Transcending Love
Huarn's dead eyes reflected no light. The Vessel's magic had burned the Harmonian captain's soul out of his body, leaving only a spiteful husk. But swordplay remained fixed in the undying man's mind. As Chris fended off Huarn's attacks, she searched his eyes and face, trying to determine how much remained of the man, and how much was a monster's mockery of life.
Huarn's sword flashed, testing her guard. Chris turned it aside with a light tap of her blade. He had grown shrewder with each thrust and each parry. Each time their swords met, the husk that had been Huarn seemed to remember more. The initial wild swings had given way to something more methodical, a barrage of heavy thrusts and slashes that tried her defense. When that failed to pierce her guard, Huarn had begun to alternate light feints and heavy blows. Now he had her sorely pressed.
Chris parried a sweeping blow at her neck. Misjudging the force of the blow, she overextended and was left momentarily defenseless. Huarn would have taken her head, if not for a swift ducking motion. Cold sweat prickled at her neck as the bent sword passed overhead.
He was growing dangerous.
Huarn's silent soldiers closed in on her sides. They guarded him, and prevented Chris from countering. With each thrust, each parry, she felt as if she were being drawn into ever tightening noose.
Huarn ventured an overhead slash. Chris raised her sword to block. This time the blow proved unexpectedly strong. He shoved her back. She saw his wrist twist, the blade flicking forward at her throat. She fought panic, stepping aside as she shifted her sword. Huarn's sword slid along her blade, over her shoulder. Inches from her neck.
Huarn drew his blade back, and grinned.
Chris nearly stumbled as she bumped into something. Geddoe. He grunted, and she pushed away from him. They were too close, without space to move. She bounded forward, eyes fixed on Huarn, searching his features. That grin held infinite meaning. While alive, Captain Huarn had shown contempt for her and for the knights. If enough remained of the man's psyche to make him grin at the prospect of skewering her, then maybe enough remained for her to take advantage of.
"Captain Huarn," she said, breathing heavily, "Do you truly need these men at your side to defeat me?"
There was no reaction on Huarn's fire-scarred face. He gave no indication even of having registered the words. Chris's heart sank. Had she missed her guess?
"Do you have no courage?" Chris said, louder and firmer. "Does a Harmonian captain require six men at his side to face a knight?"
This time, Chris perceived the faintest flicker in Huarn's brow. Was that anger? Taking a chance, Chris dropped out of her fighting stance and lowered her blade. She twisted her lips into the most convincing smile she knew how to fake.
"So, it is true what they say," she taunted, "a knight of Zexen is worth ten Harmonian captains. I suppose we shall never know if you could have defeated me."
Chris swore she saw Huarn's mouth twitch. He was scowling! She held her breath, eyes wide, trying not to bite her lip as she waited for the dead captain's response.
Without a word, Huarn held his arm out beside him in a gesture to halt. The soldiers flanking him froze in place as one single being. Shoulders hunched, they retreated to the shadows, and watched.
Huarn raised his sword in a neutral stance, facing Chris. At sight of the gesture, she remembered to breathe again. Praise the Goddess for men's pride! With her heart pounding in her throat, she raised her sword to match the captain's stance.
Huarn struck first. In two quick steps, he launched a slash at her side. She slapped the blade aside and circled around him, keeping her body squared against her opponent. Huarn turned with her, footwork light and agile. Not a trace remained of the clumsiness of the grave that had clung to Huarn's movements before. Twice before, Chris had duelled the Harmonian captain. Twice before, he had humiliated her. Once, her hair had been dyed golden blonde and she'd acted a Wind Seeker's wife. The second time, she'd wielded a heavy infantryman's sword, its weight unbalanced for her light frame.
This time was different.
Chris stayed out of his reach and circled until Huarn grew impatient. The captain jabbed at her stomach. She beat the sword aside. He slashed at her throat. She held her blade vertical, parried the blow. Without the dead soldiers to interfere, the tides had turned. Huarn retreated one step, then came charging with a powerful slash. Chris read the feint. She ignored the slash, anticipated the lightning thrust that followed, and stepped aside. Huarn flew past her, leading with his sword. He stumbled to a stop, and turned to face her.
Chris's blade took him in the throat. Her sword caught, and she whipped it loose, dancing back to watch him collapse.
Huarn did not fall. He stood clutching at his ruined throat, but it was not blood that seeped from the wound. She saw dying embers drift from the gash she had opened. Huarn straightened, but his head tilted strangely, sagging against the wound.
Chris cursed. She charged the man with an overhead swing. Huarn wearily raised his blade to parry. Chris pressed down on his blade and slid her sword forward. The sharp edge shaved flesh from Huarn's good cheek. He gave no reaction.
Chris fell on the captain with a storm of strikes. He parried some, but others struck home. Each blow staggered the captain, and sent him stumbling back. She cut his sword arm at the wrist, opened a wound on his shoulder, and hacked his leg raw. Huarn began to slow, but still the man refused to die. Roaring, Chris swung her sword in a wild attack, knocking Huarn's sword aside. She came down with a mighty blow that nearly severed the man's hand. Huarn's sword hung limply at his side when Chris stepped in and swept her blade down overhead, both hands firmly on the hilt.
Her sword split Huarn's head with a sickening crunch.
Chris turned her head, felt bile rise in her throat. This time, she heard Huarn collapse, his sword clattering on stone.
Six dead Harmonian soldiers had watched the duel in silence, held back by their former captain's command. Now they stirred and converged on her. Chris had barely enough time to defend herself. She danced back, ducking and sidestepping spearheads. She batted a thrust away, and another. Darting back, she gained enough time to catch her breath. A cold sweat ran down her spine. A moment only, and then they were upon her again.
The True Fire Rune pulsed with unfathomable power. Within the void, the rune had manifested as a great pillar of flame beside Hugo and the Vessel, reaching beyond sight above and below where they stood in darkness.
Hugo's muscles ached. Every breath was agony. With each heartbeat he felt himself losing the battle, the Vessel coming closer and closer to seizing and grasping the true rune. Hugo felt like a man dangling from a cliff above a great void, clutching at loose dirt and gravel. Only death lay beneath him.
The Vessel glared at Hugo. "You're losing, thief. You should never have come here." His words came in bursts, spoken in a breathless voice.
The Vessel's face filled Hugo's vision. The boyish features seemed somehow wrong, too innocent, too young. It was the eyes that gave the monster away. Those crystal blue eyes brimmed over with hate. They seemed to burn as brightly as the true rune's glare. It hurt to look into those eyes.
"Defiler," Hugo croaked. It was torture to speak, but he could not be silent. "The rune belongs to my people."
"The rune belongs to me," the Vessel hissed. He trembled with rage, forcing the words out. "I am made for it. The True Fire Rune and I are one." He laughed, but the sound came out warped and macabre. "You think you could turn the rune against me? I am fire. I cannot be burned. You will lose, thief." The Vessel grinned.
Hugo snarled at his adversary, but his heart wasn't in it. He felt dizzy with heat. The altar room swam before his eyes, losing focus. Strength leeched from his arms. Desperate, Hugo concentrated on the Vessel's eyes, on the fire reflected inside. The flame of rage. Fixing the flame in his mind, Hugo fed every bit of anger, every bit of frustration that had built up over the past month. The torching of Karaya. Lu's death. The Avenger. The Chimera. Borus. Chisha. All his feelings of impotent rage, he poured into the flame, and watched it surge higher. The Vessel could not answer for these things. He had played no part. But there was something else. Hugo's mind turned to the Forbidden Ground, to the thousands who rested in the cairns there. The Vessel had torn them from their peaceful rest, and made playthings of those men and women. His ancestors. Hugo remembered the oath he'd made. He'd promised to destroy the 'Fire Dragon'–the Vessel that now stood before him.
Hate surged into the great flame, and made it white-hot. Hugo felt strength return to his limbs. His vision cleared, the Vessel and the burning room coming into sharp focus. He had been losing control of the rune. He had almost felt its essence slip from his grasp. Now, he matched wills with the Vessel, like two great bonfires roaring in the night, sending sparks dancing in the sky.
But the Vessel understood rage. The pitiful creature had lived a life of hate. The purity of the fury that burned within his heart was like the brightness of the sun. Thoughts raced through Hugo's mind. He fought to keep his anger focused, but so much else intruded. Doubts and fears swirled on the outskirts of his mind. Thoughts of other things intruded. His friends. His family. His mother's worried face. Inch by inch, Hugo felt the flame of his hate falter. Once again, the Vessel threatened to smother him.
Hugo squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. He tried to will the thoughts away. He tried to focus only on the fire, that burning hate. The suffering of those laid to rest in the Forbidden Ground.
It was no use. Every time he tried to focus on the flame, those other images snuck into thoughts. He could weep with frustration! Faced with disaster, the strangest memories resurfaced. The time his mother scolded him for stealing hotcakes. The time he cut himself whittling a wooden sword. Chris' face, the time he had surprised her as she bathed in the forest lake.
Chris. The knight's face suddenly filled his mind. The harder he tried to push the image away, the larger those violet eyes became, until he could see nothing else. His focus cracked, and threatened to break. Desperately, Hugo clawed for the flame, like a drowning man. Slowly, the fire returned, like a candle in the darkness. Only, this time it wasn't alone.
Chris' face remained fixed in his mind, beside the flame. Hands cramping, lungs burning, Hugo had a strange sensation. The fire remained, but it was no longer a flame of hate. Instead, something else pulsed within the blaze.
Determination.
Hugo surrendered to the feeling, and felt his mind harden with focus. The fire burned hotter, and blazed higher. And yet, Chris' face remained beside it. Watching him. Lending him her strength. Other scenes intruded. Chris, astride her white horse. Chris, whirling with sword in hand, dancing with death in sharikee with Bazba. Chris, laughing at someone's jest, the light of the campfire glowing on her cheeks.
Spirits damn him. He loved her. She would never be his, but one thing was certain. Chris Lightfellow waited outside the altar room. Fighting. Buying him time. Whoever won the True Fire Rune would decide her fate.
Suddenly, the pain seemed insignificant. Suddenly, there was no fatigue left in him.
The Vessel understood too late what was about to happen. His eyes went wide. Where before there had been only rage, now there was fear. Hugo had been losing control of the rune. Now, it came flooding back in a torrent. The Vessel's mouth opened in a scream, but no sound reached him over the terrible roar of the flames. The noise seemed to emanate from within Hugo's own skull.
True Fire blazed within. Hugo looked out as from the center of the sun, the rays of his own light blazing against the dark of the void. The Vessel seemed ashen and gray, stumbling back, staggering onto his knees. And in his last moment, the tortured slave of the True Fire Rune raised his arm to shield his eyes from the glaring light.
Hugo reached out a hand that pulsed white-hot with liquid flame. He pointed at the cowering form of the Vessel, and unleashed, for the first time, the power of a True Rune. A strange thought came over him.
If the flame blazes hot enough, even fire can burn.
Chris stood not ten feet away from the iron doors of the altar room, fending off spear thrusts from the dead soldiers. Each time she lifted her sword, her arms felt heavier. Each parry promised to be her last. She had begun to brace herself against death when it happened.
A great explosion rocked the altar room. Chris stumbled, knees buckling under her weight. Somehow, she kept her feet.
Hugo!
She swung around, and stumbled towards the blaze, lifting an arm against the glare. The spearmen seemed suddenly unimportant. Let them come. Where was he? Was he safe? Goddess, there was so much fire! Her heart beat like a drum. How could anyone survive that?
That's when she saw him. The flames parted like curtains pushed aside, admitting a figure that strode through the fire. At first she saw only a dark silhouette against the flames, and she held her breath, fingers cramping on her hilt in an act of pointless defiance. The man emerged from the fire to stand before her.
Hugo reached out hands to steady her. He glowed like the sun—the light was so bright she had no idea how she could even see. Relief flooded her. Goddess, she wanted to hug him. She collapsed into his arms, pressed her face against his chest. She felt Hugo lay a comforting arm around her back.
"Hugo…" she started. Then she remembered the dead soldiers. "We have to get away—"
"No," Hugo said firmly. He was staring past her, at the figures that shambled closer with their spears raised. His voice was calm, but the word carried the weight of mountains. When he raised his arm, Chris saw the emblem of the True Fire Rune shine on the back of his hand. Fire roared to life, and a wave of heat struck her back. She turned her head, still clinging to him for balance. A column of flame had risen where one of the soldiers had stood. She saw no trace of flesh, bone, or armor when the flame died away.
Hugo's hand tracked to the side, fingers pointing. One by one the soldiers went up in flame. Wordlessly the dead men shambled towards Hugo, showing no hesitation as the true rune incinerated their undying bodies. Searching their faces in their last moments, Chris imagined she saw… relief.
When the last flame had died down, there was silence in the cave, except for a gentle crackling of flame from the altar room. Hugo grunted, and sagged onto his knees. Chris felt some strength return, and managed to prop him up.
"It doesn't hurt anymore," Hugo mumbled.
Chris frowned. "Hurt? What does not hurt?"
Hugo stared at his own hand in wonderment. "The rune… The fire rune. It doesn't hurt anymore."
Chris held his head in her hands. Goddess, she thought her grin would split her face! "You won, Hugo. You won." Hugo smiled back, weakly, and Chris's heart raced. He was so handsome. How had she never noticed before?
"You did good, lad," Geddoe said. The rune bearer sheathed his sword and helped them both to their feet. Chris stumbled back, fingers lingering as she let Hugo's arm go. She surveyed Geddoe. Throughout their fight, she hadn't had time to check on the man's condition, fearing for her life should she turn her attention away for even a moment. Now she saw that the one-eyed man had fared better than her. She thought she could see a few nicks and cuts on his armor that hadn't been there before, but the trickle of blood from a gash on his shoulder seemed the only wound, and Geddoe looked unconcerned with it.
Chris managed an awkward bow, Hugo's weight still leaning on her. "Well fought, sir."
Geddoe inclined his head. "You too, milady." He hesitated, then said, "Strange. You bear more than a passing resemblance to the Silver Maiden of the Zexen Knights. Though I heard she fell at Iksay."
Chris smiled faintly. Goddess, it was hard to think, with Hugo pressed so close. "So I am often told."
If Geddoe doubted her words, he gave no indication. The man seemed unshakable. Chris tried to read the lines in his worn face, to guess his age. By the looks of him, she would mark him as well into his thirties. But a true rune wielder would be immortal. As would Hugo be, now. She looked up into his face, tried to wrap her head around it. He looked the same.
Hugo frowned, blinking his bleary eyes. "Geddoe, is it? That thing… When we faced it in the Forbidden Ground, we thought it was an Incarnation—the True Fire Rune made manifest. But it wasn't, was it? He… it… said it was made for the True Fire Rune. You called it the 'Vessel'."
Geddoe grunted. "Will you believe he named himself the Vessel? 'The dragon-skinned man' is what Reldin called him."
Chris drew a sharp breath. That name…! "The Flame Champion… You knew him?" Somehow, it made sense. Geddoe was a true rune wielder, and could have been alive fifty years ago. If true, then he would be older than Chief Sana. She found herself staring at the man.
"I fought beside him," Geddoe said. He glanced at Chris, searching her features, frowned somewhat. The look he gave her was unreadable. "Me and some others. We fought Harmonia, for the freedom of the Grasslands."
Chris narrowed her eyes. "And yet your armor now wear the markings of a Captain of the Frontier Defense Force. A soldier in Harmonia's service."
Geddoe shrugged. "I had to change my methods, but my purpose remains the same. The Vessel rested in the Forbidden Grounds for almost fifty years. We put it there. But someone awakened it, set it on the trail of the True Fire Rune. I had to stop that."
"Someone?" Chris said.
"The Absolute One. Hikusaak, High Priest of Harmonia. The lord of Crystal Valley seeks to possess all 27 True Runes. What you fought is a twisted pawn in that game..."
"The Vessel," Hugo breathed. "A vessel to bear the True Fire Rune, for Hikusaak?"
"A clone," Geddoe said. "One man can never possess more than one of the True Runes. The High Priest found a way to create a copy of himself, born with the sole purpose of serving as a vessel for a True Rune."
"How do you know this?" Hugo asked.
Geddoe raised his hand as if in answer. The leather glove hid the emblem of the True Lightning Rune, but the gesture was clear as day. "I was... taken to Crystal Valley. I saw things there, before fleeing the place. This rune, too, was meant for a tortured creature like the Vessel."
Chris tried to wrap her head around the concept. It seemed more fanciful than any of the books she'd devoured as a young girl. And more horrific. This man had been a copy of another person?
All at once, Chris made the connection, and a chill ran down her spine. "There are more," she said.
Geddoe frowned. "What do you mean?"
"We have seen another," Chris said, "who wears the same face as this 'Vessel'."
Hugo groaned. "Bishop Sasarai…"
Geddoe's face twisted in mild shock. It was the strongest reaction they'd elicited thus far, despite the life or death struggle in and outside the altar room. "You claim Bishop Sasarai is one of Hikusaak's clones?"
Chris nodded slowly, almost to herself. "It all comes back to the High Priest. He would have ordered the invasion of the Grasslands, awakened the Vessel. But why would he sacrifice his own men to the Vessel? The beast slew Captain Huarn's men without mercy or hesitation."
Geddoe shook his head. "Hikusaak is as cruel as he is single-minded. Captain Huarn, you said? I knew the man. His company would have been composed of third-class citizens. The High Priest would think nothing of sacrificing such men by the thousand to secure his ambitions." Geddoe's face twisted as if in pain. "I know that all too well."
Hugo raised his hand. The pulsing glow of the True Fire Rune's impossibly complex emblem mesmerized Chris. "The High Priest sent an army," Hugo said, "to reclaim this rune. Now we will use it against him, drive his army back from the Grasslands." For a moment, Hugo's mouth twisted and his eyes lit up with such rage, it frightened Chris.
Geddoe gently pushed Hugo's hand down. "Careful, lad. You've won this fight, but the battle's far from over. For you, it's just begun. Your battle against the rune's power—it's will—is the suffering that all True Rune bearers must endure. You will live this fight for the rest of your days."
Hesitation crept into Hugo's face. "What should I do?" he asked. Chris' heart reached out for him. She did not know how, but promised herself she would find a way to help ease his burden.
"What's your name, lad?" Geddoe said.
"I am Hugo, of the Karaya."
Geddoe pulled his sword from its sheath and knelt before Hugo, the blade's tip pressed against the stone. "I swear my sword to your cause, Hugo of Karaya, for as long as the people of the Grasslands shall depend on you." Geddoe looked up, his stare hard as iron on Hugo. "You are the Flame Champion. You must lead us."
Hugo gaped.
Chris felt a certainty overtake her. She knew what had to be done to save the Grasslands. Gently, she steadied him, made sure he could stand without her. Then she knelt before him, her sword bared, one fist against her chest in the manner of the knights.
"I too swear my sword to you, in defense of the Grasslands." She looked up at him. Solemn as the grave, she added. "Flame Champion."
Hugo's eyes looked like they would pop out of their sockets.
Rina planted her hand on the map, steadying herself on the rock beneath it. She stood over a boulder, studying the map of the Grasslands and searching for a miracle. Behind her, the caravan stretched on, a chain of hunched, bent backs plodding on beneath the hot afternoon sun. Those who could no longer walk were carried by those who could.
Rina tried not to lean too much on the boulder. They needed to see her straight back. She had to seem strong, when all else failed. Spirits, but she didn't feel strong. A splitting headache pounded through her head. She felt as exhausted and miserable as the refugee train she had pledged to see to safety.
Lilly must have sensed her faltering. "Courage, Lady Rina," she whispered. The girl pushed up against her, took some of her weight unobtrusively. To a casual onlooker it would merely seem a protective gesture. She showed remarkable sensitivity sometimes, that girl.
"Tactician," Rina said. "Give me some good news."
"Well," said Caesar, running a hand through his flame-red hair. "Trade relations between Kanakan and Tinto have normalized. We should see high grade sugar once again flowing into these parts soon, when the merchants catch on."
Rina stared at him flatly. There was nothing on Caesar's face to indicate he'd meant it as a joke. The lad frowned at the map for several seconds before saying, "The caravan is one night from Alma-Kinan, but the people are exhausted. They need a place to rest, or they'll drop where they stand."
Rina stabbed a finger at the map. "Here. Where the trade road crosses the Walu River." She traced the path over the rough surface of the painted hide. "We send a small force ahead to hold the bridge, prevent the Harmonians from seizing it. Once the caravan is across, we can collapse it, stranding them on the other side. That should give us enough time to withdraw to Alma-Kinan."
Caesar gave a noncommittal grunt. "The Harmonians will force battle well before we reach Walu River. We need to delay them, give the refugees a chance to cross that bridge."
Rina resisted the urge to rub at her temples. Spirits, but she wanted to lean back and let Lilly take her weight. She might have done it, but she worried that her warriors would see how weak her knees were. She searched Caesar's eyes, trying to read the truth of his feelings. That furrowed brow, was it a sign of intellectual curiosity, or did the tactician's heart truly bleed for the Grasslanders? She had no choice but to trust him, but she would have dearly liked to know how dedicated the lad was to her cause. Was this all just a game for him?
She had to admit, Caesar had proven his worth time and again on the retreat. Once, at Aldi Ford, the tactician's bold misdirection had sent the Harmonian army on a brief but important wild goose chase, giving the refugees the time needed to cross the ford. Where the road bent at Lirai Hills, Caesar had raised the fear of an ambush in his brother, stopping the Harmonian advance long enough to carry the refugee train down the narrow canyon. Caesar's little victories all proved short-lived—his brother had proved the master of this game, time after time. But they were victories nonetheless, and without them, the Grasslanders would have tasted certain defeat by now.
"We need one last gambit, tactician," Rina said. "Give me something. Anything."
Caesar scratched his head, turning to Apple for support. The woman gave him what seemed like a look full of meaning, but said nothing. Caesar nodded to himself, as if that was all he needed. "Yes, well… A gambit, huh? Alright. I've got one last trick up my sleeve." He walked over to the map, bent over it to study the abstractly painted landscape.
"Albert doesn't know I'm here," Caesar said. "Though he will have sensed my signature by now. He'll be wondering who the Grasslander tactician is. Albert is no fool, and he knows your people. He will have almost certainly drawn the conclusion by now that you're being advised by a foreigner. So, we'll take advantage of that fact."
"By doing what, exactly?" Rina asked.
Caesar grinned sheepishly. "By doing something only a Grasslander tactician would think to do."