by V. S. Holmes
An’thoriend
I agree it is shrewd for the Ageless to join the war. As king of Neneviir I have already rallied our warriors, though we are fewer than we once were. As always, I weigh the strength of the sides, and the benefits each offers. The choice is clear. You have my approval to approach the new Miriken lord and offer aide.
Until battle,
Edrodene
She looked up. “What do you want from us?”
An’thor ran a scarred finger around the edge of his mug. “I want the Nenev to use their might for something useful, finally.” He glanced up. “Honestly, I just want you to win. I’m tired of war.”
Alea saw the ache of homesickness in the lines around his eyes. “You want to go back to Athrolan. I remember that tale, how you were banished from the capital.”
“Tzatia is a fine queen, but she is scared. The only way I will find my way back into Athrolan is by your side, and I need to return to her. I know that kingdom’s voice and she is crying loud and long.”
Alea glanced at Bren. “You really aren’t certain? Look at him—he protected the Laen for years, chased them across the continent several times at least.”
Bren’s mouth hardened. “He also informed for Azirik. Forgive me if I can’t quite forget that.” Bren regarded the Ageless man for a minute. “All right. I’ll speak to the Kit.”
“They were the first to accept me in Mirik. They brought me to your father.” An’thor grinned, the expression making his face a bittersweet mixture of youthful energy and exhausted age.
Alea wondered abruptly how many of them would have the same features before the war was through. “I can entertain him, if you wish to go to the Kit now.”
Bren rose. “I hope to leave within the week. Best to iron everything out that we can.” He glanced between his two guests. “I won’t be gone long.”
Alea smiled inwardly. He had not threatened An’thor, or told her it was not safe to sit alone with a man she barely knew. It was a welcome change.
An’thor reached out, placing his hand on the desk beside hers.
It was a gesture so akin to Arman’s it made her heart twist. Will Arman turn into this? A sad shadow of a legend? She frowned. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry.” He looked down. “For my part in where your life has led. Not sorry for my actions, because we need you, but sorry for the pain they caused.”
“You did not make me what I am. You may have told me, helped me, but you did not take my family.” She leaned forward. “There is something more, An’thor, that you could do for us.”
His brows quirked. “Something your brother can’t know?”
Alea shrugged. “He has enough to worry after. Besides, it will not be easy, but must be done.” She pulled a scrap of parchment from her brother’s desk and hastily sketched a ring of metal and stone. She pushed it across the desk’s top. “I’m afraid I have no skill at art, that is Arman’s expertise.”
“Aye, they say those with fire in their minds burn with creativity.” His eyes fell to the image.
“It’s old, the stones are dark blue sodalite and the metal is iron. It was in Claimiirn. Perhaps it’s still there, perhaps it was looted. I need to know if you’ve seen it.”
“I thought the Laen had their Crown.”
“Obviously not. It was last seen in Claimiirn before she fell.”
“Claimiirn has quite the treasury. It’s been ransacked, surely, but if your Crown was found I imagine we’d know. You will search for it?”
“I’ll go before the battle. I need to study more, understand the gods.”
“When the time comes I will arrange passage for you, if you need it. And I’ll keep my words to myself. I passed through the city on my way here. You know Azirik’s made it his base camp?”
“It’s a risk I must take. Azirik does not scare me.”
“I wonder what does.”
“I see a sadness in your eyes,” Alea’s gaze met his, a tenuous connection through the shadow surrounding her thoughts. “A sadness that used to be in mine, before a deeper darkness overtook it. I think you know what scares me.”
Chapter NINE
The 35th Day of Lineme, 1252
The City of Ceir Athrolan
ARMAN GRINNED AS HE PRESSED back against the wall. His hold on his power was firm. Eras would arrive within a few minutes. She had enquired about his progress and he wanted to show her first-hand his new skills. Sure enough, her knock came. He called for her to enter and glanced down at his body. It was gone. Tucked in the shadow behind his window’s curtains, he was invisible.
Eras glanced through the room with a frown. “Arrowlash?”
“Morning, general.” He could not keep the impish grin from his voice.
Her eyes narrowed and began to trace each corner and shadow. They barely paused on him. “Are you washing up?” Her hearing was good. His voice had emanated from several paces to the left of his privy door.
“I’m right here, general.” He stepped into the shaft of sunlight from the window. He glanced down at his body again. It was nothing more than a dust mote turned golden in the sun’s ray. This power could go to my head. After a moment he slowly let his power fade from his body. Eras’s eyes caught the change and widened as first his bones, then organs materialized. His skin crawled back into view and he met her gaze.
Her years of training and the Asai stoicism held her feet in place, but Arman caught the sudden bittersweet scent of fear. “You become invisible?”
“The eye does not see smoke, not really. I am but smoke drifting on the wind.” Fully corporeal again, he spread his arms in a classic player’s flourish. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re horrifying. I think we can use you.” Her eyes flicked to the exposed skin of his forearms. “I think you have something more than smoke up your sleeve.”
He followed her gaze to the scales beginning to erupt from his tanned lower arms. “Ah, yes.” He rolled his sleeves down.
“You need someone to take a look at that?”
“No. There is nothing a human doctor could do.” He looked down. “There is something else I want to show you, but I think it’d be best displayed outside of the city limits.”
“I’ve heard that before, and from men far prettier than you.” Her mouth quirked and she jerked a nod at the door. “Shall we?”
Arman’s spirits darkened at her jest and he shrugged on his jerkin with more force than strictly necessary. “Apparently my tastes are very narrow, and I regret to inform you that you do not fall within them.” He strode down the hall and to the small gate beside the barracks.
Eras shot him a curious glance, but seemed to know better than to prod the testy Rakos. “So what are you showing me? Have you tested the limits of your power?”
Arman shook his head. “Not really, but I did discover something more useful, even than invisibility. You ever watch smoke after you blow out a candle?”
“No wonder you came to Athrolan, if that was your sole entertainment in Vielrona. But I suppose I know what you mean.”
“It drifts, it floats. When I’m smoke, I can do the same.”
“You can fly?”
He shrugged and ducked under a branch, holding it aside for her as she followed him further up the hill. “I guess.” He had been avoiding testing the limits of his power, and was uncertain why. Milady’s power is known—it’s beyond true understanding, but it is known to be Creation and Destruction. I, however, am a wild unknown.. He laughed humorlessly to himself. Fangs and all. He topped the hill and stepped into the center of the clearing. He noted with sick pride that Eras stayed back along the tree line. The familiar burn and exhilaration of his power filled him with itching and twitching. His body dissolved again, his form rising in white, whirling smoke. He climbed higher and higher, dozens of paces above the hilltop, before calling down. “General!”
She backed up, face tilted to the sky. “Where are you?”
He allowed just his face to reappear
, partially fleshed and macabre, but more obvious against the bright blue sky. He grinned. “Up here.”
Eras laughed. “You’re amazing, truly.” Her expression grew stern, the frown a shadow from his high vantage. “But come back down. There is more, more I’ve read, and more you have not tested.”
He sank back to the ground, his anger itching. Doesn’t she know how hard I work? When he was firmly back on the ground, he crossed his arms. “What do you mean?”
“Arman, you’ve been avoiding going deeper. Your abilities are phenomenal, surely, but you are Rakos. More than that, you’re bonded to the Dhoah Laen. Don’t tell me this is all you can do. What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid! I can’t do anything more. Not in comparison to her. I know it’s nothing, but this is all I am.”
She pursed her lips. “No, this is all Arman can do. What about Arrowlash? What about the blood inside you? You think Alea was never afraid of losing control—damn, she did more than once. She still tried.”
“I’m not afraid of losing control!” His anger was already roiling. Heat rumbled up his limbs and his nose singed with the smell of forging metal. Coppery fluid filled his mouth as he bit down on the insides of his cheek. She’s trying to help. The air around his skin rippled with heat and the glade flicked as if under a desert sun. “What’s this going to do, general? Make Azirik sweat a bit? Gods won’t like a soldier who reeks? Is that it?” The leaves of the closest trees wilted.
“What are you afraid of?”
“I’m afraid of what I’ll become. I’m afraid there is no place for what I’ll be, in this world, or in hers.”
“What have you lost that makes you afraid of that?” Eras backed up further, her eyes wary, but not fearful, not yet. Each word was calculated, and it occurred to him than Eras had trained more soldiers than he could imagine. His powers were different, but the methods were the same.
His eyes squeezed shut. “Her.” He felt the sharpness in the air as she tilted her head in a question. “She was able to talk to us, from Le’yan. She spoke to Bren, and never once to me. She left me here with a duty I never once questioned, and didn’t even bother to speak to me.”
“Arman, she’s a complicated creature. She’d be even if she were only human. You know you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re afraid of becoming something else—well you have no idea what creature will step off the boat when she returns. You need to be prepared for whatever she has become. You want her to see you as her equal? Become it.”
He did not answer. Instead, eyes still closed, he raised his hands. He did what he had warned Alea against and fell into his power. Everything Alea was to him filled his thoughts. Faith. He died for her. She had almost done the same to bring him back. Faith. Complete surrender. The image of Eana’s scarred golden eyes appeared in his thoughts again. Fear. Find us. Fear. Arman’s power thundered through him, eating through his skin with searing heat. He opened his eyes.
The hilltop was in flames. The trees were black skeletons, his hands white flames. It should have been excruciating, but it was only pleasantly warm. His skin was a network of white-gold scales. He stumbled back. Eras was several paces further into the forest, her forearm raised against the heat and the glow.
His power faded back into his body and the fire around him died to a dull smolder. He crouched and placed his hands on the ground, drawing the blaze into them until it was extinguished. With the threat of forest-wide destruction gone, he glanced down at Eras. “Well?”
She stared at the blackened trees. “What changed?”
“Each step of the way she reminds me what I am, who I always have been, but have forgotten. In Vielrona she was vulnerable. I remembered I was a protector. In her absence, I remembered my anger.”
“And now?”
“Faith. I need to surrender myself.” He fell back onto the scorched ground, head in his hands.
Φ
The 36th Day of Lineme, 1252
Swelling around Arman’s left eye had replaced the stinging of open flesh. The bruises were still obvious, and the green uglier than the initial purple. He was dressing for the training courts when a squire delivered the mail. Atop a letter from Bren was a summons.
Regarding your recent behavior, Her Majesty Tzatia requests your presence within the hour.
Arman’s stomach plummeted as he changed haphazardly into a finer set of clothes. Pomp and politics were more Alea’s area, but he recognized the importance of this meeting. The general said I wouldn’t be exiled or anything half so dramatic. She said nothing about other consequences. He raked a hand through his hair and tied it back. It had grown past his shoulders, more an Athrolani style than Vielronan.
The general was leaving when he arrived at the queen’s chamber door. Her face was unreadable, but she nodded to him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”
He watched her go before gesturing for the steward Valadai to announce him. Tzatia was seated on a couch by a bay of windows. Tea sat, half-drunk before her. It was obvious the refreshments had not been brought for his benefit. Her nephew, Daymir, leaned on the broad window-sill, arms and legs crossed. Patience was clearly a familial trait. Arman suddenly wished he had Alea’s hand on his elbow, guiding his actions. She’d murmur a soft joke to calm his racing mind and rising temper.
“Arrowlash, thank you for coming.” Tzatia leaned forward. “I hope this will go quickly. I already spoke to General Aneral about the events of last week. Quite the advocate you’ve got yourself there.” She sipped her tea, grey eyes flicking to his green ones. “Might I have your own account?”
“Where would you like me to begin, your majesty?”
“The beginning, perhaps?” Daymir’s low voice was tinged with humor, but the hard look in his eyes showed it was no joke.
“The soldier crowd was going to the bars, and I accompanied them, as usual. I had a few drinks. It was close to midnight when Hasian spoke out against my Ma and Milady Lyne’alea—”
“Spoke out how?” Daymir asked, “I believe even I have spoken out against Dhoah’ Lyne’alea at times.”
“Better not have been like this.” Arman’s voice was steady, but low enough not to be a serious threat. “He said I was a bastard of my mom’s paid union and that milady was bedding her way across the kingdom to get allies.”
“I don’t suppose you could have ignored it?” Daymir heaved a sigh, lips thinned in distaste.
“You ever been drunk, Lord Daymir? Ignoring is not really an option. Besides, I ignored him the last time and he needed a setting-right.”
“I don’t doubt he needed to be taken down a peg, only your methods for doing so.” Tzatia pinched the bridge of her nose with a narrow hand. “You are our ally, and the general explained the situation with your temper. There will still be consequences. Commander Dorcal has a fleet sailing along the Northlands’ coastline. There are rumors that the Berrin navy plans to attack us, and that is the way they will come. The general tells me you have some skills that will be helpful in battle, and seems to think you would benefit a sea voyage.”
Arman’s expression remained aloof, but his mind was scrambling. He felt betrayal at the general’s suggestion. She thinks I can fly alongside the ships? Ignite the enemies’ vessels? I’ve barely discovered these abilities and she wants me to use them in war? Instead of voicing his anger, he nodded curtly. “Certainly. When do they leave?”
“Less than a month. I will inform Admiral Fess that you will accompany him. He will meet with you separately to discuss details.” Tzatia fixed him with a pointed stare. “If you have business here, I suggest you conduct it with discretion from now on.”
Arman nodded and bowed himself out. His hands shook as he hurried down the corridor to the general’s room.
Φ
Eras rubbed her face wearily. “The trouble is, Raven, I don’t think he realizes they’re equals. He’s too wrapped up in how inadequate he is and he’ll hurt anyone who says otherwise.”
“I think b
oth of them are insane. No wonder the Rakos died out and the Laen are hunted. They’re mad, the lot of them.”
Eras rolled her eyes and poured herself two fingers of a dark alcohol. “He won’t be happy with me, either, telling the queen and all that.”
“Why do you care so much?” His dark eyes narrowed on her. “I’ll never understand your softhearted tendencies.”
“If you consider me softhearted, Raven, you’re the one who is mad. They may not be Athrolani or human or whatever other criteria of yours they don’t meet, but they are magnificent. Besides, I needed a mentor when I was lost. Certainly he does, too.”
A fist suddenly pounded against the door. “General!”
She shot Raven a pointed look and leaned forward in her chair. “Let him in, will you?”
“If you like ordering people about, get a squire, Eras. I’m a commander not a lackey.” Despite his bitter words, he rose and jerked the door open. “What do you want?”
Eras hid a smile at Arman’s confusion. The Rakos’s face was flushed and she was not in the mood to agitate him further. “Let him in and for fate’s sake be civil.”
Arman had to step around the commander’s bulk to enter, glaring at the man with open distain. His longer hair and beard only punctuated the feral expression.
“Arrowlash, have a seat.”
“Have a seat? Do I look like a court dandy, general? You had my confidence.” Instead he leaned on her desk, shoulders hunched and head low. It was not a posture of submission, but threat.
It did not work on her. “Arman, this is a monarchy. There is a very long list of people and places I have a duty to and you are certainly in the middle of that list. Her Majesty and Athrolan, however, are much higher.” She absently wondered if he would point out that she did not say they were at the top.
He scowled. “Dammit! I’ve barely mastered my powers and you send me gallivanting out into the north sea.”
“I did not send you, Arman, Her Majesty Tzatia did. Would you rather she put you to work elsewhere?”
