Chapter 14: Answers II

There was no sensation quite so horrifying as being unable to fight the domineering willpower of another conscious being. Of being forcibly controlled. Of being wielded like a soulless puppet. It was perverse. It was wrong. She felt as if she were buried alive, helpless to watch the atrocities committed around her by her fellows, by her very own hand. When the oppressive influence lifted, they were each broken in their own way.

Vroenguard laid in ruins. The fields of Ilirea were littered with the dead. The Broddring Kingdom fractured and buckled beneath the weight of the new conquerors, and the elves and dwarves retreated for fear of extinction - the very same fate that had befallen the dragons. The old rule was flawed, but this scouring of weakness was too much. Restructuring was necessary, but complete eradication of the old? No. No!

"A waste," Eltharos spat. His partner, a beast of olive green, growled in support. The fires still raged across the human capital. Hundreds were burning. Even without their master to direct their every move, she knew none of them, including her, could intercede. It would be seen as weakness to be capitalized on. They were her lot now. Backstabbers and murderers. Betrayers and criminals.

She was going to fit right in.

Fear was not an emotion she was familiar with, particularly in relation to her own life. It was a subject of pride, one of the few positives she had left in her crumbling life to hang onto, but at that moment she felt terror all too keenly. For no matter how viciously they stabbed it, how powerful a spell they threw at it, the creature refused to die. It had tracked them for days on end through the wilderness of Vroengard, and though they punished it harshly, it continued to relentlessly chase them across the island.

It should have stayed dead! She had beheaded the damn thing! And yet, its head appeared very much attached to its body every single time it caught up with them. It was no elf, of that she was certain, though it displayed many of the physical attributes of one. It kept pace with them, it never seemed to tire, it held its own in a fight against them, and had a mind strong enough to withstand their combined telepathic onslaught.

The warrior, her name cursed in every land she had walked, spared a seething glare for her ally - and she meant that in the loosest of terms. Enduriel was a fool and a brute, completely accustomed to the chaos they wreaked throughout the realm. He was what she should have stood against, the vilest there was to offer, but fate had brought them together to work towards a common purpose.

He still managed to mess even that up.

"This is on you!" She yelled as they ran. The other elf bristled. She half-expected him to turn on her then and there. It wouldn't have been uncharacteristic of him. "If you hadn't attacked, we could have-"

"How was I to know?!"

"It wasn't looking for a fight!"

"Bah!" He ignored her. A collection of stone buildings overgrown with moss and shrubs stood ahead of them. Quietly, the pair slipped into one of the structures and hid from their pursuer. The irony was not lost on her. They had been the invincible force that hunted down the helpless dissenters and rebels. Now, it was their turn. Perhaps that was fate's plan; they would end the same way as all those they had hunted down in the past. Like frightened animals.

It was poetic. And, to her, it just wasn't fair. She had worked so diligently to break away from it all, to finally escape the prison she had found herself in and change things for the better, when this happened.

"It must be one of his!" Enduriel muttered. "Must be!"

She gripped her saber nervously. Everything about the monster was impossible. The dead stayed dead - that was the rule. Not even magic could change that. But this creature ignored that rule, as well as many others. The sheer power of its own spells was colossal and it didn't even falter in the slightest under the strain of casting them. She had good reason to believe it responsible for the demise of the washed-up Nïdhwal. She knew of no spell in existence capable of such blatant destruction. If it truly was the king's puppet... then he had discovered their deception, their plot to kill him, and deemed them not worth the effort of keeping alive.

And with such a powerful servant at his beck and call, she couldn't find it in herself to blame him.

"Why did you attack it?!" She hissed. Enduriel gritted his teeth.

"No loose ends!"

"Who would it tell?! There's no one here!"

"I didn't think it would be that powerful!" He defended.

She hadn't either. Was it a result of Thuviel's dying spell? That frightened her. Though she had guarded herself against the poison with appropriate wards, the creatures it created were a different matter entirely. "Neither did I," she admitted in a small, subdued voice.

The air filled with the gulf of silence. Each of them held their breath. They had killed it thrice before, twice with swords and once with magic, but it chased them still. There was no stopping it. They couldn't make any headway with a telepathic battle either. Its mind was sturdier than any she had encountered before. That it didn't counterattack raised the thought that it was playing with them. That it enjoyed the hunt.

The walls behind them suddenly crumbled. Claws of violet energy reached into the stone and removed all integrity in the structure through touch alone. Carefully cut rock melted and flowed to the ground to form a dark purple glass. She couldn't understand the properties of the spell. What words did the cursed thing even use?

The undead creature strolled in, fists balled at its side, and seemed to glare at them through its visorless helmet.

Enduriel, armed with his own sword and the creature's knife, hesitated for but a moment. Then, like the brave fool he was, he charged. This time she didn't assist him. His short-sightedness had plunged them into this mess, so she left him to fight his own battles, left him to fall against the nightmarish monster while she made her... No. She knew it would catch her. There was no running.

She still refused to fight.

Enduriel did not last long. Their stamina had long since begun to run low as they fought and casted spells with increasing desperation over the past few days, all of it for naught. Despite his enchanted weaponry, the creature was just as fast as he was and far more ruthless. Its attacks were of deadly precision, hitting joints and organs again and again. It shattered one of the Enduriel's shoulders with a palm strike, disabled his sword arm, and caught the wrist holding the knife. Keeping Enduriel's fingers around the handle of the unusual weapon, the stranger forced it closer and closer to the elf's own neck. She heard her companion's last panicked incantation and winced.

"Deyja maru brisingr!"

Fires covered the stranger. It had no effect, bouncing off a steadfast ward of some kind. Enduriel's strength slackened as the spell drained him, and the stranger used the opportunity to cut his neck with the incredibly sharp blade. Her mind opened, searching for any give in the creature's defense. It allowed her to feel Enduriel's consciousness fade away into nothing.

She pulled her mental probes back and waited.

The blank helmet swiveled in her direction. Fear's cold fingers grasped her heart, but she resisted the urge to lift her sword. It wouldn't have worked. She couldn't kill it. It had proven that already. She put all her hope in the knowledge that it had not attacked first on the beach, that it was capable of... what, sapient reason? It was a vain hope, and she clung to it because it was all she had.

She cautiously put the foreign weapon she had picked up on the hard stone floor with the utmost care and stepped back. The stranger dropped Enduriel without any ceremony, snatched the knife and pointed it at her.

"I don't want to fight," she said aloud.

The creature, whatever it was, growled in response. The voice was unnatural, changed by the helmet somehow. It possessed metallic lilt, somehow. She presumed it to be male, though she could not place what race it belonged to. Not dwarf, that was certain. "You just don't want to die."

"Yes," She admitted, "I don't want to die."

"You should have thought of that before."

"It was Enduriel who attacked."

"You joined him," the stranger shot back.

She held her head high, defiant in this at least. If she was to die, truly, then she wouldn't cower at the end. Her honour had been shattered long ago, but pride remained. "I needed him."

The stranger's head tilted, ever so slightly. A sign of curiosity. "You let him die."

"He was a fool."

"Did you need a fool?"

"I needed an ally. He proved himself a poor one."

"As did you."

"Are you going to kill me?"

The stranger strolled forward. For every step it made, she took one back. It stopped by the odd projectile weapon and scooped it up, inspecting it for damage and, satisfied, put it away into a sheath of some kind. "It depends."

"On what?"

"If you're willing to answer my questions or not."

000

Ikharos rolled a vortex of Void in one hand and sat opposite his captive. She had no cuffs or binds to keep her from attacking. They both knew it would do no good. For someone who never encountered Risen before, she caught on quickly.

"You're not dying," he noted. "Why?"

She stared at the brilliant orb of nothingness. "Do you mean the poison?"

Ikharos didn't say anything. She took it as a confirmation.

"I created wards to protect me."

He scoffed. "Mages. Why is it your kind always gets in my way?"

"I-"

"That's it? Just a ward? A quick spell and you're safe?"

"... It is."

It sounded useful.

She was a neohuman, that much was clear, but the genetic alterations were minimal. The tips of her ears tapered into very noticeable points and she moved with an effortless grace he had only ever attributed to the Awoken. Her dark hair was shoulder length and her features, like the male, were angled and fair. Her sword was on the floor between them. Ikharos had already looted the blade of the other creature.

The blue-skinned woman looked as surprised as he was when they came face to face. She was armoured and holding a Scorch Cannon, but her eyes were young. He was already fifty years old, and his hands were bloody and empty of everything but a kitchen knife. He wore little else than jeans, old boots, and dirty shirt beneath an old trench coat.

"You're a killer," she sai.

He didn't deny it. "His name was Nophros. He killed someone, so I killed him."

"Should I kill you?"

"If you want. I'll come back." He held the knife ready, for all the good it would do when the Fallen weapon fired.

She hesitated and puts the weapon away. "I'm Orin."

He didn't give his own name. It was his an no one else's. He found it in a stolen wallet with a picture of him-that-isn't-him. He still had that picture of twenty-four year old Ikharos. Sometimes, on lonely nights, he wondered how the Ikharos from before lived. He wondered if that Ikharos was scared when he died.

It must have been scary to be mortal.

"There's a mountain that way." He pointed to a peak hundreds of miles away. It was a long walk. He had a Pike, but Nophros broke it. "There's a robot at the top. He's not bad. He won't kill you if you don't cause trouble."

"Okay," she said, and walked past him. They went their separate ways and didn't meet again for another two centuries, in a Frame-cleaned saloon where friends were made and sorrows were planted.

He pointed to the sword that he swore must have grown on a tree. "What's that?"

The neohuman's answer was slow and cautious. "My blade."

"What's it made of?"

"Brightsteel. As all Rider swords are."

"Dragon Rider?" He asked suspiciously. He nudged the oaken weapon with his boot. Metal. Not actual wood. He carefully inspected it for the trace of an Ahamkara's touch. There was nothing. It was an object of paracausal nature of course, 'cause why not, but there was nothing immediately worrying about it. "I don't think so."

He raised his head. She was trying to study him - in vain. He didn't expect her to come to any meaningful conclusions. "What were you doing with the ocean beast?"

"The Nïdhwal?" The neohuman briefly closed her eyes. "I wanted its Eldunarí."

"Eldunarí?"

She didn't immediately answer. He stood and thumbed back the Lumina's hammer.

"Dragon souls," she said at length, glaring daggers at him. "Even dead, they are of value to me."

"Where is it?"

"I hid it as I ran." She admitted.

Ikharos motioned to the broken wall behind him. "Let's go get it."

For hours they marched and for every second of it he had his cannon trained on the back of her head. Neither spoke a word until they arrived at a lonely maple tree. He had hardly paid it any attention before, when he was in the midst of his hunt. The neohuman dug up a crystallic orb the size of his head. It was the same turquoise colour as the Nïdhwal's scales. The dying orange light of the falling sun lit it up, giving it the faintest illusion of life, but he could feel the cold death of the thing. The Void had drained the vitality from the beast.

"Give it to me," he ordered, and took it with his free hand. It was somewhat heavy, smooth to the touch, and undeniably beautiful.

The neohuman regarded it longingly. "When dragons perish, their internal heart-of-hearts will dissolve with them. Not the Nïdhwal. I wondered why. I thought, surely the dead stay dead." She glanced up at him. At his helmet. "Not you."

"Not me," Ikharos agreed. With his mind and Light he searched every angle of the object before him for the faintest sign of a shapeshifter, but like he had originally thought, it was no Ahamkara. He heard no whispers. He felt no bite. "Why do you want this?"

"Even dead it can store immense energy. Enough to cast a powerful spell."

"What spell did you have in mind?"

"Death."

"Ah," the Risen nodded. Of course. Anger was one hell of motivator. "Whose death?"

She fixed him with a surprised expression. "Galbatorix. You don't serve him?"

"I doubt the job pays well." He felt the surprised pulse of his Ghost. His jests were rare and far between. "Dragons lived here?"

"Those bonded to Riders did."

"Oh, bonded were they?" He could practically smell the fantastical deception woven from desperate wants and ambitious wishes, feeding the ontopathic predators in plenty. "Were the dragons alive or dead?"

The neohuman sucked in a surprised breath. "Alive, of course!"

"Hmm... Where's the library?"

The change in topic did nothing to distract her from her evident uneasiness. "The city is... a few days beyond the small settlement if we travel on foot."

Her wording piqued his interest. "Is there any other form of travel?"

"No... no, not anymore."

He didn't bother asking for an explanation. "Good. Then we will make for the city immediately."

"Do you seek knowledge stored within?"

"There's not much other reason to visit a library, is there?"

"The archives were ransacked during the Dragon War. What Galbatorix didn't claim he put the torch to."

"Psekisk." That was... problematic. "Surely something remains."

The neohuman shrugged. "Perhaps. I don't know."

"We're walking there regardless. Come on, let's go."

"What of the Eldunarí?"

"Mine," he said, and his Ghost transmatted it away. His prisoner gasped. He honestly didn't care to elaborate. Ikharos wasn't especially pleased with all that occurred prior and his mood was severe as a result. "Move."

"What are you, anyhow?"

"I am an elf," his captive answered slowly as they walked.

He didn't question it. "What of your friend?"

"Enduriel was no friend of mine."

"You leapt to his aid readily enough."

"As I said before, he might have been useful, but he made of himself a liability."

"Yes," Ikharos confirmed. "He was that. He's landed you in this mess."

Her smooth gait slowed. "So you plan to kill me?"

"I don't know. It depends on whether you prove useful. Or a liability."

She didn't say anything for a very long time. It was in the dead of night when the silence was finally broken. She looked up and took in the sight of the flashing stars. "What..."

Ikharos didn't have to watch for long to decipher the faint light show. "A meteor shower. Anything else would be much brighter. Your warden is as diligent a protector as he is a captor."

"Dorú Areaba," the elf said softly, gazing into the bowl-shaped valley with an unreadable mixture of emotions.

The radiation was heaviest there. Ikharos double-checked that his armour was secure. He had been exposed to radiation, once, in the Manhattan Nuclear Zone. He never forgot the experience.

Lamp lights flickered in between the ruins. Distant figures scurried through its streets. Not quite as abandoned as he had thought. "Who are they?"

"I don't know. I've never been able to catch one."

Maybe he could. But that idea was pushed aside in favour of his original goal. "Where's the library?"

"Follow me."

The buildings were massive. The doors to each and every one of them was large enough for a Skiff to fly through. They were made of stone cut so well he couldn't find any fault in the workmanship whatsoever. It was as if they grown that way, rather than being built by mortal hands. Even when reclaimed by nature and time, the city was stunning to look at. If only a WMD hadn't been detonated in the middle of it all...

Just like the elf promised, he couldn't find a single one of the mysterious figures. They had gone to ground like secretive rats, keeping well out of sight. Other lifeforms, though, did not share that sentiment. A unique species of owls perched on roofs and tree branches and watched them curiously, their full forms barely visible even with his helmet's night vision activated. But it was the snails that were boldest. Two of them, impossibly large, slithered towards the foreigners and left behind them a trail of slime. Their pace was slow for such large creatures, but he was under no illusion that they were harmless. They wouldn't be so aggressive otherwise.

Ikharos unleashed a handheld supernova and destroyed them both. The watching owls cried out and flew off. The elf gaped at the lazy display of power.

"Library?" Ikharos reminded her. His cannon no longer aimed towards her - as he felt the constant threat was unnecessary - but he still held it.

She took a step back and pointed down the unnecessarily oversized street. The stone pavement was cracked and broken by the combined effort of weathering and plant life. At the very end of the road loomed a massive temple, its roof collapsed and the doors smashed open. It was even worse on the inside. All that remained was scorched stone and piles of ancient ash.

Everything was long gone.

"This is disappointing," Ikharos remarked. He turned to regard his captive. "I hope you can answer a few more questions, since you seem so knowledgeable on the matter of dragons."

"I will try," the elf said quietly, glowering.

Ikharos sat on a fallen pillar and leaned back leisurely. "This... Dragon War, it was fought between Galbatorix and the Dragon Riders, yes?"

"It was."

"Now, what did these dragons look like?"

The elf paused and watched his every movement carefully, as if he were a dangerous wild animal. "They had wings, four clawed limbs and powerful jaws. Bony spines lined their backs and many fangs filled their jaws. Their colouring varied from dragon to dragon, and size depended on age."

"The conventional dragon," Ikharos mused. "No. That can't be it."

"It is."

"Ahamkara rarely choose the same shape... unless they were answering the same wish. If so, it must have been one hell of a wish..."

"I do not follow."

Ikharos didn't much care. "What were the Dragons to the Riders?"

"Partners of soul and heart."

"A seductive fantasy. We are social creatures, are we not? We crave company. It's an instinct we can't help. And Ahamkara, despite their solitary nature, place the importance of nourishment above all else. These Riders were subject to quite the illusion."

"Look at them. Lovebirds." Pahanin drank deeply from his bottle of whiskey. Kabr and Praedyth were nowhere in sight. There was no one to monitor him.

"I think it's sweet," Lennox shot back.

The first Hunter held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, I'm not arguing. Just... she's very loud."

"No more than Shaxx," Ikharos grumbled. Both Titans, despite being at opposite ends of the bar, filled the air with their bellowing laughter. It fit the occasion, somehow. It was a pleasant little party. Not overly crowded, filled with people he either liked or could stand the presence of, and the selection of drinks allowed for those who preferred finer tastes than run-of-the-mill booze. Ikharos nursed his ancient pre-Golden Age wine and relaxed to the ambience of the saloon.

His attention was drawn to the forms of Wei Ning and Eriana-3. It didn't take a genius to recognize that the latter was utterly captivated.

"Would you look at that..." Pahanin nodded towards the entrance. Two Awoken entered. Ikharos had met one of them before. "Damn, is it Crimson Days or something?"

Orin and Namqi Sen went straight to the bar. That was where the fun was to be found, not in the booths where only Hunters and the most antisocial of Warlocks dwelled.

"It won't last," Ikharos muttered.

His compatriots glared at him.

"Wow," Pahanin quipped. "I bet you're real fun at parties... Oh, wait."

Lennox lightly smacked the other Hunter's arm. "Don't you rile him up."

"Might be an improvement. Pessimist is an understatement."

"Realist," Ikharos corrected. "He has one life. She has many."

Pahanin scoffed. "Whatever."

If there was to be an uncomfortable silence after that, they were saved from it by another pair of acquaintances - no, something more

"You're looking glum." Jaren grabbed the wine and tipped it back.

"When isn't he?" Eris's smile was contagious. She grabbed his arm and pulled him out of his hiding place. "Come on, stop skulking in the shadows."

"An illusion?" The elf asked suspiciously.

"The illusion of camaraderie. All a ploy to get what they want. It's happened time and again. Esila and Azirim. Tallulah and the card player. Mara Sov and Riven. Ahamkara don't truly care for our welfare. All they want is to eat."

"No." She vigorously shook her head. "They weren't like that!"

"I beg to differ."

"As do I!" She was oddly furious. "They were not beasts!"

"You don't know them."

"I do!" She shouted, then froze and doubled back. "I... did, once." Her voice dropped in volume. Sorrow seemed to slip in. "They died alongside their Riders. Let the bones be proof enough."

Ikharos stood up. "Bones? Where?!"

She was reluctant to answer, but in the end there was little choice. Risen usually got what they wanted. "Outside the city."

The skeletons were unending, piled up high. There was no order to them. All the flesh and scales had been sloughed away, leaving the ivory remains to remind all of the creatures that used to roam the land.

Here be dragons.

Ikharos, fear coursing through his veins, waited for the overcrowding whispers, the demands, the claiming of his desires. It never arrived. The bones were dead. Silent. Their lives were over, forever.

"This isn't right..." He clambered down beside the largest skull around and slid his hand across the weathered bone. "This isn't a dragon. None of them are. I don't understand…"

"His name was Belgabad," the elf whispered, voice choked with emotion. "He was the largest dragon we've ever known. He survived Du Fyrn Skulblaka, lived until the Dragon War, and... died in the final battle."

"Sounds like Venus," Ikharos muttered. No whispers. They always whispered before. Why weren't there any whispers? "How did it die?"

"Galbatorix killed him."

"How do you know that?"

"I knew this city and those who lived in it."

The Lumina was primed and ready to fire right at her head. Ikharos cursed his lax approach. He was underestimating the powers at work. The Shade should have taught him otherwise. Long life, increased physical capabilities, and the capacity for the paracausal were not normal for anyone but Risen. So very little here made any sense. What the hell happened here? "What are you?"

The elf watched the hand cannon very carefully. "An elf, as I've told you."

"And you kill dragons?"

"... I have."

"How do you know so much about them?"

Here she remained silent. Ikharos lowered the barrel and shot, just once, at the ground. The cannon's furious roar echoed throughout the valley. The elf flinched.

"I can't tell you," she told him, defiant.

"You better, or you'll be joining Enduriel."

Her response was one of fearless determination. "What are you, if you don't work for the king?"

"You're asking the questions now?" Ikharos raised an eyebrow she couldn't see. "It's none of your business."

"You're threatening to kill me," the elf retorted. "It is my business."

"Is there any reason why I should tell you?"

"Now you understand the position I am in."

"Oh, but you have a reason to tell me. I'm pointing it right at you."

"You don't know what elves are, and I don't know what you are. We could both learn from one another." She stepped forward. His finger tightened on the trigger. "We may both benefit."

Ikharos frowned. "Let me remind you, this is a deadly weapon I am holding. Whatever protective spells you've cast won't save you from it. Are you seriously making demands of me?"

"I want knowledge. Power. The means to enact vengeance. You want information, which I might be able to give if you inform me of your intentions. Violence is unnecessary."

"I don't know, it seemed necessary with your friend."

The elf gave him a dirty look. "I've told you before, Enduriel was no friend."

"You didn't like him?"

"He was a sadistic oaf. His only redeeming quality was his prowess in combat," she paused. "Though you had little trouble dispatching him."

Ikharos shrugged. "Real combat needs foresight, and he certainly lacked that." He reluctantly holstered his gun. His curiosity had him enthralled. "Fine, let's put aside the hostilities. For now"

He crossed his arms. She blinked, glanced at the massive graveyard all around them, and shifted anxiously. The elf was evidently uncomfortable to be confronted with so much death.

"Have it your way." He led the way into the city. "Let's find shelter."

The fire was small and weak, with barely enough twigs to fuel it, but the light it threw around the interior of the cavernous house was more than enough. Ikharos was still, his eyes trained on the flames. "I hope you intend to speak first."

The elf scowled. "Not you?"

"I'm the one with the gun. More often than not, that means something." Amused, he raised his head. "I'll admit, this has to be one of my strangest interrogations to date. Usually there's more insults thrown around."

"Do you want insults?"

"That was not a complaint. I'm more than happy to have a semi-civil discussion. It's a breath of fresh air in an often distasteful practice." He leaned back. "Well?"

The elf took a shaky breath. "I am... Formora, of the Forsworn."

000

By mind of Tlac, Specialist of the Soulrazer Legion. We head to another desolate star. Epirion fell within three Torobatlaan days. The machines have already begun the conversion. Worldbreakers have declared it a loss. We are still to accompany them. Zhonoch's victims go unnoticed among the numbers lost to the Vex.

I can see the Hive warships. They arrive through grievous wounds in reality, passing us by as we move on to another star. We Psions joined in metaconcert to counteract whatever their witches planned for our defeated fleet, for our minds are quick to parry their sharp wills, but they didn't press the advantage. I think I can hear them laughing.

Primus Da'aurc has ordered that we make for Calatonar. It's as uncivilized a star system as the last - all wilderness. If there's life there, odds are its not even of the thinking kind. That would be a sad thing, wouldn't it? Eyes may see the beauty of a star, but only a mind can appreciate it. Sometimes I feel sorry for those other client species shackled up as pieces in the grand industrial machine our empire has become. They cannot see the stars from their factory-cells.

My brothers have decided that we should become one soon. I can taste their thoughts with but the shallowest of concert. My memories are their memories and their memories are mine. We are three and one in thought already. When the time comes, we will be three and one in body as well. Not many can do this. A permanent metaconcert is a practice not seen since the God-Thoughts eradicated the Y-Goblet and for good reason. It scares the Cabal, for our minds will be unshackled and uncontrollable. I do not think we will be punished, though. We are Soulrazers. We are untouchable. A greater mind allows for more effective inquisition.

The Hive stench will never be able to hide from us.

000

"No ship? Ye serious?"

Jeod shrugged helplessly. "My last is lost to me. I had a loyal crew on it. I wish I knew how... but I could wager a guess."

"Imperials," Edmont growled. "They onto you?"

"I think so. I can house you for as long as you need, but I advise you both to move on soon. You risk your life being near me."

"Thank you for all you've done for us," Tellesa nodded. "But are you sure there isn't anything we can do to help?"

"No. I'm afraid my usefulness to our... mutual friends... may be coming to an end."