Chapter 17 #2
They passed several Sacred in full armor, marching out for another night of war.
Many were young, between twenties or thirties, but some of the Sacred had telltale whispers of ageing too soon.
They passed one who had paused, taking a knee to catch his breath, his sword like a cane to support him.
He had dark circles beneath his eyes, deep wrinkles that looked out of place on his young body.
His red hair was flecked with white and grey, though he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.
‘Gods be with you, Brogen,’ Arawn said, and helped the Knight stand. ‘To the end of your days.’
‘And to the Ehver after,’ the Knight said. He took a breath and rejoined the current headed for war.
‘Why aren’t you going with them?’ Ezer asked as he led her along.
‘More questions,’ Arawn called over a shoulder.
‘And so few answers,’ she said. ‘It’s called conversing. In person, face to face, instead of with a stone.’
He still said nothing.
So she reached into her pocket and gripped the stone until it warmed.
Is this better?
He sucked in a breath beside her, like he was surprised at her voice sidling up against his mind.
The stone is supposed to be for emergency purposes only, Minder.
They forked left down another set of stairs.
And what was earlier? Ezer thought back.
A test of the runic magic, Arawn answered.
You missed me, she said. Admit it. I’m not so terrible as you once thought now, am I?
At that, he chuckled aloud. Then his voice filled her mind as the staircase wound down, down. I never thought you terrible, Minder. Though I think you thought that about me.
He wasn’t wrong.
She risked pushing him further. Why are you on leave?
His silence was answer enough.
She tried to keep her next thoughts gentle. If I’m to trust you, to be your ally, as you said … then I need something to go off. Let me get to know you, Firemage. Please?
He paused before they reached the bottom of the stairwell. And when he turned to her, they were nearly eye level, even though she was two steps above.
She felt her eyes drop to his chest, where even through the pale linen tunic, she could see the outline of his angry scar.
A bit of truth about you, she whispered into his mind as she clutched the stone. That’s what I require if we are to be friends.
He swallowed and opened his mouth like he was going to speak.
But then the words came into her mind instead, and she could hear the carefully veiled sadness in his voice. A wound … that hadn’t quite yet healed.
I am not in battle, he thought, as his chest rose and fell so close to hers, because my magic has been denied by the gods. And it’s all my fault.
The stone cooled in her grasp, signifying that he’d dropped his. That the conversation was over. But he’d given her a truth, just as she’d asked.
And she didn’t like it one bit.
They soon entered a torchlit, rounded hallway. And there stood a small figure in brown robes.
‘You came!’ Izill’s hood fell from her head as she rushed to grab Ezer by the hand. ‘And just barely in time.’
A pointed look at Arawn, who held out his hands in apology. ‘She walks slowly, Izill.’
‘Or perhaps you arrived too late to collect her,’ Izill chided him. She sighed, exasperated. ‘Door, please?’
Ezer smiled at the way such a small, mouse-like servant could boss around a Sacred Prince the size of a war bear.
‘Of course.’ Arawn inclined his head respectfully and swung open the door for them.
The room on the other side was enormous. It was lovely, with ornate white stones with golden veins striking through the floors and the walls. It was domed, like a massive ballroom, but beyond the tall white marble pillars, one enormous circular window stood on the other side.
It took up nearly the entire wall and overlooked the Expanse.
The war.
There were several others standing before it.
They were all younglings, children no older than ten, at best.
The sky was almost dark. She could see the jagged Sawteeth in the background, the peaks so sharp they could have been refined by a whetstone.
The shadowstorm felt closer than ever. Like a living, breathing black crown atop the Sawteeth. Some parts of it were darker than others, tendrils of deepest black that she imagined she could feel from here, for it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
She’d never seen a storm so alive, so angry.
So ready to cover its enemies in darkness.
He’s mad, Ezer thought of Kinlear, to think anyone can fly beneath that cloud. To make it inside the Acolyte’s domain.
Snow poured from the sky in buckets, concealing the view as the alpine wind gusted past. It rattled the windows, shook the floor, had her shivering even though the dark cloak she wore was well made.
‘Come on,’ Izill said, taking her by the elbow. ‘The sun is about to set.’
Ezer glanced back at Arawn. He just nodded his head towards the window, his eyes on the sky.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Ezer whispered to Izill.
Izill grinned. ‘You’ll see.’
She nodded her small chin towards the view ahead of them, where the sun was slowly dipping behind the Sawteeth. And where, if Ezer dared look down … she could already see the line of ground forces snaking out into the snow.
They were only two stories up, but on their cliffside they stood high enough that the soldiers looked like ants.
Horses and war bears rode among them, the ground soldiers in Sacred whites, while the nomages were in bright, bold red.
Like smears of blood in the snow. They marched towards the black obelisks that were the Snow Gates.
The exit, where the wards would no longer protect them … and death surely awaited the moment darkness struck.
‘Almost there,’ Izill breathed.
All around her, the children were practically giddy, hands pressed to the icy window.
Arawn appeared beside Ezer, his body warm and his shoulder nearly touching hers. She glanced sideways to find him watching, too.
‘Sunset,’ he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear it. ‘The Descent.’
The bleeding sun dipped beyond the Sawteeth.
And then something suddenly fell past them, on the other side of the glass.
A blur, a rush of golden color.
A War Eagle, aimed like an arrow as it leapt straight down the cliff’s face.
Ezer gasped and pressed her own palms to the glass, daring to look down as four others followed in a perfect V formation, the eagles’ curled talons so close to the window she swore it rattled in their wake.
Her heart roared in her ears.
She took a step back, because she couldn’t watch.
They were going to fall. They were going to splatter upon the snow.
She clutched her speaking stone on instinct, the warmth her only anchor.
Look, Minder, Arawn’s voice whispered into her mind.
She opened her eyes and gasped.
At the last second, the War Eagles pulled up, snapping out their golden wings.
The children cheered all around her.
The aerie riders were pressed close to their eagles’ backs, expertly staying in their saddles as they climbed into the sky. So fast, they’d fallen past the window, and so fast, they soared back up, sending a wave of snow against the glass.
It was like watching the stars fall. Beautiful, lovely, and deadly in their golden grace.
The cheers settled.
And then all around her, whispers sounded.
Prayers, Arawn said into her mind. For safety, for strength, for swords to strike true and invocations to be granted.
She didn’t even know they could be denied, throttled, until she met him. And he was about as Sacred as one could get.
What did he do, she wondered, to earn their wrath?
Beside her, she heard a child pray for an aerie by name, each rider within it, as the eagles fell past the window, then snapped out their wings and rose to the sky.
They headed straight towards the distant Sawteeth, where she could just barely see the flickering blue torchlights beneath the layer of frozen fog. Ground soldiers, heading to clash against the darksouls.
There. Arawn’s voice sighed into her mind. It’s what I wanted you to see.
She looked all the way to the black mountains, where the shadows had already begun to strike, rattling the glass, rumbling the very floor beneath her feet. And a cloud of winged darkness rose from between the peaks.
Dark wings.
Lithe, catlike bodies.
Raphons.
Raphons, and their darksoul riders.
They’re slower than the war eagles, in a straight flight, Arawn thought to her. But watch when close combat occurs. There, on the right flank.
Where the first eagle aerie had clashed with a pack of raphons.
She saw a blaze of fire erupting from a Sacred firemage’s hands. It was coupled by a beam of blue ice from a watermage, sent spiraling into the raphon pack. Power that great … it was no wonder it sucked the life from the Sacred after too many years of battle.
Ezer held her breath.
They would not miss.
But at the last second, the raphons split, and dipped, smaller and shiftier than the war eagles.
And before she knew it, they were rising from beneath the war eagles, attacking from below, where the giant birds’ bellies were soft and unprotected. The eagles banked and split up, and the raphons gave chase.
The war in the sky is a dance, Arawn explained softly as she clutched the speaking stone. A rider must always be ready to pay attention to which partner, which step, will come next. From all angles.
They grew closer, enough that she could make out the sheer size of the raphon in front.
Its wings were enormous, easily three times the size of Six’s. Bits of shadow, like black smoke, trailed from behind the rider’s dark robes.
A Sentinel, Arawn explained, his voice thrumming against her mind.
It felt strangely comforting, like she wanted to lean deeper against it.
The strongest warriors lead the packs and wield some of the Acolyte’s magic.
Their numbers are far less than ours, but we must invocate to wield.
Their darkness flows freely. Endless, in battle.
As he said it … a tendril of shadow soared from the Sentinel’s outstretched hand.
It spiraled towards the eagles, and as the one in the back of the aerie dipped … the tendril of shadow dipped, too.
It trailed the eagle like it was alive.
‘No,’ Ezer gasped out loud.
She didn’t want to watch anyone die.
But when that shadow suddenly exploded against rider and eagle – it bounded right off, dissipating in the sky.
The runes, Ezer thought.
Arawn nodded, still watching the sky.
We’re protected for several hits, thanks to our Scribes, and hopefully the aerie will be able to make one count.
What is their weakness? Ezer asked.
Daylight, Arawn answered. If it weren’t for the sunrise, this war would have been lost long ago. Sacred magic slows them, but it won’t always kill them. It must be the removal of their heads or wings … a hit they cannot heal with their shadows.
Just like the wolf in the woods.
She imagined Six out there in the battle.
Imagined a Sacred’s blade driving deep into the pup’s belly, and she shuddered.
She felt sick.
How do the Riders decide, Ezer asked, that they want to be in the sky?
His voice was gentle, faraway as he thought back to her. It’s in our blood, Minder. Just like that feeling you said you get. Now … the Descent is over. It’s time we train.
Her stomach sank.
And when she turned to him, he looked like a warrior again.
Cold as the stone in her pocket.
‘Please,’ she said out loud. ‘I’ve no desire to train in any sort of physical activity, Arawn, especially against children half my age.’
Not because she feared she’d best them.
But because she knew they would all kick her ass.
But as Arawn shrugged and turned away, she realized they weren’t going through stances, or wielding training swords, or getting ready to spar.
‘What is this?’ Ezer asked, as she sat down beside Izill.
Everyone had sat in their own spaces on the floor, where one of the older servants had begun passing out wooden trays. Each one held a bowl of water, a seed, two candles – one lit and one unlit – and finally, a small dagger.
‘The night class,’ Izill said. ‘For those – mostly the younglings – not yet settled on their pillar, because they’ve yet to wield at all.
If they fail to settle before they turn thirteen, odds are they’ll never settle at all.
And as of now … well, I suppose it’s also a class for you.
And me.’ She sighed. ‘A special circumstance, given our advanced ages, but every Sacred’s got to start somewhere.
We’ve a rare few that settle in their later years. ’
‘Settle with what?’ Ezer asked.
Izill smiled. ‘Your magic.’ She pressed a finger to her lips as everyone turned to face the front of the room … where it was Arawn who stood waiting like an impatient professor.
Of course.
This was what Kinlear had meant when he said to look after the younglings.
He’d said it like it was embarrassing. A demotion, or a punishment.
She couldn’t stop herself from looking at Arawn’s hands, remembering when his fire had fizzled out in the woods. All the stories about the crown prince with the gods’ glorious magic …
It’s all my fault, he said.
What had he done … what could be so bad that the gods would deny the invocations of a crown prince? The King was dwindling. And with Arawn next in line for the throne, they couldn’t afford to lose him. He’d die as fast as the nomage troops without magic.
His eyes fell upon hers as he said, ‘Let’s begin.’