Chapter 16
"Traitor!" Althron accused. His partner-of-heart roared furiously, though the noise was almost drowned out by the sounds of battle below. Formora did not answer. She could not, for shame and lack of control.
The dragons clashed horribly, all biting and scratching, while the Rider's fended off each other's attempts to attack the wyverns. Her brown disengaged first, flinging herself away with a roll and then began a sharp ascent. Althron followed. They rose and rose until, finally, they reached the stormy clouds.
This was their advantage. Her dragon's murkier scales proved advantageous, unaffected by the sunlight glaring on the other side. Althron's green stood out like a blinding beacon. Formora's partner dove back down, out of sight, and circled in a silent glide below their foe. Althron threw out his mind, but he only faced Galbatorix's strange wards, keeping him from finding the Forsworn Rider. With one final yell, the human directed his mount down.
The brown dragon smashed into them, putting all her weight into the grapple. Althron's wards gave out and he was crushed in the collision. His dragon wailed in agony, exposing a throat for Formora to cut.
One Dragon Rider pair taken care of, they plummeted down to rejoin their new order in taking Ilirea.
The Nïdhwal's Eldunarí had the same ethereal gleam of those belonging to dragons, though the lustrous glow within was lacking, showing its lack of life. An empty container, it would prove the perfect manner with which to bolster her power. Already, the former Rider was pouring an immense amount of strength into it. There was little time to waste and she would need every advantage when it was time to fight. She wondered, for a moment, if it could be applied to the paracausalities the stranger spoke of. The idea of other magics fascinated her. Even just a portion of the might the stranger, Ikharos, displayed would prove invaluable.
She needed allies. Formora knew that her mission would be impossible without assistance from others. The swords she had gathered would be useless without wielders, and no ordinary warrior would do. She would need to echo the tactics of the other Forsworn to defeat their master. Raising her own Black Hand would be an arduous process, but a necessary one. An order of assassins and magicians loyal to only her.
As she pondered the strategy of her quest, a tremendous roar echoed through the air. For a moment, the elf was struck by fear, for it was as loud (or even louder) than the largest of dragons. Grasping her sword and another blade - a simple grey - she ran outside. If it were Galbatorix, riding his monstrous black beast, then she would rather die fighting than be run down. She had tasted the fear of being the hunted so very recently; it was not something she wished to repeat.
There was no dragon. And though it came from the heavens, it was no storm either. No, it was as if the very sky were collapsing under its own weight.
000
It was a self-contained city devoid of life. Each personal cabin was large enough to house families, outfitted with the facilities necessary for modern living and luxuries far exceeding anything he had seen before. One room was situated in an aquarium, the glass wall-tanks filled with dead corals and ancient fish bones. Another had an earthen bed from which genetically enhanced flowers rapidly recovered after being stepped upon, creating cozy micro-meadow.
He didn't follow the signs, but the painted symbols that seemed newer than anything else. It reminded him of an ancient cave in France, where humans of a dangerous and lonely age drew the figures of animals with their fingers. Mammoths, rhinos, horses, deer and bears. But here, only a pair of animals were shown. Dolphin and shark. Scrawled across the walls, pointing him down certain hallways, up flights of stairs, through vast atriums and narrow corridors, until, finally, he arrived in a quaint room with wooden walls, a single SMILE pod situated at the far end. Other machines laid strewn throughout the chamber, though none of them were human. Even at a glance, he could tell they were very alien. The sleek rounded designs, an emphasis on twirls and spirals, cast in gold and platinum.
This isn't normal. Something's wrong.
Ikharos removed his mask and strode forward, cannon in hand. He must have set off a pressure sensor, because turrets sprouted from the walls and aimed directly at him. The Warlock went stock still. They didn't fire, waiting for him to make the next action
The SMILE pod hissed as the millennia-old clasps opened up, allowing the cryogel mists to seep out. The pod swiveled open, allowing the Risen a good look at the odd mass of leathery flesh within. It... didn't make sense. It was just a wall of skin. Then it furled back as wings, like a moth emerging from its cocoon, and the three-eyed alien stumbled out, its teeth chattering uncontrollably - the common side effects of cryogenic sickness. It reached out with a triple-clawed hand and pointed - directly at him.
"Hive," Ikharos whispered. He stepped forward, ready to destroy it in a storm of Void, but that was a mistake. Next thing he knew a fusion charge ripped through his body.
The winged alien didn't seem surprised when his Ghost brought him back, yet it didn't press the advantage. It simply lurched over to an alien machine on shaking legs and fell against it, weakly pressing a button on its side to open the container. Hidden doors in the side of the room opened up to allow 55-30 series service Frames inside. Two quickly walked to the ancient Hive creature and gently supported it, while another two reached into the container, retrieving equipment that was a mix between Golden Age human engineering and clearly alien touches. An oxygen mask was placed to the face of the Hive and attached to a tank full of gas. The symbol for helium, He, was displayed on the side.
"I think I know who you are," Ikharos said suddenly. The creature glanced over to him, silent. "You're not one of theirs, are you?"
It stared.
"No," he decided. "The dolphins called you the mother-who-refuses. The Mother-Refusalist. Your name is Taox. I've read about you, from their Books. They hunted you across the stars."
It, she, still didn't utter a word, but he was certain she could understand.
"You tried to help their enemies, but... it didn't work out." Countless worlds left dead as a result. Too many lives lost to the Dark. "I do have some good news, though. Oryx is dead."
Those three eyes brightened.
"I killed him."
The creature stayed quiet. Then it laughed, a rough cough that betrayed her poor health. It didn't stop for quite some time.
"I have questions," Ikharos said, once the alien's grim mirth abated.
The creature waved to him; ask them.
"Why are you here?"
It moved its claws to form a glyph. Their rune for Stolen Life. Death.
"For vengeance? But... did you come here alone?"
It cracked its teeth together. No.
Xiān gave a nervous giggle. "Good thing we have an alien expert here."
"Shut up," Ikharos ordered, though there wasn't any heat in his words. He barely paid the Ghost any notice. "Who came with you? The Grey Folk? Who were they?"
Taox paused, then pointed to one of the Frames waiting on standby. It turned about to face the Warlock and stood to attention.
"Date: June 2, 2765 CE.
Subject: Contact with sapient extrasolar lifeforms.
Directive 1: Begin peaceful interactions and identify means of communication with extrasolar lifeforms.
Directive 2: Form diplomatic party consisting of crew ideal for Scenario: First Contact. Emissary Group One formed.
Analysis 1: Extrasolar lifeforms communicate via spoken language, identical to methods of communication used by numerous species on Earth.
Hypothesis: Convergent evolution.
Analysis 2: Sapient extrasolar lifeforms named Qulantnirang - translation: Harmony - express anomalous properties. Dr Halleen, member of Captain Sihlova's Emissary Group One, has begun research into said anomalous properties with consent of extrasolar lifeforms. Research has been dubbed parascience.
Hypothesis: Anomalous properties disobey fundamental laws of physics. Research in progress.
Analysis 3: Extrasolar lifeforms undergoing Refugee Class 6 Event. Second extrasolar lifeforms bearing Threat Level: XK responsible.
Hypothesis: Despite lack of previous communication, Second extrasolar lifeforms Airan - translation: Hive - opened hostilities with Qulantnirang immediately. Indicating ulterior purpose, likely idealistic. Requires further analysis.
Dr Halleen summary: It's a genocide. Our funny stories about mean little men in flying saucers wasn't so far from the truth. I'm reading the reports right now, and it's just... oh my god... they're killing everything! This isn't even about resources or colonies o-or anything else; this is a crusade! This is a fucking [REDACTED]!"
Ikharos flinched. The terror in the voice was so very familiar.
The machine continued.
"They're hunting Moon X. The Traveler, whatever. This fleet is all that's left of the Harmony. And they got off lucky. They know about the Traveler. They had it too. It couldn't protect them. It won't protect us. Home, whether Kepler or Sol, isn't going to last. The crusaders have killed bigger beasties than us.
SCIPIO's been acting up too. He's listening in. I think he's talking with the new kids. Is that a good thing? Warminds are smarter than us. And they care, right? It's got to be good. Maybe they're discussing tactics?
Well, the Harmony have a plan. Translations must be wrong, or maybe it's a metaphor. They're saying we need to make... a wish?"
The Frame's recording ended. The Warlock didn't need to hear anything else.
He said, very simply, "Oh, no."
He had to get out of there. Ikharos ran from the room, ran back the route he took down, followed the tails of sharks and dolphins. Xiān tried to talk to him, screamed in his ear, but he didn't hear any of it. The doors in front closed on him, likely the Warmind trying to block him off, but he tore through them with grenades and the hungry beyond. He kept going until the Light wouldn't form in his hands, when his breath stuck in his throat and his legs lost the will to continue. Ikharos collapsed, gasped for air, and sent a look of disbelief and hurt his Ghost's way.
"You cut me off..." He accused.
"I had to!"
"NO! We need to go, find a way out, get help! This is the next Venus!"
"Stop it, please!"
He struggled to his feet. Even though this was the third occasion he had lost his connection to the Light, he could never grow used to it. He felt so very weak, so very... human. "This is the Ahamkara's work! We can't let this-"
"Please, think about this!"
"I am thinking!" He barely made it four paces before another metal bulkhead slammed shut on him. And, as he pounded his fists against it, he found he couldn't break it.
"No, you're not! You're only thinking about Lennox!"
"DAMN YOU!" He roared, twirling around. "You know as well as I do that this needs to be stopped!"
"There's a purpose to it all, just wait and listen to-"
"I'm not playing along to their wishes!"
"We don't have a choice." Xiān said with such finality, he couldn't find the words to immediately respond. "We're losing the war. You know that as well as I do. We don't have enough Ghosts, and fewer Guardians. Only a few hundred left. The Hive are growing. The Cabal still have an empire's worth of soldiers. The Vex are everywhere. Fikrul can only be kept down for so long before he converts the entire Fallen species into his own personal Scorn army. We need another advantage or we will lose it all."
He couldn't deny it. He had been there for the worst of the losses. The Great Disaster and Red War sapped them of thousands of soldiers. Even before that, the Iron Lords conscripted or wiped out most of the remaining Warlords, then threw their entire order in a suicide mission against Rasputin's defense systems. Their numbers had never been lower. And they couldn't get those numbers back. There had only ever been a certain amount of Ghosts created, and that was that.
"Playing along with whatever Ahamkara scheme this is won't fix that," Ikharos retorted.
"Then what do you propose? Ikharos, they have a plan in motion. I, at least, want to figure out what it entails."
"No."
"Why are you so stubborn?" The Ghost angrily twisted her shell. "You've spent months trying to figure out what happened, but at the mention of Ahamkara involvement you duck out?"
"I'm not playing into their games."
The corridor flashed red. An intercom buzzed to life. "Bellum omnium calculo est. Si vis pacem para bellum."
Xiān perked up. "He's... speaking Latin. Give me a moment... War is the reckoning of all. If you want peace, prepare for war."
"Ego cudere gladium."
"I will forge a sword."
"Alea iacta est."
"The die is cast."
"Per aspera ad astra."
"Through hardship to the stars."
"Victoriam meam."
"My victory."
000
Tarrhis' breath came in short and rapid. The air within the Ketch was thinning. The life support had been one of many casualties in the swift and brutal attack from below. Only rebreathers and Servitors filtering air allowed the Scars to continue scrambling around controls in the bridge. The Pilot Servitor was wailing, unable to regain control over the free-falling ship despite the added assistance of fifteen Splicers.
The Baron could not assist. He had not the mechanical prowess to make sense of the scrambled systems, and his Kell needed him. Valdas had almost collapsed when the Ketch entered the mesophere of the planetoid, and would have fallen had he not been there to hold her up. He hung on to the railing of the Kell's Perch as their vessel began to further accelerate. Then, in a stroke of luck, a pair of rear thrusters flickered to life.
"I cannot stall!" The lead Splicer called out. "Damage is too great!"
"Land us!" Tarrhis ordered. "Save what you can!"
"Tarr..." Valdas buckled and her eyes flickered. The Baron supported the Kell's entire weight. "My... heirs..."
"Utak, Raksil!" The two Vandals looked to their Baron and father. "The Scarlings!"
The duo raced off on all six limbs to the non functioning elevator shaft.
"Thank you... Tarrhis," Veldas whispered. "Go..."
"My Kell?"
"I can... smell them... their deceit..."
Motion. Thieves and murderers, watching the nobles with thinly veiled amusement. Krinok's minions.
"Leave... soon..." His Kell urged, her voice so faint he had to strain himself to catch the words. "Skiffs..."
Theft. She ordered him to commit what he so vehemently despised. His people, those not of his crews and their families, would hate him for it. And yet, had he any choice? Krinok had been testing his limits ever since Valdas had been confined to her throne, looking for a weakness. She was not long for the galaxy now, and when she was gone, he would do all he could to grasp the fallen banner and raise it for his term as Kell. A backstabber worthy of the Devils. "I will not leave your side, Valdas-kel."
"Go... fool... This is my... decree..." The Kell of Scars, in one last surge of strength, pulled herself to her feet and gasped with renewed pain. Tarrhis, his mind conflicted, hesitantly backed away a step. Valdas waved him on. One step became two, two became three, and then he was marching away.
As the door to the bridge closed behind him, he thought he could hear a chitin-crawling cackle.
While the Ketch had been disabled, the Skiffs still within its hanger bay were not nearly as affected. The Splicers had cut away the cables charging up the ships to avoid further complications with the troubled power generators and had them on standby. Though Tarrhis knew much of their machines were still out in the dead of space above, he had little idea what had befallen them. He doubted they lived. Whatever had disabled them would have little trouble with a number of Skiffs.
"My Baron!" Sundrass exclaimed. Kiphoris and Palkra were also present. The three Captains were tall and powerful - well fed on ether - and had brought their own crews. "Are we to flee, yes?"
"Of course not, elika!" Palkra scoffed. "We will-"
An explosion rocked the Ketch. It came from somewhere within. Tarrhis looked back and narrowed his four eyes.
"Sundrass is right," he told his lieutenants. "Krinok will fight like a rabid hound. He has already placed his loyal killers in places we cannot fight. We must grow beyond his influence, survive without the Prime. When the Kell is strong enough, we will challenge the Ether-Thief's rule. We cannot as we are, outnumbered and weakened."
"We will not fight?!" Palkra questioned, shocked. His lower arms crossed and uncrossed nervously. "But... my Baron..."
"Valdas-kel has ordered me to flee," Tarrhis announced bitterly. It hurt him, this dishonour, this cowardice. He would rather be left docked of all his arms and demoted to Dreg than this! "We must preserve her heirs. Perhaps we will return and campaign for their Kellhood, yes?"
Kiphoris, quiet and thoughtful, finally asked a question. "Where are the heirs?"
"Mine-sons are to bring them here to us." The Baron lifted his head as another great figure entered the hanger and stalked over in great long strides. The Archon of Scars, Skriviks, bore a murderous expression.
"Tarrhis, Terribly Honoured. Tarrhis, Duty Bound. You are leaving?" The Archon held out his arms. "I did not think you a deserter, dear Baron. Especially when your people need you."
"Mine-orders, great Archon."
"Ah, orders. Valdas is cold, Valdas is ruthless." The Archon seemed to sag as if he were attempting to hold up the entire Ketch. "Krinoks-kel will be worse, yes? I have not orders, Tarrhis, but I have a request."
"Make it, Skriviks of Elder Days."
There was a twinkle in the ancient Eliksni's eyes. "Elder, yes. But I must adapt to our now-life. I must change again." He held out a device as long as a Dreg's arm and half as wide. "Take this."
"What of Monoliks Prime?" Tarrhis asked, aghast. When Skriviks forced it into his hands, he could not bring himself to drop it, for it was the future of their House. A Prime's permissions. "What of our people?"
"We will not starve, unless Krinok attempts to hoard. Though," the Archon spat, "he is one to do that, yes? Ether-thief. You will bear this, Tarrhis. You will use it. You are greater than Krinok."
"I will not be Kell," the Baron argued firmly.
"Then who?" Skriviks asked, puzzled. "Once Valdas falls, if she has not already, there will be-"
"Father!" A familiar form raced into the hanger. His cloak was darkened with vermillion blood and one arm was held delicately against his chest. When no other followed the Vandal in, Tarrhis' hearts stopped.
"Raksil! Where is your brother?!"
"Gone, father!" The Vandal sobbed and snarled at once. "Krinok slew him!"
"ETHER-THIEF!" The Baron of Scar bellowed, and would have charged for bloody retribution had the Archon not restrained him. Though, as a senior noble of higher rank than most, he was allowed to grow further, Skriviks was larger still. The Archon was still hardpressed to keep him from his vengeance.
"Peace, Tarrhis, peace!" Skriviks yelled. "Do not die for this!"
"Mine-son!" Came his argument.
"Mourn him, avenge him, but do not die for nothing! You must be Kell!"
"I tell you once more, Archon, I will not be Kell!" Tarrhis struggled free and barely managed to stop himself from bolting. It did not help that his Captains had moved themselves in his way. He loved them as if they were his own kin, yet he could not express it at that moment. Not when one of his sons was dead and the Wretch responsible roamed free to cause further chaos.
"There is no other! Not Krinok, not Vasto, not Lokiis, you! None other may take up the banner!"
Then Raksil, ether-tears running from his eyes, unfurled his arm. Tarrhis had thought it broken, but the Vandal had merely been shielding the single tiny hatchling in his palm, chitin still forming. Its eyes, however, were unusually bright. A strong one. The only to survive the beginning slaughter. "There is one."
"An heir survives the purge!" Skriviks gasped. For a moment, he appeared as if he would snatch up the young Eliksni, then thought better of it. He spared a furious look for the Baron. "This is more dangerous, Tarrhis. This will take time."
"I will uphold my oaths," the Baron solemnly promised. He didn't say for them to hear that he also promised unending torment for his fellow Baron. He would ensure Krinoks would beg for the end to take him.
"I know you will." Skriviks sighed. "Then I name you Tarrhis, the Oathkeeper. Go, Baron of Scar, and save this child of Scar."
The Archon retreated without a second look. Tarrhis shivered. An Archon's naming should have been a joyous occasion with ceremony and cheer, but not this day. This day, he lost a son.
"Board the Skiffs!" He hoarsely shouted. The crews dutifully obeyed. The Splicers caring for the machines, who had been present for the entire exchange, hesitated. A handful joined those crews. A larger fraction moved away, only for them to return with valuable equipment to store on the Skiffs, including Glimmer Drills and Walkers. The Baron cursed himself. He hadn't thought of that.
Those left scrambled away, tossing fearful glances the way of the loyalists. Traitors, all of them. If time wasn't of the essence, he would have ordered them to be killed.
"I will..." Raksil, wracked by grief, was led towards a vessel by the Captain of his crew, Kiphoris. Palkra shrugged and rejoined his own crews.
Sundrass, ever outspoken, raised the immediate issue he should have been concentrating on, had he not dead kin to lament over. "What of those who crippled the Monoliks-Syn? Will they not attack?"
"I do not know."
The Captain clacked her fangs irritably. "I do not wish to brave those weapons of theirs again. They would rip us apart."
"You say we should land among them? At their mercy?"
"Until we know we can escape. We might get lucky." Her outer eyes narrowed with mild amusement. "The Cabal will be a great distraction, yes?"
000
The Kell grimaced and closed her inner eyes. She could smell the intent from her subordinate, the one approaching with rabid eagerness. "You... no-honour... rat..."
Krinok cackled madly, a bloodied sword already drawn and activated. "I am rat? I stand higher than Valdas-kel!" He raised his free arms up. "I am Krinok-kel! I am Kell of Scars!"
"Your kin... killed this House..." Valdas hissed brusquely. A single Ketch, their people divided, so many dead. All for one filthy Dreg's uprising. She should have strangled his remaining relative, should have crunched off his arms and slit his throat. But she hadn't, for fear it would lose her more of her people, diminish all that remained of her ancestor's banner. "Psekiskar!"
"You killed it too," the Baron waved a free hand across the bridge. Three Wretches collapsed at the far end, their lungs empty of air and ether, clawing at their gasping throats. His tone changed suddenly, from amused to enraged. He was a maddened beast, one who would only ever kill and destroy, never build. Never strengthen a banner. "LOOK!" He roughly wrenched her head back by the horn of her helmet. "MY KETCH IS DYING!"
"My... Ketch..." She coughed. Oh, how she wished she still had the strength to gouge out his eyes with her claws.
"No. No, not anymore." The Baron raised his sword. "I am Kell, yes?"
000
The approach to winter's solstice should have been a time of celebration for the Kuastan people. Not so in Jeod's household. The merchant, though a good friend to them, was often out trying to salvage his dying business or in his study, stressing over his current circurmstances. His wife, Helen, was cold and suspicious towards the two rebels. Tellesa couldn't find it in herself to care.
The world had been bared open to her in all its ulginess. Life was brutal and reality was merciless. Monsters ruled the world, not heroes. She had been subjected to Imperial cruelty since a young age, but this year in particular had seen far more horror than she had imagined possible. Sometimes, she believed it a simple nightmare, one she would wake up from soon and tell Kuirst all about. It had taken some time to realize that hope was never going to fulfill itself. They were gone. Kuirst, Tainvay, Rendan, everyone. The entirety of Kuasta put to the sword.
"You lost it all on what? Shipping?!"
Tellesa suppressed a curse. Their hosts were arguing again, as they were prone to when the evening rolled around and their paths crossed. She zoned it out; their marital problems were not for her to weigh in on. Her attention was on the riveting storybook in her hands.
It was times like these that she found she genuinely enjoyed the past few months of travel, despite the grief weighing down on her. The hard pace Ikharos set was difficult, but it was a tremendous achievement to realize that it was her in charge of her body, not the other way around. That she could withstand the maladies of flesh and mortality to see her will done. And she didn't have bad company. Though they didn't get along at times due to vastly different personalities, Edmont and Ikharos had been solid friends. The sailor shared in her mourning and brought a lighthearted side to the discussions they had often enjoyed during cold nights. The foreigner had brought his own changes. He had pushed her to be better, to grasp what she wanted no matter what. A year ago she would never have envisioned herself carrying anything more threatening than a knife. Now she could wield a sword and fire the exotic Tigerspite with some measure of skill. Their journey had taught her how to survive out in the wilderness, how to live off the land and how to withstand the elements. Though her future was unclear, Tellesa had skills to rely on, should fate work against her.
A loud knock reverberated throughout the house three times. The argument, a few rooms over, paused. No one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Tellesa leapt from the bench. "I'll get it!"
She opened the door. An elderly man with silvered hair and a boy - too young to be yet be a man - looked to her expectantly, horses behind them.
"Does Jeod live here?" The old man asked.
Tellesa was about to answer when she had the sudden epiphany that she knew him. "You are the storyteller of... Carvahall."
Their expressions changed completely. The elder, puzzled, sent her a searching look. "Do I know you?"
"My companions and I were traveling with the Traders and passed through. Your telling of the old tale was... incredible." Tellesa backtracked. "Ah, yes, Jeod does live here. I assume you want to talk with him?"
"Yes, please."
"Right." She walked inside and met the merchant as he was leaving his study. Helen quickly brushed past them and spared Tellesa a glare. The rebel ignored her. "There's someone here for you."
"I... yes, thank you." The merchant sighed. He marched up to the door with all the readiness of a man walking to his death and opened it. Then, inexplicably, he sagged and leaned against the doorframe. Fear grasped her heart and she internally cursed herself for not having a weapon on her, yet she ran to his aid nonetheless. Her worry was baseless, as the merchant spoke up in a low and whispered voice. "Brom?"
"It's good to see you, Jeod! I'm glad that memory has not failed you, but don't use that name. It would be unfortunate if anyone knew I was here."
Jeod looked around, and seeing Tellesa waiting uncertainly behind, beckoned her to join them. "I thought you were dead," he muttered. The old man shifted uncomfortably. "What happened? Why haven't you contacted me before?"
"All things will be explained. Do you have a place where we can talk safely?"
Jeod hesitated and looked back into the house.
"The castle?" Tellesa offered. He'd often brought colleagues and investors there to talk.
"Yes, good," the merchant sighed and faced the strangers. "We can't talk here, but if you both wait a moment, I'll take you somewhere we can." He disappeared back into his home for a moment, then returned with his embroidered jacket and a rapier at his hip. He handed a dagger to Tellesa, which she gratefully accepted. Though she would rather have brought something more effective, she was well aware that a woman with a sword would easily attract unwanted attention.
The old man looked pointedly in her direction.
Jeod noticed it quickly. "We can trust her."
"Hm..." Though unsatisfied, the elder didn't argue any further. They followed Jeod from the house though the streets of Teirm.
"Risthart, the lord of Teirm, has decreed that all the business owners must have their headquarters in his castle. Even though most of us conduct our business elsewhere, we still have to rent rooms there. It's nonsense, but we abide by it anyway to keep him calm. We'll be free of eavesdroppers in there; the walls are thick." Jeod told them amiably. His mood had improved considerably in the past few minutes.
The guards of the fortress let them pass into the keep without argument, likely recognizing the merchant. Jeod pointed the boy to a spot for the boy to tether the horses, then opened a secured door with a key and brought them inside. The keep was cold and the corridors were lit with meagre torches. This was an Imperial stronghold, and that made her nervous. Though the rebels had brought down the larger bastion of Kuasta, that had only been possible with the unanimous support of the people and the assistance of Ikharos. She doubted that it would ever be repeated in Teirm, where the public opinion was not quite so opposed to the empire.
Jeod ushered them into a room with a bearskin rug and numerous chairs. Bookshelves stock full of tomes lined the walls. Had Ikharos been here, she knew he would have read his way through the lot. Had he stayed with them, he would have found a kindred spirit in their host.
The merchant lit a fire in the hearth and said, "You, old man, have some explaining to do."
The elder, Brom, smiled. "Who are you calling an old man? The last time I saw you there was no gray in your hair. Now it looks like it's in the final stages of decomposition."
"And you look nearly the same as you did twenty years ago. Time seems to have preserved you as a crotchety old man just to inflict wisdom upon each new generation. Enough of this! Get on with the story. That's always what you were good at."
Brom fell back into a chair and pulled out a smoke pipe. Tellesa cringed. The Arcaena monks had frowned upon that unhealthy practice. She remembered Ertharis, while he still had his sight, had beaten Rendan black and blue with a cane when the rebel tried it. The soldier stood no chance against the fury of the withered abbot. "Do you remember what we were doing in Gil'ead?"
"Yes, of course. That sort of thing is hard to forget."
"An understatement, but true nevertheless," the storyteller said drily. "When we were... separated, I couldn't find you. In the midst of the turmoil I stumbled into a small room. There wasn't anything extraordinary in it - just crates and boxes - but out of curiosity, I rummaged around anyway. Fortune smiled on me that hour, for I found what we had been searching for." Jeod visibly stiffened. "Once it was in my hands, I couldn't wait for you. At any second I might have been discovered, and all lost. Disguising myself as best I could, I fled the city and ran to the..." Brom paused and glanced at the boy and Tellesa in turn. "Ran to our friends. They stored it in a vault, for safekeeping, and made me promise to care for whomever received it. Until the day when my skills would be needed, I had to disappear. No one could know that I was alive - not even you - though it grieved me to pain you unnecessarily. So I went north and hid in Carvahall."
Jeod frowned. "Then our... friends knew that you were alive all along?"
"Yes."
The merchant sighed. "I suppose the ruse was unavoidable, though I wish they had told me. Isn't Carvahall farther north, on the other side of the Spine?"
Brom nodded.
"I assume, then, that you are fulfilling your duty."
"No, it's not that simple. It was stolen a while ago - at least that's what I presume, for I haven't received word from our friends, and I suspect their messengers were waylaid - so I decided to find out what I could. Eragon happened to be traveling direction. We have stayed together for a time now."
Jeod, puzzled, asked another question. "But if they haven't sent any messages, how could you know that it was-"
The elder interrupted him, his face said in a grim frown. "Eragon's uncle was brutally killed by the Ra'zac. They burned his home and nearly caught him in the process. He deserves revenge, but they have left us without a trail to follow, and we need help finding them."
Ra'zac. The word felt familiar to her... A monster. That was it. Another terrible beast, but one that should have been long extinct in Alagaësia according to the histories kept by the Arcaena. Had they survived in other lands? Did Ikharos know them? She would have to ask him when next they met. Perhaps these were from his homeland, brought here by the same winds and currents.
The merchant nodded. "I see... but why have you come here? I don't know where the Ra'zac might be hiding, and anyone who does won't tell you."
Brom stood, reached into his robes and pulled out a curious flask, which he tossed to Jeod. "There's Seithr oil in there - the dangerous kind. The Ra'zac were carrying it. They lost it by the trail, and we happened to find it. We need to see Teirm's shipping records so we can trace the empire's purchases of the oil. That should tell us where the Ra'zac's lair is."
Tellesa spoke up. "The empire's records... they employ Ra'zac as well?"
Jeod nodded. "The empire has many terrible servants, each more vile than the last." He turned to the other two, speaking softly. "Tellesa here survived an encounter with a Shade. We have reason to believe the empire was using it to put down insurgencies."
"That is... dark news," Brom frowned. "Surely they cannot control it."
"I don't know how, but we have a reason to believe they did, to some extent."
Tellesa's throat threatened to close up. She hated talking about this. "It doesn't matter. It's gone. We hunted it down and killed it."
"But Shades are-" The youth began. She didn't give him the time to finish.
"It wasn't me. Someone else ambushed it with weaponry it couldn't protect itself from. It's dead."
"A wizard, Brom." Jeod elaborated. "A foreigner and one of the strangest men I've ever met. Aside from you, of course."
"Aha," Brom remarked drily. "Who was he?"
"A man by the name of Ikharos. He could manage fantastical things. He is long gone now, I'm afraid, but we may see him again in time... Now, those records you seek." The merchant closed his eyes tiredly and pointed to the books. "Do you see those? They are all records from my business. You have gotten yourself into a project that could take months. There is another, greater problem. The records you seek are held in this castle, but only Brand, Risthart's administrator of trade, sees them on a regular basis. Traders such as myself aren't allowed to handle them. They fear that we will falsify the results, thus cheating the empire of its precious taxes."
"I can deal with that when the time comes," the elder assured him. "But we need a few days of rest before we can think about proceeding."
Jeod grinned. "It seems that is my turn to help you. My house is yours of course. Do you have any other name while you are here?"
"Yes. I'm Neal, and the boy is Evan."
"Eragon," Jeod said. "You have a unique name. Few have ever been named after the first Rider. In my life I've read about only three people who were called such."
Brom looked to the boy. "Could you go check on the horses and make sure they're alright? I don't think I tied Snowfire to the ring tightly enough."
The message was far from subtle. The elder gave the same look to Tellesa. She, in turn, glanced to Jeod. When the merchant shrugged, she dipped her head and left. She would respect their want for a private talk.
Outside, she leaned by the wall beside the door. The boy, Eragon, double checked the knots holding the horse and did a terrible job of suppressing a frustrated sigh. Tellesa sat down and tried her best to clear her mind. It had been one of Ikharos' less violent teachings.
"You don't sleep?"
"I do, but I stave off the need with meditation."
"What is... that?"
"It is when I clear the mind, relax my body, and commune with the Light. The last part is optional and may be substituted with other elements. I've known Warlocks who like to meditate on the tallest peaks and feel the coldest of winds wash over them, or delve into the deepest jungles and listen to all the life around them. I like to contemplate the mysteries of the universe while I do so. It is... pleasant."
"Is it difficult to learn?"
"Not at all. Here, sit. Clear your mind. Control your breathing. Feel your heart slow? You don't need to expend near as much energy. Our bodies are tools of the mind, but our mind needs to ensure that they are kept in good condition. Respect it and care for it. We only ever have one."
She cleared her mind and focused on the distant crash of waves against the piers some, the cries of hungry gulls, and the shouts of sailors at the docks. Edmont might have been there, working with other deckhands once employed by Jeod, working on what was left of the business.
Something felt... off. A presence by her mind, at the door but unable to get in. She opened her eyes, and the presence disappeared in an instant. Tellesa found the youth had been staring at her.
"What?" She asked, wincing at the harshness of her words
Eragon, though, seemed undeterred by the stern tone. "How did you get that scar?"
Ah. That. If she were being honest, she had mostly forgotten about that. Tellesa reached up and traced the burn mark. "An Urgal thrust a flaming torch at me."
"Oh."
"I gutted it for its efforts." She added quietly. It had been her first kill. She had not regretted it.
The youth paused, then said, "I killed two Urgals in Yazuac. They had slaughtered everyone within."
Images of Kuasta flashed before her. The grand slaughter, the helplessness she felt, seeing even Rendan fall to the Shade's blade. It was nearly too much to bear. "I've seen their work. They are brutal. But," she felt hollow saying these words, "we cannot blame them for their nature. Only punish them when they act against us."
Ikharos had taught her that. It had been clear from his tales that his people had suffered greatly at the hands of the Fallen, yet he did not swear bloody vengeance or embark on a great genocide against their people. Instead he learned from them, tried to understand their reasoning, and fought when necessary. Though she had not the powers or the long life of the Guardian, she strove to learn from his example.
After some length, the door opened.
"Were the horses alright?" Brom asked.
"Fine," Eragon responded. He sounded subdued. Perhaps her words had some impact.
They had almost reached the merchant's home when their conversations resumed. "So, Jeod," Brom said. "You finally settled down. Congratulations."
"And married, too," Jeod replied unhappily. "Though Helen is not... pleased with our circumstances.
Tellesa laughed quietly. "She threw a vase at you yesterday."
"Bah," the merchant said, playing along. He didn't mind jests or banter. "Both my head and the vase were unharmed."
"Only because I caught it."
"Well done, by the way. You should make a profession out of that."
"Catching objects thrown with malicious intent by irate wives? I'll pass."
"Why is she unhappy?" Brom asked, smiling.
"She comes from a wealthy family," Jeod explained. "Her father has invested heavily in my business. If I keep suffering these losses, there won't be enough money for her to live the way she's used to. But please, my troubles are not your troubles."
"Unless you happen to be in the way of flying vases," Tellesa added.
Jeod chuckled. "Aye, but a host should never bother guests with his own concerns. While you all stay under my roof, I will let nothing more than an over-full stomach disturb you."
"Thank," Brom said. "We appreciate the hospitality. Our travels have long been without comforts of any kind. Do you happen to know where we could find an inexpensive shop? All this riding has worn out our clothes."
"Of course. That's my job." They stopped outside his home. "Would you mind if we went somewhere else to eat? It might be awkward if you came in right now."
"Whatever makes you feel comfortable."
"Thanks. Let's leave your horses in my stable. Tellesa, where is Edmont?"
She shrugged. "Still working, I think. He'll be fine."
"Are you sure? I don't want to leave him alone to face Helen's fury."
"He'll probably find a tavern to outdrink the other sailors. That man has an affinity for ale and bad wine."
They headed to a tavern she knew in passing from previous visits. Jeod paid for a generous supper of stuffed suckling pig, potatoes, carrots, turnips, and sweet apples. It was filling and delightful, though lacked the flair that even the simplest of meals had when Ikharos prepared them with his unusual ingredients. Tellesa didn't let it bother her, however, and enjoyed the meal as it was.
000
The Ketch hit the water at an angle, and for a few moments, skimmed over the surface. Then it sunk down and dragged along the shallow sea-floor, digging up stone and sand. Skriviks held on tight as the entire ship trembled with the impact, and winced as it scraped up on the banks of what had appeared to be an island from above. Already he could imagine the intensive damage to the underside. With the shielding overloaded, the metal had been exposed to the scorching entry into the atmosphere and the sharp rocks below.
"MINE-ELIKSNI!" Krinok bellowed over the intercom. "MINE-SCARS, TO THE ATRIUM, NOW! OR DIE!"
The Archon growled. So it began. The traitor's rule. Monoliks Prime warbled worriedly. Skriviks placed a hand against the Servitor's plates and hummed. "It is not forever-lasting, my Monoliks. Trust in Tarrhis-Baron."
Their hope rested on a newly hatched kelekh. It infuriated him, this fixation on honour, but he had only himself to blame. After the Whirlwind has split the Houses and shattered Stone, he had lamented the death of their culture and their old ways. In a useless fixation on the past, he had attempted to instill a sense of honour in the young he helped teach. Tarrhis had taken it to hearts. Taniks did too, in his own way, and despised the new savage ways their people embraced. Especially the docking. Sometimes, Skriviks blamed himself for the Grand Betrayal. He had laid the seeds for Taniks' splinter from the House. For the murder of Morvaks-kel.
But he hadn't erred here, he was sure of that. Though raising a child to Kell only made the path to saving the Scars all the more difficult, Tarrhis would see it through. He was a great Baron and a true Scar.
"Oh, Valdas-kel. Why did you have to go?" He mumbled. Reluctantly, the Archon gathered himself and left to pay homage to the false-Kell. This would be a bloody stain on the banner, he knew.
000
Ikharos dissected the jumpships. Though the twin Arcadia-class machines were of a familiar design and composed of simple engineering, the Echo-class had the parts more suited to repairing his Pallas Galliot. The make was similar enough that it was the best available donor for parts. The only problem, one which he grew increasingly aware of as he carefully took the battered ship apart, was that he didn't know how to build his Galliot back up. The Arcadias, though easy for him to work with, were beyond saving. He took what he could from their dented husks and left the rest in a junk pile.
"We still can't leave," his Ghost quietly reminded him. "He won't let us."
"I can still use this," Ikharos replied. He wouldn't find plasteel anywhere else. He needed to be smart with what he had. This world hadn't the technology he took for granted in Sol. Even Glimmer, normally an easy resource to farm at home, wasn't in circulation in the markets. And Glimmer Drills were both costly in resources to make and difficult to design. The programmable matter was their only method of creating more ammunition or repairing armour. Without it, he'd be down to a knife and his scarce Light.
"So... what now?"
"We have few options. Stand by and wait for something to find us, or do something meaningful in that time."
"Not going to continue your investigation? We have the chance to learn all we want."
"I've learned all I need to," Ikharos bit out, his fingernails digging painfully into his palms. He stepped back from the piles of parts, organized by type and function. Xiān took it all away. "Will he at least let us use our equipment?"
"I'll... check." She disappeared for a few moments, then returned in a flash of light. "I don't think he cares, as long as we don't try to escape. He knows you can survive. He said... he'd shoot us down every single time until we learned."
Ikharos gritted his teeth. "So?"
"He'll let us use our Sparrow. He's lifted the jammer. He'll even let us fly, if we fix the Galliot."
"I don't like him."
"Yeah, well, Warminds aren't known for being nice. You know full well what Rasputin does to people he doesn't like."
Ikharos walked to the water's edge. A couple of dolphins, eager to meet the human, briefly surfaced and chirped questioningly. "He's a machine of causal design. I can get past him."
He donned the flippers and mask once more. There was more to explore, debris to reclaim and powerful weapons to recover. A portion of the ship had been torn off in the crash - perfect for his own designs. A more permanent dwelling - complete with a laboratory - seemed to be in order.
AN: Having a blast writing Eliksni stuff. It's... unusually fun. The medieval/pirate/alien aspect is fun to explore. They're just one of those fictional races that I find really interesting. BTW, there's a lovely Destiny fanfic called Miriks of the Light that paints their personalities, histories and culture really well. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't as much an influence as the Mithrax lore entries in Ishtar.