My thanks to AtticDweller for support and feedback on recent chapters. On that note, I am interested in correcting mistakes, small or big, so if you see anything, please feel free to point it out. I'm not a very good typist or editor, so I'd appreciate the help.
Chapter Two
Ghosts Of Memory
Slyrak continued to grumble beneath Davion's thoughts and dreams. And the dreams the Eldwurm of fire brought to the fore were ones Davion would not have chosen willingly.
He had been out in the fields with his father when it had happened. They'd been working with the men from the nearest village to gather the wheat. It was common practice for the menfolk of the Redlands to work together on harvest days. Crops were their most valuable commodity as well as the lifeblood of the community.
The Redlands were vast and open, full of fertile soul and little else. Not much in the way of mineral wealth, nothing arcane or mystical, nothing special people would say.
Davion had always liked the openness of his homeland. The fields reached to the horizon, which stretched across the land wherever he looked. That nigh-endless vista was interrupted only by distant hills and mountains. Perhaps it was this which had instilled a wanderlust in him, a desire for adventure.
When he had gazed at the horizon on that day, he had seen two winged forms flying towards the farm.
Dragons had never been much of a problem for the Redlands before. They snatched livestock now and then, but they were mostly found on the borders and they were few and far between. Even sky dragons disliked huge open spaces. Dragons either nested in high places or underground, or in the depths of the sea in the case of water dragons, the Redlands were too open for all but an earth dragon to safely sleep.
Fire dragons were different though. As they aged, they expanded their territories. They were said to be covetous beasts, ever seeking to conquer and claim new lands. And when the Madness struck them, they would desire only to kill. A fire dragon afflicted by the Madness would act more like a chaos dragon, they desired little but wanton destruction.
The Redlands had little in the way of a militia. It was not a land people saw any point in trying to conquer or raid. The theory was that if ever an attack came, the men would simply grab anything which could be used as a weapon. In times past, there had been a Dragon Knight outpost on the southern border. But they had abandoned it, driven away by the wars of kings over material gains. Ever sworn to be neutral in conflict, the Dragon Knights had withdrawn. Their purpose was to slay dragons, no more, no less.
When the dragons came, there was nothing they could do. No pitchforks or scythe could have stopped the two insane fire dragons as they rained fire and death upon the fields of the Redlands.
It was only by pure luck that Davion survived. Somehow, every blast of fire had missed him. Men had fallen amongst the scorched stalks of wheat, melting like wax before they were reduced to naught by ashes. When a fire dragon used its flames, it sought only to kill.
Davion's father was amongst the first to die. He was caught on the edge of a blaze of fire. Davion would never forget the sight of his skin blistering and blackening, melting off his bones before billowing away as ash amongst the inferno.
Powerless to do anything but cower, Davion saw them fly over the farmhouse next. Driven only by an insatiable need to destroy, they had set it ablaze. Davion's mother and sister had still been inside.
The farmhouse burned down long before Davion reached it. The charred and blackened remains of his mother and sister were inside. They had never had a chance of escaping the ruinous flames of the dragons, they had likely died in the first blast.
Davion had knelt amongst the ashes, lost and alone, his old life swept away in a blaze of fire.
He had wished that they had killed him too.
Slyrak still whispered and hissed beneath the surface as he woke. He was warm despite lying on stone with naught but a cloak for comfort. There was something soft and feathery pressed against his neck and jaw, and he could feel something smooth under his hand, something warm snug against his side.
Davion tilted his head and realised that Marci had snuggled up against him during the night. She had wrapped her arms around him. Her head was resting atop his shoulder, her hair against his neck and jaw.
He couldn't have moved if he wanted to, and he did not want to.
He noticed the cut on Marci's left hand, from when she had punched the tree last night. Terrible things had happened in his past too, yet he was not sure he could compare it to Marci's.
It was the responsibility which preyed upon her, the belief that she had failed. Davion had lost his family to a pair of mad dragons, a twist of fate. If he had construed Terrorblade's words correctly, Marci had been forced to leave her family to die for Mirana's sake. He'd seen how willing she was to risk her own life when Mirana's was in danger, she was sworn to protect her no matter what.
Would she have chosen differently, if she had not been held by an oath?
Davion sighed quietly and unconsciously stroked her arm. Wondering about could-haves and might-haves was pointless. It would not change anything. What had been would always be, what could be was still susceptible to change.
If nothing else, he hoped that Marci somehow found peace.
Marci's eyes fluttered open and flicked towards his. She could tell that something was bothering him.
'Just thinking of home.' Davion murmured.
Marci lifted her hand between them and twirled a finger. So was I. Her gaze became melancholy, but there was curiosity and openness there too. It amazed him how eloquent she could be just with her eyes.
Davion lifted his torso and moved back against the wall, propping himself upright. Marci settled next to him.
Mirana was still asleep nearby, laid out carefully on account of her injured leg. Fymryn was dozing in the corner. She always slept a little apart from them, despite her frequent flirtations. Davion had the distinct impression that her attempts at flattery and seduction were actually meant to lessen tension.
Eserren and Caewyn were both keeping watch outside. He'd heard that they worked together, and sometimes he'd wondered if he and Bram should have done the same.
Marci whistled softly, indicated herself, then him, and made the sign for "home". She wanted to talk about home.
'You're from the Helio Imperium,' Davion recalled. 'You're from Rasolir.'
Marci nodded. She made a series of gestures Davion did not understand. Seeing his expression, she swept a hand low to the ground, then lifted her hand and rubbed a thumb and finger together before forming a circle.
'Money?' Davion murmured, remembering the conversation by the river. 'Mirana said you were from the slums.'
Marci nodded. She mimed turning an hourglass repeatedly.
'Old?' Davion guessed. She nodded and made the sweeping gesture again, moving her hand up and down as she did. Buildings in a city? 'You're from the Old District.'
Marci smiled in answer, then indicated him.
'Have you heard of the Redlands?' When Marci nodded, he continued. 'That's where I'm from. I was born on a farm. I imagine it's a different world compared to Rasolir. Fields as far as the eye can see. No walls, no towers. The tallest building for miles around was an old mill. It was so quiet you could literally hear yourself thinking.'
Marci smiled and slowly swept a level hand between them, then indicated her ear when he failed to understand and did it again.
'Yes, it was peaceful.'
Marci pointed at herself, made the sign for "city" again, and shook her head, tapping her ear and then wobbling her hand.
'Noisy?'
She nodded and repeated the gestured, this time miming running with her fingers.
'Busy?'
She nodded again, then tapped her knuckles.
Davion chuckled. 'That doesn't surprise me. I bet you won every fight.'
Marci shook her head sadly and touched her throat.
'Oh. I'm sorry.'
Marci's expression was soft, if a little sad, and she laid her hand on his chest. There was nothing to forgive. Davion reached up and held her hand there.
Marci's smile widened. She hesitated, then leaned in closer, her eyes starting to close and her lips parting.
Davion did not stop her. He welcomed the kiss gladly, even though it annoyed Slyrak. It was a good thing the warbler was still working.
Mirana shifted and started to prop herself up on her elbows. Marci moved away from Davion, stepped over his legs and crouched next to Mirana. Davion joined her, noticing the pain on Mirana's face. 'How is the leg?'
Mirana grimaced. 'Still attached.'
Marci moved to her broken leg and very carefully examined the poultice. The bandage needed to be changed. Davion gave her a hand, noticing that the skin where the bone had been forced through Mirana's flesh was starting to heal.
He exchanged a look with Marci, who nodded and smiled at Mirana. Though it would take weeks for Mirana's leg to fully mend, she was at least less likely to suffer an infection.
'How bad is it?' Mirana asked warily, her teeth gritted.
'It's fine, Mirana.' Davion assured her. 'You're going to have a scar though.'
Mirana looked down at her leg, then, to Davion's surprise, chuckled. When she read their faces, she shrugged. 'Don't you think it's about time? I would have thought you two would be feeling left out, picking up the battle scars for me.'
Marci sighed and rolled her eyes.
'I think Marci would rather you not get hurt at all. So would I.'
Mirana patted Marci's arm. 'I'd rather you not get hurt either, Marci. I'd tell you to take up a bow, but you snapped the last one you tried.'
Fymryn yawned as she woke, muttering in elvish. She was smiling widely, recalling some pleasant dream. The way-station door opened and Eserren and Caewyn entered. Caewyn was humming, Eserren was carrying a dead wildwing.
Fymryn looked surprised. 'How did you catch that?'
'I shot it.' Caewyn answered simply. 'It was flying overhead, and I knew we'd need something to eat. Seemed too good an opportunity to miss, and I try not to miss.'
'Hitting a wildwing in the air takes skill,' Davion said, 'Mirana, I think you have competition.'
'If we're still alive when my leg heals, we'll see who's the better shot.'
Caewyn grinned. 'Deal.'
It probably wouldn't be much of a competition even with Mirana's skill. Crossbows were simply more accurate by virtue of their design, and much simpler to use. But there was no harm in trying to build friendship, especially since they were alive thanks to Eserren and Caewyn.
Eserren sat down with the wildwing and began to pluck it. She seemed to be well practised. Perhaps Marci had competition when it came to cooking. 'Do you have any of your old armour left, Davion?'
'Not now.' Davion shook his head. 'All I had when we entered Trestaine was my gauntlet, and that's still in the city.'
'I have some sky dragon scales.' Caewyn said, holding out a couple of pure white scales.
Davion shook his head. 'Keep them, Caewyn. You earned them. You'll need them for your own armour one day.'
Caewyn shrugged. 'I don't think that's going to happen,' she did not sound too put about this. 'What? I like being a squire. Anyway, how many Knights use crossbows? I'm not much good with a blade.'
'You're improving, Caewyn.' Eserren assured her. 'You just need more practice.'
'I'm not sure it matters how you fight a dragon, Caewyn.' Mirana added. 'Against such creatures, you're better off using whatever weapon works best for you.' She smiled understandingly at Caewyn. 'And I'm not much good in the melee either.'
'It's a good thing we have friends who are, then.'
Mirana fidgeted. 'Fymryn? How much further?'
Marci anticipated what Fymryn needed and fished a map from one of Sagan's saddlebags and tossed to to Fymryn. The elf caught the map and spread it across the cavern floor. 'We have horses now, so maybe a few days. Probably less than a week now.'
Eserren finished plucking the wildwing. 'And what do you need to do once you find this sage?'
'He has something valuable to Selemene. We'll need to return to the Nightsilver Woods.' Mirana sighed. 'But we also need to deal with Terrorblade, as agreed. If he's hunting us, we won't make it back alive.' She thought for a few moments. 'Your plan makes sense, Lady Eserren. Once Marci and I have what we seek, we'll travel with you to Steelpoint Vigil and make a stand against Terrorblade. Hopefully we can cure Davion at the same time, or at least find a way to control his changes.'
'Steelpoint Vigil has plenty of inactive warblers in its stores.' Caewyn added. 'It makes sense to me.'
'Funny you should mention them, Caewyn,' Davion grinned. 'You weren't wrong about the sound they make. I can hear it in my head.'
'I approve,' Eserren stated. 'I admit that I expected you to return home once you had what you need.'
'Davion is our friend.' Mirana stated. 'And Marci wouldn't let me hear the end of it if we left him.'
Eserren chuckled quietly. 'We'll set off after we've eaten. Check your weapons. We will likely have need of them.'
Lina turned the page, one hand propping up her head as she read. As promised, Gavenus had left her his books. They were old, but well cared for and well read.
Rylai had always liked books. When they hadn't been squabbling, it had not been unusual to find her younger sister with her head buried in a book.
How many had Lina burned out of spite?
Lina sighed at the thought, feeling ashamed. Born with their gifts, she and Rylai had been terrible children. Their incessant fighting and outbursts of arcane power had driven their parents mad, and ruined more than one house.
Though she had dwelt in Misrule for over a decade, Lina was not native to the desert nation. She had been sent to live there, effectively exiled, to spare her parents further trouble, separated from her sister in the hopes that she would master her powers, and herself.
Perhaps she had. They said that with age came wisdom. Lina was clever, but there was a difference between intelligence and wisdom, or so they said.
In recent days, she had found herself recalling those scant few years she had spent with her family, with Rylai. Did absence make the heart grow fonder? Possibly, for she had found that she missed her little sister.
But fire and ice did not mix. It was a rule of nature, and so it was with the two of them.
She was surprised that Shabarra had not had all of Gavenus' books burned out of spite. But here they were, taking up an entire corner of her assigned quarters. She supposed she had Kashurra and the Wraith to thank for that. Kashurra had probably kept them out of sight and mind, and the Wraith had smuggled them in.
As if summoned by thoughts regarding her, the Wraith strode into the room. Considering the pain and scars fire had left her with, it sometimes seemed strange to Lina that they had become friends. It seemed that just as necessity inspired invention, so too did it forge alliances.
'I keep meaning to ask you how get in here unseen.' Lina muttered. 'But considering your profession, it would be a pointless question.'
'If I was not subtle, I would not be alive.' The Wraith leaned against the wall. 'Why do you think they call me "Wraith"? I'm supposed to be dead. Yet here I am.'
Lina smiled grimly. 'A good thing, considering how great a help you've been to us, and a good friend to me.'
'It's been a long time since somebody has called me a friend, Slayer.'
'Well, I know you well enough to guess that you've come here for a reason,' Lina marked her place in the book and closed it. 'Or do you simply wish to borrow a book?'
'Another time perhaps,' the Wraith said, surveying the piles of books in the corner. 'A penny for your thoughts, Slayer?'
'I'm thinking of home.'
'I've been to Misrule, once.'
'No, I was thinking of the home I had before I was sent to Misrule.' Lina explained, standing and sliding the chair under the table. 'It was a place called Kelevho.'
'I've heard of it. It's supposed to be a quiet place.'
'It wasn't when Rylai and I quarrelled.' Lina sighed. 'She was my sister. My little sister. Just as I have mastery of the flame, she could call upon the cold of winter. And how we quarrelled! I think we destroyed ten homes between us. Our parents couldn't risk leaving us together for more than a few hours.'
'I used to argue with my sisters too. But we made amends when we were older.'
'I never had the chance.' Lina shook her head sadly. 'I hurt her. And after that, I was sent to Misrule and she was sent to Icewrack, places where our powers might be less of a danger to the people around us.'
'You miss her.'
'I haven't seen her in over ten years. And... I regret it, hurting her, I mean. It was stupid, what we were arguing about. I shouldn't have lost my temper.' Lina groaned and shook her head again. 'When did I start becoming so depressing, Wraith?'
The Wraith offered her a sad smile. 'We've suffered losses. You and Gavenus were friends. And we may all be dead soon. It's only natural to dwell on such thoughts in times like these.' She perched on the edge of the table. 'I've been thinking about my family too, and my pod. Yes, I had a pod once.'
'I thought you were an outcast.'
'We all were. We did not worship Mene, but we kept our way of life. We raised our children communally, we formed pods.' The Wraith touched her scarred cheek. 'You might not believe this, but I was considered a beauty once.'
Lina looked at her keenly. She could see it when the Wraith turned her head. She had the fine, chiselled features people generally associated with elves, and what remained of her dark hair was silky and glossy. 'One more thing Shabarra will pay for.'
'Burn him to a crisp and I won't complain.'
'You said that you would tell me your name afterwards. I'm holding you to that promise. Besides, I'm getting a little tired of calling you "Wraith" all the time.'
'I'm a woman of my word, Slayer, but first, we have to win. Speaking of which,' the Wraith stood and indicated the door with a flourish. 'The others have called a meeting, and we're going to run late if we hang around. Come, Slayer, let's bring Shabarra's doom a little closer.'
'Gladly, Wraith. Gladly.'
From his chamber, Kashurra gazed out across the city. Though his immediate goal of removing Shabarra from the Solar Throne was now going to be easier to achieve, now that he was the Emperor's spymaster, the burden upon his shoulders grew no easier to bear. If anything, it grew ever heavier as each day pass.
Every action which brought his dream closer to reality bore down harder upon his conscience. There were going to be harder decisions to make in the future, acts which would happen soon.
He gazed at the corner, where a low round table bearing the symbol of the sun sat, along with chairs. Books and scrolls lay upon the polished surface.
Many times over the years, he had sat there with Princess Mirana. He had been charged with aiding in her studies, teaching her in the ways of politics and governance. She'd had a governess, or several, to teach her of more mundane matters. For Kashurra, she too had been a reluctant student at first. Meeting Marci had opened her mind as well as her heart.
Kashurra glanced at the third chair, remembering the lessons. Mirana had asked if Marci could join them, if only so that she didn't have to wait outside for hours. Kashurra, knowing how close they were and having a soft spot for Marci, had agreed gladly. The funny thing was that Marci also turned out to be an attentive student, with a thirst for knowledge. It was as if she felt a need to make up for her lack of learning during her time in the slums, or perhaps she simply wanted to share in something with Mirana.
Kashurra had seen the change in Mirana most obviously during those lessons. Once, she had assumed her word would be taken as a divine proclamation, to be obeyed without question, no matter what Kashurra had tried to tell her.
That first time she had sat at that table with Marci, she had done something markedly different. Kashurra had asked her a question: "An army stands upon your border. Their king threatens you with war if you do not give him tribute and a large portion of the Imperium. How do you respond?"
Kashurra had put this question to her twice before. She had suggested going to war both times and, when challenged, had said that it was her right to ask the armies of the Imperium to fight on her behalf. They were sworn to defend the nation with their lives, after all.
But that third time, with Marci in attendance, she had given the matter more thought and then, to Kashurra's surprise, had turned and asked Marci what she thought should be done.
Marci's suggestion had been a good one, which Kashurra had recently drawn inspiration from in order to deal with Stonehall's intimidations. Marci had suggested sending troops to the border, but not to attack. With the troops forcing a stalemate, negotiation would become a prudent course of action for the aggressor as well as the defender, perhaps more so for the aggressor considering how large, well equipped and well trained the Imperium Legions were.
Mirana had approved, as had Kashurra. The decision would ultimately be Mirana's, and she had agreed to Marci's idea. Kashurra knew that if an enemy like Stonehall was faced with a superior force, they would be forced to negotiate or, more likely, back off. Lives would be saved on both sides.
Though Marci was a fighter, she saw value in life and in mercy. Kashurra suspected that this was due to her kind nature, her need to protect others, and perhaps because he had saved her life. She had stared death in the face, and it had marked her spirit forever.
And it had kept happening, in future lessons. When faced with a problem she was unsure of, Mirana had asked Marci for advice. She had also made it clear that when she had to make such decisions for real, she would ask Marci, Kashurra and her other advisors for wisdom.
She had learned. A wise ruler knew when to ask for help. Humility was a virtue in anybody who sat upon a throne. Marci had learned how to be humble in a terrible way, and she had passed her hard-earned knowledge, along with the lesson of compassion, on to Mirana.
There was a knock on the door, shaking Kashurra from his musings. 'Enter.'
Tathen entered silently, a credit to his training as always. He was reliable, and intelligent, but Kashurra had to be wary of that cleverness. He needed the man to be smart enough to be carry out his plans with care and competence, but if he started questioning Kashurra and his orders, then there would be trouble, and Kashurra would have to deal with him. He despised killing without need.
'What news, Tathen?'
'Blythen has been eliminated, as you asked.'
'How?'
'A dagger in the heart.'
'Good.' Blythen had been a temporary ally. Though Kashurra could not have risked letting him live, he had seen no need to make the man suffer. 'And the explosives?'
'They are being moved to the locations specified by the God Emperor as we speak. My best agents are seeing to it.'
'Keep them close to those positions, out of sight.'
'May I ask what for, Viceroy?'
A dangerous question. If Tathen figured it out, what would he do? At the end of the day, he was loyal to the Emperor and the Imperium. He supposed it depended on which he was more loyal to. But even he was loyal to the Imperium rather than God Emperor Shabarra, he still might oppose Kashurra's plan.
'The Emperor believes that there are agents from Stonehall who seek to detonate those explosives.' Kashurra lied smoothly. 'Our spies will watch for them and catch them.'
Tathen seemed to have bought the lie, though Kashurra still had his doubts about the man. 'Very good, my lord.'
'Thank you, Tathen.' Kashurra acknowledged, feigning a friendly smile. 'You may go.'
Tathen bowed and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.
Kashurra stood in contemplation for a long moment, then walked to the low table and sat down. He could almost see Mirana and Marci there, unsubstantial ghosts formed of longing and memory.
He missed them, and in many ways his attachment to them made his burden almost impossible to carry.
But somebody had to, for the Helio Imperium, and so much more. Kashurra would carry it so that nobody else would have to. This was his duty, his own promise to keep.
'You will return home soon, Princess,' Kashurra whispered the vow to the ghosts of memory, the empty air his only witness. 'And you will reclaim your throne. I swear it in the light of the sun.'
'By your omnipotent will, I serve as you command. My life and my soul for your glory and the good of all.' With a clanking of steel plate, one hand around the haft of his sacred warhammer, the Omniknight, Purist Thunderwrath, stood. He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed until he concluded, 'So shall it be.'
Far below stretched the country of Kestren. His divine patron had sent him visions driving him to seek this land, for He had need of an Omniknight here.
There was a vile horror on the loose, and it had to be stopped.
The breeze caught his coppery hair and beard as he rested his long-hafted hammer against his shoulder. Eyes the colour of a pale morning sky focused on one spot, the place the Omniscience had shown him in his visions.
His quarry might not be there, but he was needed there, and he did not question the will of the Omniscience.
'So shall it be.'
The damage to his sky dragon host was unfortunate, and annoying. It would not heal naturally, which meant that it would not fly. Though Terrorblade could slow the decay of any vessel he took, he could not stave it off indefinitely. He could not heal his vessels, they were technically dead, and even he could not subvert the laws of nature in this world.
Yet.
Sky dragons were creatures which thrived when they could fly. With an injured wing, this one was of little use to Terrorblade save as a means of intimidation, though it could still kill.
Instead, he forced his essence into a mostly intact guardsman. The man was a better vessel than Frühling had been, but not as fine a host as the dragon.
Still, if all went to plan, he would have a far better host soon, an unstoppable host, and a greater army to follow. There was nothing to stop him summoning a part of that army now, but it simply wasn't prudent.
Having earth dragons marching through the lands would slow his plans by attracting the attention of other armies and the Dragon Knights. They would be summoned later, when the time was right.
With his fragment of the Direstone, and his superior will and malice, Terrorblade directed his thralls to locate a wagon and place the Direstone from the Broken Peaks upon it. He had need of it, and would do for some time.
It was a shame the handmaiden had resisted his offers. What a host she would have made!
Her strength and the vast, mostly untapped power within, a power even she did not understand, would have made him nigh unstoppable in this world. She would have made an ideal opponent for his next target.
For just a moment, the sweetest, most tantalising moment, she had teetered on the precipice of temptation. She had been so close to falling, so close to willingly letting him take her soul.
For all his power, Terrorblade could not force himself into an unwilling host, only the dead and those who chose to let him in. Davion had been tempted, Marci more so.
Oh how close she had come to falling! Such pain she had held in her soul, so much guilt and remorse. People had taken their own lives for less.
In the end, she had been strong, too stubborn, too loyal. A shame, but he would make do without her. Soon, he would have a vessel which would surpass her in every way.
Though he had still failed to claim Slyrak's soul, Davion could still be of use to him. He would lure out the greater prize.
With the Direstone loaded onto the wagon, he led the way out of the empty city of Trestaine, now occupied only by the corpses which were too badly damaged for him to use.
At the back of his army, the corpse of King Dendrall shuffled along with a blade in his rotting hand. He was now nothing more but meat for Terrorblade's temporary army.
None of it would matter when he was the master of all creation.
