Dominion
Roran had tried to sleep, but his mind was awhirl with deep-rooted foreboding and agonized yearning. She was still out there. And he... was stuck in place. He couldn't leave, even if he saw fit to abandon all else in his search. The giants had ensured that.
They roused him at dusk.
A creature with a single Y-pupiled eye called both him and Horst outside with a soulless voice. Two giants flanked the creature. They both held shields almost as large as they were.
"You have been summoned," the one-eyed creature told them. It's eye flashed once. Roran held his breath. "You will leave your weapons behind."
He fingered the haft of his hammer. One of the giants rumbled. "Disarm, human, or I shall make you."
Horst gently took the hammer from Roran and handed it back to Baldor, who disappeared back inside. "Don't," the blacksmith warned.
Roran glared at the monsters and despaired.
He was helpless.
Hopeless.
Lost.
"Move, human."
And they were uncompromising.
The giants had picketed their camp by the edge of the Anora River. Everything about it defied belief. Huge metal objects lay scattered around. Giants regularly patrolled the perimeter with the odd one-eyed creature or a red hound. When they spoke, it was in a grunting language well beyond his ability to decipher.
They were foreign. They were conquerors. And they'd conquered Carvahall within hours, without a single death on either end. Roran couldn't imagine fighting them. They were beyond anyone's capacity to oppose. They were huge, immeasurably strong, and armed with fantastical magical weapons. Their hounds were vicious creatures more than capable of killing a man with a single bite, and the smaller soldiers were unnervingly alert.
When they'd taken Carvahall, it was the one-eyed creatures that went door to door and searched the houses. Some villagers spoke out, but none dared interrupt. Not with the giants watching. It was a relief to find that nothing had been taken.
Whatever they were searching for, it wasn't in Carvahall. Roran wondered if they were after the same thing as the Ra'zac.
His already foul mood darkened further. That damn stone.
When, at last, they arrived at the centre of the camp, he found that the giants had already erected a sturdy building formed from solid steel. More giants stood guard, and they were some of the largest he'd seen yet. They hefted larger weapons than all the rest and flouted banners from their backs. Their armour was coloured either blood red and bruise blue or a gentle cream with soft yellow.
The two by the door ushered him, Horst, and the one-eyed creature in.
There were others inside. Another two guards on the other side of the entryway. Birgit, Delwin, Ivor, Felda, and Loring were already inside, all stiffly standing and facing what had to be the largest of the one-eyed creatures in camp. It was taller than even the largest of the giants.
Its hairless head was bared to the room. Its single orange Y-pupiled eye was cradled in the palm of a black trident-shaped crease reaching from the top of its upper lip to the zenith of its skull. It had four nostrils just below its eye, but no nose. Its skin was deathly pallid. Black veins danced just beneath the surface.
It wore a pure white suit of armour gilded with glorious gold. A long swan-white cloak dragged from its shoulders. Both of its five-fingered hands were gloved in black.
It looked at each of them in turn, and finally settled on him. Roran could feel its gaze. A tiny pressure built up at the base of his skull.
When it spoke in its echoing voice, he swore he could hear three voices speaking at once.
"I am Invoctol, Dominion's Triune. I am Primus-Emergent of Soulrazer and Worldbreaker. I am the mind of Freeborn Tlac, of Freeborn Cadon, of Freeborn Orche. I am God-Thought. I am your liege-lord."
Its single eye flashed a rainbow of colours. Suddenly Roran wasn't there. No, he was a giant encased in a turtle-shell of solid steel, cracking corpse-like wraiths beneath his feet. He was a slathering thing running through the woods, right behind a fleeing doe. He was a many-armed sailor, jutting his claws into a roaring oven. He was a gentle artist listening as thunder boomed and massive flaming birds tore through the clouds overhead.
He was an empty thing. He was hungry in the dark. Hungry. Hungry. Always hungry.
Then he saw himself. He saw a child who thought he knew the world. He saw a lost animal living in filth. He saw a peasant, a brute, a blind man who never considered himself unseeing. He saw loss, hurt, anger, joy, hate, and fear. He saw it all in himself.
Roran returned to his own body with a gasp. He shuddered and tried to retreat, but there were giants behind him and they barred his escape.
Invoctol's eye went back to orange. It didn't so much as twitch. "Your cousin damned you," it murmured, "for a shiny rock."
Roran's chest tightened with hurt and frustration.
"Your father died," Invoctol continued, "for a shiny rock."
His hands curled into fists and shook.
"Your beloved was taken," the Primus-Emergent whispered, "for a shiny rock." Invoctol leaned forward. "So much misery for a rock. So much pain for a rock. Meaningless misery. Senseless pain. I offer something more. I offer you everything. I offer you the outstretched hand of the Cabal Empire."
"What do you want?" Roran heatedly demanded.
"Your land. Your loyalty. Your familiarity with this world. And all the information you have to offer. Give this to me, and I will allow you all to continue to live as you see fit. I will grant you the peace you desire... but only if you offer me everything."
000
Invoctol dispassionately watched the humans filter out. Shu'av came in after them. Ceremonial wings of solid titanium stretched from his back. The weight was throwing him off, but a wide grin was set in his face.
That smile failed when he beheld his new Primus.
Invoctol extended a hand. "I am still the same, my friend."
"Three of the same." Shu'av shook his head. "It's just hard to come to terms with." But he stepped forth anyways and clapped Invoctol's pauldron with a meaty hand. "But it is you, isn't it? Or... yous."
Invoctol grinned. The terminology was so wrong, but from an Uluru it was so right. "A single 'you' will suffice."
Shu'av dipped his head. "Of course, brother."
They were both left surprised. Shu'av started laughing. Invoctol only smiled - it was ridiculous, but it was their new reality. A Primus and his Bond-Brother.
Cadon accepted it with a soldier's unfazed attitude. Orche chuckled with youthful amusement. And Tlac lamented the spot next to them. A place where an equal would stand tall.
No. Not equal. Someone they - he (Tlac) - adored. Someone in whom they saw the shred of divinity. Someone who deserved that divinity for his unwavering bravery and eternal vigilance.
I miss him.
There was a hole in one of their three hearts. The other two kept it alive.
Shu'av jutted a thumb in the direction of the doorway. "Think they'll give in?"
"They have to." Invoctol swiped away their stray thoughts and activated the holotable's display. "The humans call this place Palancar Valley. We will hold here."
"What if the Hive follow?"
"We crush them with everything we have."
"But we don't have everything." Shu'av's grin fell. "We left so much behind."
"The Magnus Vae is lost to us."
"But all we left inside it! Harvester, Threshers, Goliaths, Interceptors! More oil! The Amarx Amalz!"
"The Siege-Breaker?" Invoctol asked incredulously. "The Hive were crawling all over it. We don't have the numbers to seize it."
"Bomb them into dust and walk over their corpses! The Amarx can handle a thunder run!"
"So can the Hive. Direct assault is suicide. We hold our ground, regroup, and restrategize."
Shu'av groaned. "We need that oil. We've got too many wounded."
"Begin mining operations."
"It'll be loud. Hive could come running. Or the barbarians might. Maybe both at once."
"We have no choice." Invoctol let his resolve hang in the air as pure psionic energy. "I will not fail the empire. The Hive will burn and we will claim this world!"
Shu'av saluted. "I'll get the calves on it. Pups need something to do."
"Keep them busy. We need that oil."
000
Blood mixed with the surrounding mud. What rains pummeled them went some ways to clearing away the spreading red, but there was always more.
Her name was Xiān. She was a Ghost, born of the Traveler's sacrifice. And her Guardian was lying facedown in the muck, struck dead. His robes, once bright and elegant, were covered in Hive filth. There were rips across his skin left by the Darkblade that her Light couldn't banish, but those were shallow. Those were hardly worth any notice - he'd hate them when he woke up, but they weren't life-threatening.
She wished she could say the same for the knife-wound.
It had killed him already. She'd tried bringing him back, but he only just died again. Her Light wasn't enough. Xiān pulled at the little knot of spectral rot taking shape in his flesh. She could feel its tendrils scraping against his Light like slim little spiderlegs. She tried to keep it at bay, and it spread no further, but it wasn't WORKING! He wasn't healing. It was still here. Keeping him dead or dying.
So she waited. In the rain. Waited for her core to leach the ambient Light out of the air and summon enough power to try and bring him back.
He was dreaming. Not normal dreams. Death-dreams. She could feel it in that tiny little strand that made up their bond. She couldn't see what he was dreaming, nor how it affected him. Not while he was dead. It was in death that their connection stretched its thinnest, and she hated every moment of it.
She continued to wait. She continued to draw in Light, but it was rare, it was scared, and the air was so very cold.
Nice one, Xiān. We're STILL in a DZ. Fat load of good that Ripper did us.
Finally, enough Light! She hovered over his head, opened up her shell, and shared all the strength just waiting within her core. The body below shuddered and turned around. Dull, cloudy, bloodshot eyes met her single fiery one. He wasn't grimacing. He was somewhere beyond the pain stage.
"Hey, hey, heyheyheyhey, Ikharos, look at me, keep looking at me, you need to put pressure on it..." But he'd already lost too much blood. He dragged one of his hands into sight and looked at it incredulously. It was lathered in red.
He died for a third time. Xiān found it altogether more difficult to keep the Dark at bay. It smelled death. It was coming for him.
Xiān got angry. It couldn't! It had no right! This was her Chosen! Her Guardian! She loosed a digital roar in the faint hopes that it would scare the Dark away, but it only attracted other predators.
She hid away as the rumble of a ship came to a stop overhead. When the Skiff broke stealth, she shamefully floated out of hiding and waited for the Eliksni to drop. And drop they did. Chittering and bright-eyed and nervous.
"Here!" She yelled. They looked her way. "We're over here! He needs help!"
The first to reach her was Melkris. He took one look at Ikharos and said, "He's dead."
"I can't heal him!"
The shockshooter wordlessly dragged Ikharos's prone form into his arms. Another Vandal rushed and helped carry her Guardian back to the waiting Skiff. Formora was there.
"Ican'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan't-!" Xiān yammered. Formora nodded grimly and rushed to Ikharos's side. Melkris wiped away the mud covering him. The wound was an ugly thing. Dark cracks reached through the surrounding flesh like malignant roots.
She tried bringing him back for a fourth time. He choked and stilled. Gone again.
"Nothing I do is working!"
Formora held up a hand. "We... we need a healer." She looked at Melkris. "We need to return to Du Weldenvarden."
"He won't last it to Ellesméra!" Xiān cried out. "I can't... I can't do anything!"
Melkris tried to shush her, but it wasn't working, she had to tell them, tell someone, tell something! He cupped her in gentle hands - she wriggled out and flew back to Ikharos. She was failing him! She had one job and she was failing it!
His Light was fading. The Dark was eating it up. The knife was a self-replenishing Devourer round. She knew that now. Ontological. It was erasing his Light from existence.
Making room for the Dark to replace it.
She wouldn't let it. Couldn't. Couldn't. Couldn't.
"Cirrane," Formora announced. "We fly for Cirrane. It's closer. It's our best chance."
Couldn't. He couldn't be lost. Not to a knife. Not to a Shade. It was wrong. Unfitting. They were heroes, this was their story - it couldn't end like this! CouldntCouldntCouldnt!
They dropped into a village. They dropped him on a clean, unused bed. She pulled away the robes and armour and biosuit - and the wounds were just there, bloody gashes in pale flesh. The knife wound was giving them a crimson grin.
Formora and another stood over him. They whispered until dawn. Whispered until noon. Whispered until night. Dead flesh warped and grew to close the wounds. The rot fought back. Xiān fought the rot.
She fought. They whispered. With fire, Formora destroyed the contaminated flesh. It wasn't enough - so Xiān finished it with one last defiant pulse.
Dark scattered. Not gone, but scattered. It would have to be enough.
His chest rose up. Fell down. Rose up. Fell down. But his eyes didn't open. He wasn't the only one who needed sleep. Xiān landed on the bedpost. Fomora gasped for breath. Sweat rolled down her neck, her arms.
"Thank you."
The elf looked over. Tired, but relieved. Her hand reached out. A finger brushed against one of Xiān's fins.
You're welcome.
Formora left. Probably to find a bed. The other elf limped out too, but he promised to return with medicines and spells to "better his chances." Xiān just rotated herself around so she was facing Ikharos and...
went
to
sleep
AN: A little companion piece for the next chapter. Thanks to the tireless Nomad Blue for editing!