could finally discern two voices. One was unmistakably Nima’s…but the man she was speaking with sounded familiar, too. While it sounded different, it was undoubtedly Dr. Halric. Taro couldn’t begin to understand how that could be. He’d seen Halric burn in the fires of the Arclight with his own two eyes.
Taro moved as close as he dared, just on the other side of a dividing wall, and listened in.
“King Mjolir’s dead,” Nima said.
“Explain it again,” Dr. Halric said. From the tapping of his cane, Taro could tell he was pacing around the room.
“His subjects found out he was working with us, and killed him,” Nima grumbled. “I think Praxis warned them.”
“And the key to the Bórhiemdr?”
“Lost,” Nima said.
Dr. Halric grumbled. “Of all the blackened luck.”
“What do we do now?” Nima squeaked.
“Do?” Halric asked, his voice increasingly agitated. “There’s nothing we can do. Without access to the Bórhiemdr, Castiana is impregnable. Without help, even if we can get into Nir Daras, there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to access the Deeplight. I need time to think. Get some rest, be ready at dawn to return to Helia.”
The door opened, and Taro heard Dr. Halric walk away, his steps punctuated by the click of his cane against the hardwood floor. When he was out of earshot, Taro stepped in front of Nima’s door and took a hard breath to calm himself.
As his hand touched the knob, he thought many things. He saw his father’s face staring at him from the back of his mind. His mother smiling at him. His brothers running around on the floor of their old house in Ashwick. So much had happened since then; was Nima even the same girl he remembered? Was saving her even possible?
Taro didn’t know. And he didn’t know whether he wanted to hug her, or wring her neck. All he knew was that he wanted to see his little sister again.
His hands trembling, Taro swung open the door.
The room was richly decorated, if a bit small. It was in a nearly untouched state, with the only things disturbed being the fireplace, which was the only source of light in the room, and the bed where Nima sat.
When she saw him, Nima’s face ran through an entire wheel of emotions: Shock. Fear. Anger. Disgust. She motioned to stand, and grab the sheathed sword at the foot of the bed, but pulled back just as her hand grazed the hilt. Instead, she settled back into a sitting position.
Taro closed the door behind him, and they stood staring at each other for a long moment in the flickering firelight.
“What are you going to do?” Taro asked flatly. “Kill me, too?”
Nima frowned, her eyes shifting left and right as if she were embarrassed. “You surprised me, that’s all. What are you…what are you doing here?”
Taro didn’t answer. “Mind if I sit?” he asked instead.
Nima waved a hand at one of the armchairs beside the fireplace. Taro hobbled toward it, setting his staff against the back and taking a seat.
Nima’s eyes met his own. “How’s—” she began, but stopped short of the actual question.
Taro knew what her question was. “I haven’t talked to Mom,” he said.
“You should be with her,” Nima said quietly. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
Taro shook his head. “I set her and the boys up with some money.”
“They don’
t need money, Taro. They need you.”
“And what am I supposed to say?” He said this much more harshly than he’d intended.
Nima visibly fought down a shiver. “That it was an accident.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Taro said.
“You were there,” Nima said, raising her voice. “You saw what happened. I didn’t mean to…kill him.”
“You meant to kill someone, though. Does that make it any better?” Taro swallowed.
“I was defending myself,” Nima snapped.
“You were defending her.” Taro realized he was getting loud, and tried to steady his emotions. “What has Vexis ever done for you? Why follow her?”
Nima squeezed at the covers on the bed. “What other choice do I have? I can’t go home. I can’t go back to the Magisterium. Vexis treats me well. I’m important in Helia. I’m powerful in Helia.”
“She’s using you, you have to realize that. That’s all she knows how to do. Lie, use people, and when she can’t get anything else out of you, she’ll toss you aside.”
“And you’re so different?” Nima snapped.
This hurt Taro much more than he expected it to. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.
“Sorry,” Nima said quietly. “I didn’t mean… It’s just, Vexis isn’t the monster you think she is.”
“Bullshit,” Taro said.
“I’m serious. She’s not crazy. She’s not cruel. The longer I know her, the more I realize that she has an endgame. If I serve her well, I’ll have a place at her side when we’re done.”
“Done?” Taro asked. “In Nir Daras? What do you think she’ll do with Craetos once she has the Deeplight? A five-story-high, undead killing machine. How many people have to die before you understand how dangerous she is?”
“This is my life now, Taro,” Nima said. “This is what I have. I can’t go back.”
Taro stood and took a few steps toward her without his walking stick. “You can,” he pleaded. “We can walk out that door, together, right now. Forget Vexis. Forget the Magisterium. Forget everything. We’ll get mom and the boys, we’ll move far away. Somewhere in Celosa, away from all this.” He made an expansive gesture.
Nima shook her head with quiet resolve. “I can’t do it, Taro. I can’t face them.”
“They don’t know what you did. And they never need to know.” He held his hand out for her. “Let’s go home, sis.”
Taro couldn’t help but feel like he was getting to her. He inched closer, his hand outstretched, and for the briefest moment he could see the gears in her mind turning. Her right arm trembled as she raised it to take his hand, but before their fingers could touch, the door on the other end of the room creaked open. Light from the hallway poured into the room, accompanied by an imposing shadow.
The man that stood in the doorway was cloaked in a silhouette of darkness. A snake-shaped cane in his right hand, a long overcoat, and a vague outline of his facial features were all Taro could really see. But that was enough. When the dark figure spoke, it eliminated the last bit of doubt in his mind. The man stepped into the light of the fireplace; despite superficial age differences, there was no doubt in Taro’s mind that this was Dr. Halric.
Taro stared at him, dumbfounded. “You.”
“Mr. Taro, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Halric’s grin was very white against the dark room. “I thought I heard raised voices, but I wasn’t expecting your good company.”
Nima pulled her hand back, almost sitting on it. “He was just leaving.”
Halric smiled a dreadful smile. “Is that right, Mr. Taro? Were you just leaving?”
Taro nodded. “Yes.” He nodded toward his sister. “And I’m taking her.”
“I feel like we’ve been here before. Let’s see, how did Victor handle it back then?” Halric asked, tapping his fingers together. “Do you want to go with him, my dear?”
Nima hesitated, but shook her head ‘no.’
“Well, that settles that. Off you go, boy.”
Taro stood firm. “I’m not going anywhere without her.”
“Strong words. Maybe our last meeting gave you a somewhat…mistaken impression of the power disparity between us.”
“I saw you die,” Taro said.
“And yet here I stand, reborn from the ashes.”
Taro removed a few sharp pieces of metal he’d inscribed back at the Magisterium. An idea he’d gotten from Kyra. He created a templuric link with each, and they flew around the flat of his hand.
“Oh, you’ve learned a few tricks,” Halric said, stifling a laugh. “This is what you’re going to beat me with? A few twirling pieces of iron? My boy, I hold no malice for you despite what happened between us. But, if I must teach you a lesson...”
Halric raised his forefinger and the iron blades around Taro’s fingers fell to the floor with a thud. Taro tried to raise them back up, but it felt as though some great weight was crushing down on his templar.
“It’s pointless, Taro,” Halric said with no particular inflection. “Now, please, be on your way.”
In frustration, Taro drew Raethelas from its sheath.
Nima stood, and took Taro by his forearm. “You can’t win.”
Taro pointed the sword directly at Dr. Halric. The doctor sighed as if the sword was a toy. The next few words out of Taro’s mouth made Halric’s smile turn to shock.
“Fall down,” Taro commanded.
Dr. Halric’s arms and legs bent, and he fell face-down onto the hardwood floor, momentarily unable to move. Taro grabbed Nima by the arm, and pulled her along for a few paces until she yanked free.
“I already told you, I’m not going with you,” she said resolutely.
It didn’t take Halric long to shake off the effects of the Deeplight. He didn’t seem upset by what Taro had done, rather he looked practically elated as he climbed to his feet.
“Marvelous,” he said, leering down at Taro. “Our fortunes are starting to improve. All our planning, all our stratagems, but lo and behold, your brother brings the final piece to the puzzle right to us.” The doctor held out his hand, and Taro felt an incredible force pulling at the Deeplight sword. Immediately, Raethelas ripped from his hand and flew to Halric’s.
He looked it over with a wide smile, running his hand over the dark metal.
At his touch, the metal changed forms several times. From a sword, to a key, to a mace. “Simply marvelous. I thought Praxis had taken it.”
Taro tried to make a run at Halric, but Nima’s shadow magic wrapped around his arm and held him back. He struggled against the ink-like shadows, but couldn’t break free.
“It’s time for you to go, Taro,” Nima said, tightening her grip.
“It’s not enough to tell him, Miss Nima,” Halric said. He held Raethelas aloft, and Taro’s body tightened up. With just a few twitches of Halric’s hand, Taro’s body flew across the room like a ragdoll, barreling into a table, sending plates crashing down and pitchers of red wine pouring across the floor.
Before Taro could compose himself, Halric pointed the Deeplight sword to the other side of the room, and Taro slid across the floor, through the pool of wine, and smashed into one of the armchairs beside the hearth.
“Stop!” Nima shouted, running to Halric’s side and forcing his hand down. “Don’t hurt him!”
Dr. Halric smirked. “You’re too soft.” Halric pushed her aside, and grabbed Taro by the back of the collar, carrying him toward the fireplace. He leaned down as he inched Taro’s face closer to the flames, and spoke closely and quietly.
“Maybe I should throw you in here,” Halric said, eying the dancing flames. “It would be fitting vengeance, all things considered.”
Taro struggled against Halric, but between his own use of the Deeplight and his injuries, he was t
oo weak to free himself.
Halric made a noise like a snarl, and pressed Taro’s cheek face-down onto one of the hearthstones. The pain was sharp and intense, and Taro cried out as he felt his skin burn.
Nima grabbed Halric from behind, and tried to pull him away. Though she was unsuccessful, Halric still lifted Taro off the hot stone. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill him. After all, he didn’t kill me. In fact, he taught me a valuable lesson when he beat me that day in the Magisterium: humility. So, I’ve returned the favor.” He tossed Taro across the room, toward his walking stick.
While Taro groaned and clenched his cheek, Halric made the blade on Raethelas disappear, and tucked the hilt into one of his many robe pockets.
Taro couldn’t say why he did what he did next. Perhaps it was just general curiosity, perhaps it was the strange feeling he got when he looked at Halric, but as he lay ragged on the floor, his fingers found the Eye of Sethetrion in his pocket, and his true sight took over. What he saw, he couldn’t explain or understand.
Amidst swirling energy, Halric’s true form stood out. Everything about it was dark and seemed to pull in shadows from nearby. All around his body were black tendrils wriggling like snakes, and a hundred eyes nested against his skin, blinking and turning.
Taro’s true sight lasted only a fraction of a second. When it faded, Halric motioned to Nima, a sinister glint in his nightmarish expression. “Change of plans. We’ll leave this very night. We have much to do.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Parting Ways
Every part of Taro hurt. His limbs ached, his skin was bruised and puffy, the top layer of his right cheek was peeling and burned. More than that, his heart was hard and heavy, but as he drudged through the Riverstone Inn, looking every bit as shabby and broken as he felt, something else filled the hole that loss had made.
Praxis had been right in what he’d said to Taro: Vexis would keep winning because she was willing to do anything. And Halric was cut from the same cloth. So long as Taro had rules, people to protect, or an image to keep, he’d always lose.
