Authors: T. C. Metivier
Rokan Sellas straightened, and when he next spoke it was to all of them. “And now we part ways. Some of you I will see again, very soon; for others of you, this meeting will be our last. But all of you, know this: what has happened here was only the beginning. Everything that occurs from this point is now fixed, the paths locked in place by fate. For what has been begun can only be ended in one way. You may try to change it; you may think that your decisions can alter the fabric of what must be. But you are wrong. There is only one way this can end. Thus it has always been.” His voice suddenly grew deeper, echoing with ancient power. “Thus it always will be.”
He turned to face the chained Varenn. He raised one hand, palm outwards. Lightning arced out, to form a bridge connecting the two of them. There was a rumble like thunder, and a flash of light—
When Drogni looked next, both of them were gone.
* * * *
Roger opened his eyes. He blinked once, twice, and the world swam back into focus. There was no pain; instead, curiously, he felt…
whole
. Whole…and free.
And, somehow,
alive.
It defied his comprehension. He had entered a battle he could not win, intent on dying…and yet he had not. Through no design of his own, he was still alive.
What happened? What…and why?
A man’s face was burned into his mind, in that single moment before annihilation—that knowing gaze, those calm, steady eyes.
Who are you?
Roger wondered.
Who are you, to sacrifice yourself for me?
And who am I, to warrant such a sacrifice?
* * * *
Talan felt the enemy’s presence suddenly diffuse, felt the shadow suddenly lift from around them.
It is over,
he realized, relief and astonishment sweeping through him.
It is over—and we have survived.
The old wizard got slowly to his feet, wincing. It would take some time for him to recover from this battle, and he doubted he would ever return to his former strength, but that didn’t matter. If giving up some of his power was the price he had to pay for their survival on this day, then it was a sacrifice he would gladly make.
Besides, my purpose is not to kill this enemy. Perhaps, once, that was my destiny, but if so I failed long ago. Now that burden passes to others. All that is left for me is to guide them, to stand by them, to shield them from this evil for as long as I draw breath…and, I think, I am content with that.
Talan looked around. The world was dim and blurry before his eyes, shimmering and flowing as if he stood behind a pane of warped glass. The man with the sword of light still stood where he had failed to kill his foe, the now black-bladed weapon held loosely in his hands. His chest rose and fell in labored breaths. Blood dripped from his face and down his side, but he appeared not to notice. His eyes were fixed on the spot where the enemy had stood, his face frozen in a look of stunned horror. Talan knew that look well, and he remembered, a long time ago, another man with a magic sword, who had also thought to defeat the shadow with the power within his blade.
Hold your head proud, soldier. Yes, the enemy survived, but that does not mean that we failed. Darkness may rise…but it is in times of deepest night that the light shines out the brightest. It only takes a single spark to light a raging fire, pushing back the shadows…and bringing hope back to those who had none.
Be that spark, soldier.
Talan turned. The second stranger, who had arrived last and had focused his attention on the man on the dais of bone, slumped to his knees and let out a tormented moan that wrenched Talan’s heart.
He was your friend, wasn’t he? I am sorry that I couldn’t save him…and sorrier still for what he will face next. His is a terrible fate…but, unfortunately, it is one that he must endure. To rise to the heights of his destiny, first he must fall, and walk the dark roads of the universe, roads which even I fear to tread.
Despair threatened to overwhelm Talan then, but as he looked at the grieving man his expression suddenly softened, his face crinkling into a wearied smile.
But I am gladdened to know that he has those like you to fight for him. What he will face, no man should confront alone. He will need your strength…and I know that you will stand by his side against the darkness.
Finally, there was the third—the man who had given his life to save Roger Warbanks, whose sacrifice had nearly allowed them to win the battle that could not be won. Talan saw the man’s face again in his memory, with a mix of sorrow and pride. For, in the moment just before the man’s sacrifice, Talan had seen into his mind, had seen through the walls he had erected to hide himself—walls which, in his final moments, he had cast aside.
I know who you are. I know why you did what you did. May you rest easy, brave warrior, knowing that you did not hide from the choice you made—the choice that you
had
to make, the choice which none should ever be forced to make. In the end, you faced your fear, faced your death, just as you said you would…all to fulfill a promise you made to an old friend whom you knew no longer even remembered you.
Talan glanced over to where Roger stood.
You fulfilled your promise, Aras Makree…the rest is up to Roger Warbanks now.
Talan took a hesitant step forward. He stumbled and nearly fell, but a crimson-sleeved arm caught him, and he turned to see the Blood Legion Captain. The man’s bearded face was expressionless, but Talan saw the emotions roiling within his gaze. The man opened his mouth to speak, but Talan cut him off.
I know what you are about to ask, and I do not have the answer. Or rather, I have only half…the rest, whatever it may be, has yet to be revealed.
“Collect the others,” Talan said, wheezing and coughing. “Time slips through our fingers, and our journey is not yet over.”
The Captain nodded without hesitation or question. He gestured to the Florca Blood Legion Sergeant, and she too nodded. Holstering her weapon, she went to Roger, guiding him towards the entrance from which they had come. Roger allowed himself to be led away without resistance. Talan, leaning heavily on the Blood Legion Captain, followed after them. But when he came to the opening he paused, one last time. He remembered the enemy’s final words, and a smile quirked his lips.
Doomed to fail? I think not. Prophecy works in surprising ways—arrogant is the one who thinks that he can control it. Ignorant is the one who thinks that he can circumvent it. The Scions are both still alive…and you call that a failure?
This battle is not over. Fate has more planned for Roger Warbanks and Justin Varenn. Far, far more.
* * * *
The lightning seared towards him. Austin leapt backwards with a cry of pain and anger, barely avoiding the attack—but then he realized that it wasn’t an attack, and that he wasn’t the target. The lightning struck Justin, and his body convulsed. Then he vanished in a flare of light, leaving behind only an acrid smell and the ghostly echo of screaming.
For a moment, Austin could only stare in disbelief. His mind, already worn near to breaking, could not comprehend what he had just seen. One moment, Justin was there—the next, he was gone. Gone somewhere that Austin did not know and could not guess.
And could not follow.
Silence followed. In the corner of his eye, Austin saw the old man rise to his feet. The other strangers and the Admiral stood motionless, staring at the spot where Rokan Sellas had stood mere moments ago. Their attention was focused on their enemy, but Austin didn’t care about that. Rokan Sellas was a mere afterthought to him. He saw only the now-empty dais of bone where his friend had been chained.
No! This can’t be happening—this can’t be happening!
Justin…
Austin sank to his knees, tears coming to his eyes. He heard a cry of anguish ringing in his ears and realized that it was his own. Clenching his fists, he began to pound against the stone, as if doing so would allow him to turn back time itself. He felt pain and saw blood run from his knuckles, splattering to the ground to mix with his tears.
Time passed—how much, Austin neither knew nor cared. It was Katrina who finally broke him from his trance, frantically shaking his shoulder and calling out his name. He turned to her, and when she saw his blood-stained hands she began to cry. At her tears, Austin felt his anger vanish, extinguished as swiftly and surely as if by a raging river. He reached for her, and she collapsed into his arms. “There, there,” he said softly. “It’s all right…everything’s going to be all right.”
Austin wasn’t sure that he believed himself…but he wasn’t the one who needed to believe. He needed be strong for her, for this strange girl who had lost so much more than he had, who had already shown courage and fortitude beyond her years. Austin held Katrina for a while, the two of them taking comfort from each other. When her crying stopped, he released his embrace, crouching so that his face was level with hers. “Let’s get out of here, all right?” he said. “I’ll take you somewhere safe, I promise.”
She looked back at him with wide, frightened eyes, her face dirty and streaked from her tears. Her lower lip wobbled. But she nodded resolutely. “Okay,” she whispered.
Austin stood. He held out a hand, and Katrina took it. Together they walked over to where Admiral Ortega still stood. Austin touched the Admiral lightly on the shoulder. “Sir,” he said softly. “Sir, are you all right?”
The Admiral tensed, his head jerking towards Austin. “Oh, Forgera.” He blinked, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to remember where he was. “Yeah, I’m fine. Fine…” The Admiral’s voice died away, his head drifting back towards the spot where Rokan Sellas had vanished. He seemed lost, as if in a trance, and Austin was hesitant to break him from it. Instead, he looked around the cavern, taking stock of the aftermath of the battle. The old man and his companions—whoever they had been—were gone. The massive underground chamber was silent save for the faint rush of water flowing into the subterranean pools. Now that Rokan Sellas was gone, the darkness that had shrouded him had disappeared as well, and soft light bathed over them once again. It seemed impossible that a battle had just taken place here, and only the ruptured piles of stone and the now-empty dais of bone attested to the horror and terror of what they had just witnessed.
Austin was anxious to get away from this place. He glanced around uneasily, and finally he could take the silence no more. “I think we should go, sir,” he said in a tense whisper. “Nothing more we can do here…”
“What?” Admiral Ortega blinked again, seeming to focus on Austin only with great difficulty. “Oh, right. Right…”
The Admiral glanced down at the Mari’eth sword in his hands. The blade, Austin saw, had gone dark—not just dark, but blackened, as if it had been burned by passing through Rokan Sellas’s flesh. The Admiral looked at the sword for a moment, and it seemed as if he were debating leaving it here, but he re-sheathed it instead. They made their way swiftly and silently back through the tunnels, and when finally they broke out into the light they found a ship waiting for them, nestled in the blasted wasteland outside the mouth of the tunnel. The pilot, a dour-faced man in Tellarian Fleet attire, saluted the Admiral, who saluted back—apparently out of instinct, for he didn’t seem to break out of his daze. Austin wanted to ask how the pilot had known where to find them, or how he had even known to come looking for them, but he was simply too exhausted to care. Instead, he simply followed when the soldier waved them aboard, though he had to first soothe away Katrina’s understandable apprehension about boarding this giant, unfamiliar hunk of metal. This took less doing than he feared, for the girl was so tired that she could barely stand, and in the end she allowed him to simply carry her up the landing ramp. Soon after, the ship lifted off with barely a sound, and in minutes they were speeding through the black expanses of space, having left Espir no more than a faint speck behind them.
* * * *
Drogni Ortega was in shock. As the ship darted soundlessly through space back towards Tellaria, Espir rapidly fading into the distance and into the past, his mind was still numb from what he had just seen. A single thought raced through it over and over again, like a comet whipping closer and closer around a star.
A single thought: the memory of the two words Rokan Sellas had gasped in that brief moment when the demonic glow had left his eyes. Two words which had, in a heartbeat, changed everything.
“
Help me…
”
* * * *
“Please, Micaeh, make this quick.” The voice was haggard, tense. “I am swamped with paperwork and endless meetings and conferences, and my patience for trivialities is at an end.”
“Indeed, my lord.” A slight bow accompanied the words. “I shall not take up much of your time. But I bring news…from Espir.”
“Ah…and?”
“Ortega and Forgera have survived and are on their way back as we speak. Makree, for reasons that are unclear to me, sacrificed himself to protect one of the other individuals that I sensed would be drawn to Espir. However, the lives and fates of those two are meaningless in the greater scheme of destiny. What is most important is this: the sundering of Justin Varenn, the temporary separation of mind from body without which he is doomed to death…it was successful.”
The reply came back wearily. “You will understand if I do not share your enthusiasm on this matter, friend. You know that I do not—cannot—put the same faith in your visions that you do. Of more importance to me by far is that Drogni Ortega is returning home, alive, which should turn aside the media and political vultures for the time being. I will not allow you to send him away on another fool’s errand—is that clear?”