Thanks to Niana Kuonji, Amber Stag, Storylistener, GinaStar, and ShadowCat17.
Oh, and ShadowCat17--that was a typo. I originally wrote it for Tenri to pop up and I think I tried to imply that he was there for like a split second, but I must not have clarified it. My bad.
And please don't forget to read and review, and then check out my new website.
Well I remember
I remember don't worry
How could I ever forget
It's the first time
The last time
We ever met
But I know the reason why you keep me silenced up
No you don't fool me
Cause the hurt doesn't show
But the pain still grows
It's no stranger to you and me
I can feel it
Coming in the air tonight
Oh Lord
I've been waiting for this moment
For all my life
Oh Lord, Oh Lord
Nonpoint's In the Air Tonight
Chapter 35: In the Air Tonight
Brackish water splashed his face as Julian leaned forward on the deck railing.
This was the first time he had ever been near the ocean, let alone on it, and it was vast. All he had been able to hear for the last two days had been waves and seabirds, and not even too many of those. His only companions were the creak of wood and rigging and the rhythmic slapping of wood on water as the oars plunged into the water to move the ship when the winds died.
He, Rowen, Tremane and several mages from Valdemar had Gated to one of the ships in the Haighlei fleet, which was even now headed for the Gating site that would take them to the far side of the Empire.
As far as he knew, the attacks had begun as planned. Half the armies of Karse, Valdemar, Hardorn, and Iftel moved up to the Borders of the Empire while the civilians near the Borders were evacuated to as far east as they wanted to go. The rest of the armies were moved to reinforce the borders and spread throughout the land to keep order.
The army units stationed on the Border responded immediately to the appearance of what looked like an all-out attack, calling in reinforcements which the FarSeers said would arrive within a week.
Tremane would provide the terminus-site for the Gate, and then he would Gate from there to somewhere unspecified. Julian didn't know where it was, but he'd noticed that Selenay had Felt extremely unsettled when Tremane refused to mention where he was going.
Now Tremane was cloistered with one of the Empiric-Hardornen mages in one of the cabins, discussing things that Julian would rather not know.
He hadn't seen Rowen since they'd arrived on the ship; the Changechild couldn't move about too well on the deck, and had shut himself up belowdecks until they found dry land. The last time Julian had seen him he'd been fighting nausea in a corner of the hold.
Julian sighed and pushed himself away from the ocean's spray, carefully making his way down the railing until he could cross over to the half-open huge hatch that led down into the compartment that Rowen was sheltering in.
He climbed down the ladder leading down, and Rowen reached up to help him down the last few rungs before he slipped, and then the Shin'a'in retreated back into the corner.
"How are you holding on?" Julian asked.
All he got in answer was a groan.
"Are you okay?"
"I think moving was a mistake," Rowen moaned. His voice sounded very rough, and there was a sickly-sweet smell in the air that made Julian's stomach lurch in sympathy.
He unsteadily made his way over towards Rowen before dropping onto the pile of pillows Rowen was resting in.
The scent of vomit was stronger here, and Julian reached around for his partner. His hand came in contact with hot flesh, and even as Rowen's muscles tensed under his palm, he began sending out gentle waves of calm. Slowly, Rowen Felt more at ease with the situation, and Julian reluctantly pulled his hand away.
"We'll probably be at the Gating site in a few hours," he said quietly.
He didn't know exactly what Rowen was planning, and he wanted to know desperately.
Without much enthusiasm, he asked. "What will you do when we get over there?"
"What do you mean?" There was an edge to Rowen's voice that Julian didn't need Empathy to sense.
"What you're going to do over there," Julian said. "To get Melles, I mean."
"Why would you think I'd be doing that?" Rowen asked.
"It's been your life's mission ever since Nadar--ever since you were Sworn," Julian said. "How are you going to get to where he is?"
Rowen didn't say anything for a long moment, and when Julian was sure he'd deeply offended the Shin'a'in, he finally spoke. "I don't know."
"You don't know what you're going to do to kill him?"
"No."
"Oh."
"I guess I'm just going to do whatever I can for as long as I can to get to his Castle. Then I'll burn him out."
"Oh."
Pause.
"I'm not really fond of your plan..."
"I didn't think you would be."
"Is there anything I can do to help you?" Julian asked. There had to be something--anything--he could do to improve Rowen's chances.
"I don't know," Rowen said. "I didn't think that you would want to help..."
"Of course I would!" Julian exclaimed loudly, then quieted. "I may not like what you want to do, but if it takes everything I have to get you to survive, then I'll give it."
"Oh, Julian," Rowen said, and Julian felt a wave of something he couldn't quite identify seep through his shields.
"Rowen? Come on," Julian urged, moving closer.
"I'll help you in any way I can," he pleaded. "Just let me. Just let me help you survive."
He reached out and placed his hands on Rowen's bare shoulders.
Heat radiated off the Changechild like a kiln, and Julian felt some of that heat sink into his own body, warming and relaxing him.
"I'll help you," he repeated. "Please."
Rowen placed his own hands on Julian's.
"Please," he croaked. "Help me."
The feel of Rowen under and over his hands was too much, and without any feelings of helplessness or remorse, he pulled Rowen's head around and kissed him. Hard.
His hands slid around Rowen's shoulders to draw him close.
And in the Southern Sea, in the bed of a Haighlei warship, Julian spent a few precious, nervous, joyful hours before the final war alone with his lifebonded.
o
Tremane braced himself at the railing of the last ship, linked with the other mages and grappling to twist the energy they were feeding him into a Gate that would send them to the Telonian arch on the Fury Sea. Normally a lintel for the Gate wouldn't have been necessary, but a Gate this large had never been attempted before. And possibly wouldn't be again, if this went wrong.
He manipulated the energy, sending it into the hastily-constructed arch of trees over the mouth of a deep river that was going to serve as the Gate-primordium.
The view of trees and blue river flashed white and vanished as Tremane sent out tendrils seeking that Other Place that was so clear in his mind.
A not-quite vista of crashing waves and dark skies appeared between the trees, and one by one the Haighlei ships began to move toward it.
It took almost a half-candlemark for all of the ships to move through the Gate, and by the end of it Tremane wanted to die. He knew realistically that sixty ships couldn't make it through in less time, but the strain was building.
Finally, his ship finally began to move to the linked trees, and the bow slowly cruised through the Gate, and the grey clouds and turbulent water swallowed the ship.
The familiar sensation of falling, differed this time now that he was on a giant object going through a Gate, and then the slap of rougher waves and a new wind that threatened to blow the ship into the sharp cliffs.
Yelling and cursing filled the air as the oarsmen had to steer the ship quickly and expertly to avoid the jagged rocks at the base of the cliffs, and Tremane watched, paralyzed, as they skimmed the very base of the cliffs, rocks a mere handsbreadth from the deck railing.
The ship cleared the rocks and came around a jagged outcropping of rock and joined the other ships. As they neared, Tremane noticed that several of the other ships had long, deep grazes along the hulls from the rocks.
Tremane ceased the flow of energy that fed the Gate behind them and watched as the view of a calm, sunny estuary vanished, to be replaced by worn rocks and dark water.
Wonder filled his heart for a scant moment as he stared up at the ancient arch, carvings still visible after three thousand years of wind and water and salt, and he remembered weaving the threads of a Gate on this very loom of a frame before moving onto Gates without a Structure.
He turned to the mage named Wethys. "Remember the shielding spells I taught you," he said, and Wethys' face shimmered and Tremane's own looked back at him.
"Yes, Majesty," Wethys said.
Tremane turned and gestured at the doorframe of the low cabin. Making the Gate was easier this time, and he looked out at the view of his old duchy on the Hardorn Border.
"Good luck," he threw back over his shoulder as he stepped through.
The grass was much more overgrown than he would have liked, but it made it much easier for him to make his way to the door of his manor. There were no guards around; he mused on that for only a minute before releasing a little sigh of annoyance that his underlings had let the estate fall so far in his absence.
The door boomed hollowly when he knocked on it, and it took nearly a minute for the pattering of feet on the other side to become clear as someone hastened to the door.
There was a long, loud creak of unoiled and disused metal as the door was pulled open, and then as the light fell through the open door into the dim, fusty hallway, a scream announced his arrival.
The maid had fainted dead away into the thin layer of dust on the floor. A scant few seconds later, Tremane's old seneschal came running into the hallway.
He, too, took more than a slight surprise at the sight of his former master, but to his credit he did not lose consciousness.
"My Lord," he gasped. "We all--my Lord, it is not safe for you here!" he grabbed Tremane's arm and pulled him inside, shoving the heavy door closed as fast as he could.
"Well, Gerthwin, it seems that you haven't exactly forgotten your respect," Tremane remarked dryly as the man hastened to remove Tremane's travelling-cloak.
"No, my Lord," Gerthwin said. "But sire--we thought you were dead!"
"Not dead," Tremane said. "Merely relocated and instated elsewhere." He ran a hand over his head. "But what has happened here? My land is in a state of extreme disrepair!"
"My apologies," Gerthwin said. He didn't babble, but he did sound deeply apologetic. "The hired guards ran off, and then there were several problems with hobgoblins and the like before Emperor Melles reinstated order, and several people left or were killed."
"What about the maids?" Tremane asked, looking pointedly at the floor. "I thought they were loyal to me."
"They were," the seneschal said. "But they've recently taken sick."
I have a very little amount of time and very large amount of things to do here, Tremane remembered wistfully as he looked around the once-familiar entrance hall.
"Gerthwin, please assemble everyone fit to move or be moved in the main hall. I have something that needs to be said, and I'm going to need everyone's help."
Little more than a quarter of a candlemark later, the entire staff was gathered in the biggest room in the manor, and Tremane was the focus of nearly three dozen pairs of eyes.
"Right," he barked suddenly, making at least three people jump. "Some of you may know where I've been for the last few years. Before I tell you, I wish to commend and thank you for upkeeping the estate the way it has been. I know you could have all left at any point, but you stayed, and I am thankful for that." While everyone was still mulling over the thanks, Tremane startled them again. "I have been in Hardorn. I was assigned there as the Emperor's favorite to inherit the Iron Throne, but while I was there we were cut off from the Empire and no attempts were made to assist us. During that time we were forced to fend for ourselves, and at the tail end of things, I was established as the new King of Hardorn."
Gasps permeated the room, and several people in the front made awkward bows.
"I have come back from Hardorn to ask for your help. Emperor Melles is insane. He is on a rampage to destroy everything that is not of the Empire, and all the free countries to the West want to do is remain as they are: free. I have no doubt that given the chance, he would have killed everyone in this room if he realized that it would hurt me. He must be removed from the Throne. He is throwing all of the resources and good men of the Empire onto the Western Borders, and he is draining the economy to the point where the Empire will collapse under it's own weight. It is not evident yet, but in a few months time it will be to the point where we will be in the same state we were during the Mage Storms."
He paused. "Melles must be removed from the Throne."
No one said anything.
Tremane cleared his throat. "Please. I need your help to do this. You must convince all of your relatives to either help me oppose him. If you do not wish to do that, you are welcome to flee to Hardorn by whatever means you can. My country is open to all refugees."
Still, no one uttered a word.
Bowed by the uncomfortable silence, Tremane left the room slowly, stately, and defeated.
o
Rowen had no idea what Tremane thought he was doing, but the man posing as him was doing an abominable job of it. Despite the constant nausea, the deception was as obvious to Rowen as a Shin'a'in warsteed found off the Plains.
He smelled, walked, and acted like his old self--not like the Hardornen King at all. Rowen supposed the man was supposed to be a decoy for anyone on the coast scrying onto the ships, but that didn't change the fact that he was a horrible actor.
And the fact that Rowen knew that his name was Wethys, and he was a mage fully capable of Gating without outside power.
When it looked like they were nearing the coast, and the Haighlei were arming themselves, Rowen cornered the man disguised as Tremane in his cabin.
"I need you to Gate me to Crag Castle," Rowen said, closing the door behind him quietly after squeezing through the door.
"What?" Wethys-Tremane asked, eying the fully-armed Changechild.
"I know you're not Tremane," Rowen said. "And I need you to build me a Gate to Crag Castle."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to kill Melles, because I'll expose you if you refuse, and because I'll make the rest of this war hell for you if you don't."
Wethys just stared at him, and then started chuckling.
"You really want to kill him, don't you?" the man asked, smiling.
"Yes," Rowen growled. For the Shin'a'in. For Valdemar. For Julian, and for peace.
"What will you give me?"
"Whatever I can," Rowen said instantly.
"Your word that you will kill him is good."
"You have my word."
Wethys' hands began moving and twisting, and the door to the privy opened on its own as the air between it warped and twisted somehow, making Rowen's stomach turn more.
In a matter of seconds, the view seen through the door was not one of the cleanest privies that Rowen had ever seen, but a stone corridor lit by only one flickering torch.
"This is the dungeons," Wethys said. "It's the only place that I've been in the Castle that will probably be abandoned."
"Thank you," Rowen breathed.
He stepped through the Gate.
I'm sorry, Julian. Loving you was my final gift to you. Maybe one day we can see each other again.
After he'd lurched through what felt like an interminable amount of space and time, he landed on a smooth stone floor. He turned around to signal to Wethys to close the Gate, but froze.
The door to the cabin was open, and several Haighlei warriors were pushing through. They shoved through the Gate, barely staggering as they landed, and Wethys yelled something that Rowen couldn't make out.
The Gate began to unravel.
A dim form appeared in the doorway, and before Rowen could do anything, Julian lunged through the closing Gate.
o
"What do you mean the entire Northern Border is rebelling?" Melles roared.
Please, by the Hundred Little Gods, don't kill me! Rethon thought, feeling his knees weaken.
"It seems that someone claiming to be the King of Hardorn has whipped them into a frenzy of hatred, my Emperor. At least fifteen estates, manors, or duchys have unified into a small army that is overpowering the platoons sent up there. They want you off of the Throne, my Emperor. And their messages and warnings are spreading across the face of the Empire. More and more people are claiming dislike and hatred, my Emperor."
Melles didn't say anything, so Rethon decided that it would be a good idea to clarify things. He was the messenger, after all.
"Hatred for you, my Emperor."
Something grabbed Rethon's throat with a wrenching, sickening crunch, and as he flew through the air, struggling to breathe through a crushed windpipe, he watched Melles flinging levinbolts in all directions, shattering windows and creating craters in the stone and marble walls.
He hit the wall with a wet smack and died knowing that something had truly, horribly, with a pinpoint accuracy enraged the Emperor. And he was glad of it.