20th Illost, 998 NE
“Why were we forgotten? None of their stories contain their proper endings. There is no mention in any tale of men, no mention of the Dracofont’s last battle, of the Chains of Woe they walk past every day. Nothing, cousin. Our greatest… just faded away. Only the shadows of their names, their deeds, trickle down in ode and song. Even you, Deathwyrm, Rotwyrm, have more acclaim! We have been passed-by, abandoned, out of time… They traipse along past the bonds that bound our forebears, ankle and wrist and throat! throat! and fasten crude, lesser beasts to them, never knowing, suspecting, caring… I have been. I have looked. I have counted them – twenty-five chains. The humans – they are like us!
“We have forgotten ourselves, cousin… We are no longer what we once were and we shall never see its like again. That is how their empire surpassed, exceeded our own – we lost ourselves in clinging to the past. We tell the tales of Eldervane’s duel with Nil Nafrim because to us it means something. It matters that we were defeated, that she hung in defeat from his glacier-sword. Devas, lost in the madness of Nimmenvyl’s devisings… Litenwelt’s shadow-arms… Our generations are so slow in the taking – thus we look only for a restoration of what came before. Ulu Kalar saw their Return, written on the winds of the future, but it is only a backwards-looking. Only the humans really look forwards. And did Arreath Ril write a single word of warning?
“No. No, the Dracofont’s last battle meant nothing to them, and we know that the human was the greater seer. Why, then, cousin? Why did they not leave it in their legacy? Is it because they fear us? No – it is because they do not care. Ha! The heretical fools have it so wrong. They forget us. What was my mother’s task, in truth? They forget us, because we are no longer what we were. What we could have, should have been. Many amongst them know what we purpose. They know, and they would stop us. I could kill them all. Yet if I stray from the path by so much as a claw, I will doom us. I only think I could kill them all…
“Are we not doomed already? You have left me alone to bear this burden. I am here – I have done everything that you said, everything that Ulu Kalar would have of me. Still, I have nothing. The Twins have not arrived. For the first time since you came to me, granted me this vision, I doubt. I doubt!
“If I had to do it alone – I would. Even if it should cost me my life, my children would know my name and never fear to hear it spoken. But there is nothing – nothing. It is the Time of Emptiness, the Era of Utenya Borskalach. Ulu Kalar was wrong. Do you hear me, cousin! He was wrong at the last. And what is there for my brood now? What is their future? Should I give my life anyway, slay as many as I can before I fall? Or should I return home, tail between my legs, defeated through no fault of my own?
“… You give better advice in your absence than ever you did in person. At least your silence cannot counsel me to waste a century of my life. To waste… my life…”
She felt the pulse; the Ceryad was almost drained.
“Goodbye, cousin, and farewell, wherever you are. I’ll call to you no more.”
She left her eyrie, and never came back.
Duty calls.
* * *
22nd Illost, 998 NE
What had happened? How had she let the bard’s song envelop her so? She swooned, and swayed out of existence for a few moments, borne up like flotsam on a wave of soft, melancholy melody.
The kobold’s shaft cold in my chest
I beat and bleed and die my best
As I approach the ghost I still recall
That hallowed eve from time of yore
How in my youth I saw them sway
As elms at dusk while perished day
For my eyes I hope to keep
Their darkness
And take it with me to my sleep
Under the bowers of dark Drathdanis
Gathered tall elves in starlit masses
Swords sheathed at hand in shadows true
Yet in their eyes it seemed blades glew
Without motion spell or sound
They stand or sit on branch or ground
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
And Orovon’s silence on the wind
Across leaves on softly-sighing limbs
Where the twilight dwelt
In dark Drathdanis
Morning’s song will choke the air
Purple clouds they gathered there
In knotted fur and unkempt hair
As the ranger’s arrow wingwise coursed
Riven earth by old roots burst
Still they gathered there
Beneath the graceward threshes
As night’s cloak fell in blood
Across the skies
But not their eyes
In dark Drathdanis
I sailed away and never returned
Immortal lessons never learned
But I beat and bleed and die my best
This thrice-cursed arrow in my breast
Yet in my eye as I near my rest
I hold the darkness
And remember Drathdanis
Lovebright was supposed to pick out a Master, but instead she caught herself looking around at her friends with fresh vision. She wanted to cry almost constantly, and it was only by an act of will that she kept her voice from throbbing when she spoke, stopped the corners of her eyes leaking miserably.
I am leaving, she told herself again. Still, it didn’t feel real. There was too much to be done – so many aspects of the fading visions that were still awaiting her touch –
But it was relief that was flooding through her. Like a prisoner held for execution being pardoned and freed after years of agony, waiting, waiting for death. And, in stepping out through the cell-door into the sunlight, was it so strange that she would feel a kind of melancholy, a kind of fondness, for the physical structure in which she’d been housed for so long? Was it so strange that she’d look on these faces and feel the part she’d played for real this time?
The truth was, she was needed here. She protected the champions from the darkmages, didn’t she? She had done good work in their company. Her amulets had saved Feychilde and Shadowcloud from destruction at the hands of an arch-lich in Zadhal… Without her wards, Mountainslide would’ve fallen to Vowtaker’s demons that time… She’d partaken in Incursions, if only in seeming; she’d been useful, hadn’t she?
Had she balanced out those she’d eaten? If she stayed, could she do better to even the numbers?
Where else was she needed? She had no desire in her to explore the ruins of Ord Ylon’s home, search out his remains, those of Ulu Hariskar and Nil Sorog, those of his children. What good would it do anyone? They could not be raised. Malas was gone. The code was broken. Let them lie with their killers, and good riddance to the lot of them.
And why would she return home? The truth was that she had abandoned her domain long ago. She had gambled, and she had lost. Her children had inherited her territories and if she was honest with herself, that was all she had wanted for them all along. Her return would only displace them, cast them adrift – send them far from home to form their own realms, or, worse, set them plotting her downfall.
“… see, vhen zere is a high-rise on fire things are not so simple – you must vork viz ze air. If you flood ze ground you risk bringing ze whole building down – and if you bring too much vater onto each floor you risk zem buckling…”
“Come on, Jo,” Irimar said from beside her. “Whatever you pick, I’ll pick something to complement it.”
The enchantress brought out the Arbiter card, and found the correct figurine to place outside one of her Holds. She was getting used to the game, even enjoyed it. She was good at this kind of thing.
“How’s that?” she asked.
“Excellent.” He threw down the Pyromancer card and placed its figurine as close to hers as he could manage, per the rules. “Stay close to me – I’ll keep you safe.”
He didn’t catch her smile, but that was okay. It was only for her anyway; it probably would’ve embarrassed her if he’d seen. Or maybe he did catch it – she couldn’t tell, wasn’t rifling through his mind. Reading minds during fortify would be cheating and, although deception was second nature to her, she wouldn’t want to dilute the challenge of the match by reading her opponents’ strategies out of their heads. Nor would she want to second-guess her ally, overwrite his plans; compromise was the art of the game – wherein half the mastery lay.
That was what Lovebright was telling herself.
The battle unfolded much as she’d suspected it would. She played her best game yet, but Irimar left himself exposed in his attempts to defend her, dooming the both of them.
She felt it was an omen.
Again – relief. She was leaving it behind. Leaving it all behind… even if she stayed.
Irimar walked her home. No moon-glow reached through the wooded glade surrounding her house, and she brought no light forth, enjoying the darkness, the companionship; but he placed his hand on her arm to better guide her all the same, and she caught herself looking down in surprise, alarm.
There was… not just gentleness… affection in his touch.
This was not something she had done – and a glance at the diviner’s mind, swallowed in a melancholy that extruded between every fold and crease and seam of his thoughts, only told her that the two of them were alike.
He is in pain.
She struggled with her keys when they reached the doorstep.
“Jo.”
She fumbled, almost dropped them –
“Joceine Tamaflower.”
She put the key in the lock, turned it, flung open the door before whirling to confront him –
He was gone. She stood alone on the threshold.
She stood there for a long time. After a while the wintry breeze stirred her hair, and an hour after that she shivered with the cold.
Eventually she went inside and fell against the door, slamming it shut bodily. She leaned her head back against the heavy oak, feeling its reassuring hardness.
The wave of panic just wouldn’t stop.
I’m real, she reminded herself. I’m me.
It was almost sunrise before she could bring herself to lock the door, and she crawled upstairs to the bedroom, pulled herself up onto the bed.
What is it? she questioned. What’s happening to me? Has Dream done something?
It was like her dad always used to say, before her mum took her away in the middle of the night, stole away with her on the ferry, heading south towards Mund.
‘Always question ever’thin’, Jocey. You don’t know ef yer getten tripe or steak in yer pie till yer tasted it, an’ be then it’s offen too late!‘
Jocey. She’d almost forgotten that name. She smiled, and sighed.
It was a shame. Perhaps Irimar had fled because he thought she was in a rush to get away, get into the house, get rid of him. Perhaps he’d thought she was put off by the fact he was clearly rebounding hard after Lightblind’s demise.
The truth was, she had no idea what she’d been about to do when she turned around – admonish him, spurn him; or press herself against him, usher him inside.
* * *