Brothers finally reunited
Face a dagger evil blighted.
The first sliver of semi-rational thought that slipped through Requar's mind was that he was hallucinating. Surely, he was far wearier that he had realised, and was in reality still riding up the mountain pass in the storm, slumped unconscious upon Serentyne's back.
It simply was not possible for his brother to be standing there. It was ludicrous.
The memory of the last time he had laid eyes on Arzath flashed before his eyes.
He had pushed him...
He had looked over the edge to see Arzath's body lying horribly on the rocks.
He had wept into the grass, feeling as though it had been himself who had broken up inside.
This cannot be real…
Beside him, Flint was fumbling with his Justifier, but the weapon was a useless chunk of ice. He threw it onto the floor and kicked it, cursing.
The loud noise jerked Requar out of his dream haze. Staring at Arzath, his eyes widened like a child coming to the terrible realisation that the monster under the bed was real.
"You cannot be alive," he gasped. It was all he could manage to say.
"I think the word you are looking for is 'shouldn't be alive'," his brother replied, moving slowly down the staircase. "And I agree with you: I should be dead. I should be a shattered lump of flesh and bones sprawled at the bottom of the waterfall with the Murons picking at my carcass, because you walked away and LEFT ME THERE TO DIE!!"
His last words were a scream that rang throughout the hall.
"Goddess have mercy," Requar whispered. His legs gave out completely and he dropped to his knees, Ferrian tumbling out of his arms onto the floor.
"Don't take another damn step!" Flint said suddenly. He had drawn, of all things, one of his knives, and was poised as if to throw it at Arzath.
"Flint, no," Requar said weakly.
The ex-Bladeshifter ignored him, taking another few steps forward. Requar wondered, not for the first time, if Flint was inhumanly brave, or simply incredibly stupid.
Neither, he decided. He was acting purely on instinct. Seeing the situation careening dangerously into unknown territory, he was trying desperately to grab the reins, to gain some sort of control.
But the reins were not his to take.
Gathering white fire in his hand, Requar threw it at Flint's knife and it exploded into twisted metallic fragments that scattered tinkling across the icy floor. Flint leaped backwards with a cry and turned to him angrily. "What'd you–"
"Flint." Requar cut him off with a hard glare. "Do you remember that night in Hillbank? Don't make the same mistake again. Arzath–" his brother's name caught in his throat, "Arzath is just as powerful as I am, and he will not stop at destroying your weapons, do you understand?"
He got to his feet, scooped Ferrian up off the floor and handed him to Flint. "Take him into the other room and lock and barricade the door behind you," he said. "I need to speak with my brother alone. You must not intervene, no matter what happens. You must not come out until I tell you it is safe."
He took a deep breath, struggling to keep his composure as waves of emotion crashed over his head, threatening to break him apart. "Please," he whispered, placing a hand on Flint's shoulder. "Promise me you won't…" His voice cracked and broke, but Flint seemed to understand. He nodded his head, albeit reluctantly, still casting dark glances at Arzath.
"I won't let anyone hurt the kid," he said. "You have my word."
Requar nodded. "That's all I ask."
Flint turned and went back to the dining room door, carrying the unconscious Ferrian with him. He stopped on the threshold and looked back at the two brothers with a look of mingled fear, confusion and frustration and then went inside and closed it firmly behind him.
When he had gone, Requar closed his eyes and let his breath out slowly. He closed his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Arzath being alive changed everything. Or, more accurately, it changed things back to the way they were before the accident, the way they had been for nearly two centuries. The guilt of his brother's death had been almost too much for Requar to bear, but it had also been a release. It had enabled him to leave his castle for the first time in years, to advance the plans he had put on hold for so long. Or so he had thought. Now, all of his dreams had been whisked away again in the blink of an eye.
It was a cruel joke. It was as though his entire life was some kind of twisted drama being played out for the amusement of the Gods.
And in that moment, the puppet strings finally snapped, having been pulled too tight for too long.
Anger welled up inside him. It was a feeling he was unused to, and it shocked him, but he let it sizzle through his veins, giving him energy, because the only other alternative was to crumble in a heap and weep himself dry.
He whirled suddenly on Arzath, his blue eyes dark with fury. "All this time," he quavered, "all these weeks, you let me believe that you were dead! That I had killed you! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW THAT MADE ME FEEL?"
"Oh, how it made you feel?" Arzath retorted. He had reached the bottom of the staircase now. "How it made YOU FEEL? Oh, I'm so sorry for neglecting your precious feelings, Requar! You, in your pathetic self-righteous indignation, could not possibly comprehend the AMOUNT OF PAIN YOU HAVE PUT ME THROUGH!" He stepped out into the shaft of moonlight. "LOOK AT ME!"
Requar's anger vanished instantly as the blue light revealed his brother's features. His skin was almost as pallid as Ferrian's. He was hunched and shivering in his cloak, his hands skeletal and his face sunken. Only his eyes burned as brightly as they always had, but there was more than rage and hatred in them, now: there was pain and anguish.
What have I done to him? Requar thought in horror.
Forcing back tears, he swallowed and whispered: "What are you doing in my castle, Arzath? What do you want from me?"
Arzath staggered forward a few steps. "I already have what I… came here… ugh…" He dropped suddenly to one knee, clutching at his chest, and coughed violently. Blood dripped from his lips onto the floor.
"Arzath!" Requar gasped, and started quickly forward.
"S-stay aw-way from me!" Arzath stammered, trying to get to his feet. Requar ignored him, reaching over his shoulder and withdrawing his Sword.
Arzath waved an arm at him unsteadily, as though to blast him with magic. "I'm… warning you, Requar, don't you… DARE TOUCH ME!"
Requar grabbed the outstretched arm, slapped the flat of the blade into Arzath's palm, and forced his fingers around it. "You are my brother," he declared fiercely, "and you are going to receive my help whether you want it or not!"
Arzath lashed out at him with his free arm, but Requar knocked it away with his Sword. He grabbed the front of Arzath's cloak and shoved him against the staircase balustrade. "For once in your life will you stop fighting me! I am trying to help you, damn it!"
Arzath's eyes narrowed venomously. "Go to HELL!" He reached out and seized Requar's throat in both hands.
Requar plunged the Sword of Healing into his chest.
Arzath released him with a scream, his hands going to the hilt instead. Requar glared at him. "It's for your own good," he said, and sent magic flooding down the blade. Arzath shrieked as though Requar was killing him and fought harder, but he was pinned to the balustrade. His struggles didn't last long. As the magic overpowered him, he grew weaker. Requar could see him fighting every inch of the way, but finally he lapsed into unconsciousness.
Careful not to break contact with the Sword, Requar let him sink gently to the floor. He sighed wearily, but his work was not yet done. Grasping the hilt firmly with both hands, he closed his eyes and concentrated.
He was lying once again on the rocks at the bottom of the waterfall. He could hear the rush of it as a dim echo in his ears, and speckles of water droplets hung in the cool dark air, against a backdrop of an even brighter firmament. Stars, millions and more, stared down at his limp body; the eyes of the Gods, glaring at him for being so weak and useless. He was an insignificant speck of dust beneath them, a tiny mote, his brief glimmer of life barely worth the effort it had taken to create it in the first place.
He stared back at them, because he had no choice. He could not move his head. He was paralysed.
How long he had been lying there, he did not know. Perhaps forever. Perhaps he was not even Human, but just another one of the time-worn rocks.
But he knew that he had been here before, at some time, and this time it was different. This time, he could remember who he was and how he had come to be there.
His name was Arzath, and his brother had ruined his life.
He hated him.
The hatred churned and boiled inside him, with no release. He wanted to scream at those bright eternal eyes of the Gods, wail at the injustice of it all. But he could not.
Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to die.
A gentle humming caused his eyes to open again. A woman was sitting there, on the ground beside him. She was holding a porcelain decanter – her favourite one with the blue roses – and gently pouring warm water over his body. He was aware suddenly that there was a gaping wound in the middle of his chest, and she was washing away the blood. Her lovely eyes were cool and breezy, like glimpses of a summer sky from within a shadowy room. Black pearls were strung about her face, glimmering with opalescence amidst long silken white hair that fell to her waist. She wore a white lace gown that made her look ethereal in the moonlight.
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Mother, Arzath tried to say, but his lips would not work.
Lady Fyona smiled reassuringly. Leaning forward, she kissed him on the forehead, then lifted his head gently off the ground and embraced him. Arzath wanted to cry.
I'm sorry, he whispered in his mind. I'm sorry, mother…
The world turns in ways we do not understand, she told him, but we must learn to accept them. Neither you nor Requar should blame yourselves, or each other, for my death.
Please, do not fight with him any longer. It happened so long ago, and it is time for you to move on, as I have moved on. You must live your lives without me, and be the beautiful children that you are and were always meant to be. I love you, my sweetheart.
Her hand trailed across his cheek as she laid him back onto the rocks.
Mother!
But Lady Fyona was gone. In her place sat Requar. He looked so much like her, but he was nothing like her. His eyes were deceptive, a peaceful mirage beyond which lay only darkness and destruction.
Listen to her, Arzath, he said, and he was smiling. Picking up the decanter, he continued to pour, but it was not water that fell from its brim, but blood.
Arzath tried desperately to move, to stop him, but could do nothing. He could only lie there helplessly as the blood flowed over him, dark and slippery, sinking into him, staining his skin, staining his soul…
He screamed.
And then something sparked deep inside him, like dry kindling catching alight. The blood fuelled it, caused it to grow quickly into a roaring flame. Arzath felt the life returning to his body wherever the fire touched, felt a fierce rush of invigoration.
Without warning, he sat up with violet light blazing from his eyes.
Arzath's eyes snapped open.
He was back in the main hall of his brother's castle, surrounded by ice and blue-stained moonlight. Requar was still there in front of him, clutching not a decanter of blood but his Sword of Healing, which was protruding from Arzath's chest. Blue light rippled in steady waves along the silver blade. Requar was bent over it, head lowered, eyes closed, frowning slightly in concentration. Strands of his long hair had worked their way free from his cloak and hung down to his waist, just like Lady Fyona's.
Nothing like her.
Arzath's arm shot out and grabbed his brother's throat. Throwing his body weight forward, he slammed Requar into the floor, his skull impacting with an audible crack. He yanked the Sword out of him, breaking the connection and threw it aside where it clattered on the floor, its magic fading.
Requar gasped. Blinking in disorientation, he tried to focus on what was happening. Arzath sneered down at him. "You really are a fool, aren't you?" he said. "But I should thank you."
He raised his free hand and snapped his fingers. A flash of blue-violet light ignited between them and leapt crackling around his palm.
"Now that you've had your fun," he said, grinning, "it's time for me to have mine!"
Like a striking viper, his hand snatched Requar's face, and he sent a wave of lightning magic burning into him.
Requar screamed. His body shuddered and convulsed, his hands bending into claws. His pain made Arzath giddy. He had not felt the buzz of magic through his body for a long time, but now, finally it had returned. He felt alive again. He felt whole.
He felt better than whole.
He felt ecstatic.
The only thing that he had ever really wanted was right here beneath his hands, for him to do with as he pleased.
Requar was not going to stop him, this time.
He kept the surge of magic up until Requar's clothing started to smoke, then released him. He did not want to kill him, not yet, anyway. He had only just started.
Twitching violently, Requar curled over, clutching at his face. Arzath picked him up and with the force of his magic threw him across the room, where he smashed into the clock and fell in a heap on the floor in a shower of ice and wood splinters.
Arzath walked after him unhurriedly, straightening his clothing and brushing his hair out of his eyes with a sweep of his hand. He had been waiting for this encounter for a very long time, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.
There was nothing quite so satisfying as beating someone up in their own home.
Especially if it was Requar.
He stopped before his brother and folded his arms, regarding him with his head on one side. "Oh, now really, Requar," he said. "You're not even going to fight back? How very boring."
Requar was in too much pain to reply.
Smirking, Arzath picked him up by the neck and threw him across the hall again where he crashed into some furniture.
This time he did not follow, but strolled back to the staircase. Six steps up he reached behind the balustrade and snapped free the object he had earlier concealed there in the ice. The boy's Winter was proving to be highly useful. Walking back down the stairs, he tapped the dagger on the railing, dislodging the remainder of the ice from its lethal edges. Keeping it hidden on his person would have been too risky. Requar would have found it or at least sensed its presence, and it would have inhibited the magic of the Sword of Healing in any case.
Arzath's smile returned. Using Requar to restore his magic had been a last resort, but he had run out of options. And his plan had worked even more perfectly than he had dared hope. Requar could never resist an opportunity to use his Sword. It was like luring a moth to a flame. Stupidly easy. He hadn't even had to fake his illness: he genuinely had been dying.
He came to the middle of the foyer and stopped, watching in amusement as Requar picked himself up out of the debris, staggering around like the aforementioned moth with his wings burnt off.
Arzath lifted an arm and with a flick of his wrist yanked Requar back to the floor, dragging him across the ice until he slid to a stop at his feet. He kicked him onto his back and then cursed.
Requar's eyes were badly damaged. He had been a little overzealous with his torture, and blinded him.
Arzath stared at him in dismay and disgust. He had wanted Requar to behold the beautiful irony of his own death. He had wanted to see the terror in his eyes, had wanted to be staring into them when his life force finally trickled away forever. Now that indulgence was denied to him, and he was annoyed.
No matter, he thought. He will still be able to feel the dagger's dark power like noisome needles in his skin. And the pain it will inflict will be more than enough…
He reached down to grab Requar's throat again, but at that moment, his brother disappeared.
He gasped, grabbing at the spot where he had been, but there was nothing there. Standing up, he kicked at the floor, but his boot encountered nothing.
"DAMN YOU!" he yelled, whirling furiously, but the hall was empty. Summoning his magic was much more difficult when in direct contact with the trigonic dagger, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and ripped it forth, throwing bursts of lightning throughout the room. Turning in a circle, he destroyed everything in sight until the air was hazy and acrid with smoke and pieces of charred furniture littered the floor.
He stopped, panting heavily, wincing with the agony raking up his arm from the dagger. But he refused to release his hold on it. As long as he was extremely careful not to cut himself with it, it could do him no serious harm.
He stayed still for long minutes, searching the swirling smoke, listening.
Crunch.
It was a small sound, but in the silence of the lofty hall, it was clearly audible.
Arzath spun, lightning leaping from his hand, but he let his momentum carry him around in a full circle, moving to one side as he did so to avoid the brilliant white fireball that blazed out of nowhere and released his magic in the opposite direction to the sound.
He was rewarded by a sharp cry.
Requar slumped against the main doors and slid to the floor, his camouflage spell disintegrating, clutching a smoking burn wound on his shoulder. Giving the trigonic dagger a twirl, Arzath sauntered towards his stricken brother.
"You… know me… too well," Requar whispered hoarsely as he approached.
Arzath leaned down to him. "Better than you think," he hissed. He curled his fingers into Requar's collar and dragged him physically into the middle of the foyer again. There he dumped him onto the floor and dropped on top of him with his knee pressed against his throat so that he could not move.
"Now," he said bringing the dagger close to Requar's ruined face, "would you like to guess what I am holding right in front of your face, or shall I tell you?"
Requar shook his head. "What does it matter?" he croaked. "One weapon is the same as any other."
Arzath leaned closer. "Not this one," he whispered. "Not the only one you never found a cure for."
The blood drained from Requar's face. He went very still, even his breathing stopped, but his heartbeat increased a thousandfold in his chest. "N-no," he stammered. "You… you wouldn't… not even you could be that cruel!"
Arzath laughed. "Pity you don't know me as well, then!"
Requar's expression turned from fear to anguish. Even without his eyes, his distress was plain to see. Suddenly, he seemed to gain a surge of energy. An agonised cry tore from his throat and his hands lunged upwards to lock on Arzath's arm. White fire burned from his fingers, his hands shaking with the effort, but his magic was weak and feeble in such close proximity to the trigonic dagger, and he was already drained of strength from his healing attempt and the injuries he had suffered.
Arzath watched his attack disinterestedly, content to let him exhaust himself completely. Finally, Requar's hands slipped away in hopelessness. His head turned to one side, and he began to sob silently.
"Why?" he whispered. "Why are you doing this to me? Why do you hate me so? What have I done to evoke such wrath from my own brother?" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Is it the School? Are you still angry with me for that?"
Arzath glared at him darkly. He should have been thrilled that he had broken Requar's spirit, but instead he felt only bitterness. The enjoyment of hurting him was beginning to wear off. He wanted this to be over. "I am angry with you for everything," he replied vindictively. "Everything you have ever done!"
Requar swallowed. "Listen to me," he said. "Let me explain. No matter what you may think of me, I did not engineer the destruction of the School. It is true that I acquired the trigon: I even made the orbs. I needed to study it, to test its destructive potential. I needed to learn everything I could about it in order that I might find the secret to curing its effects. But I had no intention of using the orbs as weapons. It is true that I disliked the School intensely, but I had no wish to see everyone there killed! I had no wish to see the art of sorcery as the world knew it extinguished!"
He paused for breath, and then went on: "The assassination plot was not mine. It was the Enchanter's son. He had always longed to succeed his father as head of the School, but he was becoming impatient. He and a handful of his supporters had been devising their plan for years. Somehow, they discovered that I was in possession of trigon, and they attempted to buy it from me. When I would not be bribed, they stole the orbs from my study.
"I tried to get them back, I searched high and low for them, but I could not find where they had been hidden. I could not expose the group, either, because the trigon would have been traced instantly back to me, and I would have been made the scapegoat for the entire conspiracy.
"So I kept their despicable secret to myself, all the while trying to think of ways to stop them.
"Ultimately, I failed.
"Finally, despite all the threats and blackmails and risks to my own life, I went to the Enchanter with what I knew. I even showed him a map where I had deduced they were most likely to set the orbs for the greatest number of casualties. The Enchanter did not believe me. He refused to accept that his own son was involved in something so heinous.
"I do not know why I was not expelled. Perhaps because there were some who believed that my research into trigon was invaluable. In any case, the Enchanter brushed the whole matter aside as though it were a silly game."
Requar sighed brokenly. "The assassination plot was carried out, and I could not prevent it from happening. I had not the power to protect everyone at the School, only you and myself. I used an untested trigon counter-spell that I had created, but that was all it was; just a counter-spell, not a cure. But it saved both our lives when everything else was reduced to burning ruins…" his voice finally trailed off.
"Why the hell are you telling me all this now, after all these years?" Arzath demanded. "Why should I believe you?"
"Because…" Requar shook his head, his face twisted in despair. "Because it was my fault! I brought a forbidden material into the School and it fell into the wrong hands! It was stupid and irresponsible and I shall never forgive myself for it!"
Arzath stared at him. The shaft of moonlight flooding over them cast a dark jagged slash of shadow over Requar's face from the cruel blade poised only inches above the bridge of his nose. Arzath wanted to slice his face open. But there were still truths left unsaid, still the biggest lie of all yet to be exposed. He was going to kill Requar this night, but he was going to tear his soul out first and shake every single piece of him out onto the floor.
He leaned down to Requar's ear and said, in a voice hard and cold as frosted steel: "I don't believe you. And do you want to know why I don't believe you?" His free hand tightened sharply around Requar's throat. "Because I know exactly what you are capable of!"
Requar choked. "I don't… understand!"
"Forgotten her, have you?" Arzath snarled. "Is that how little she meant to you?"
"Wh-what?"
"MOTHER!"
Requar struggled to breathe. "Is that… what this has… all been about? Gods… Arzath, it was so… long ago! You… know that I did… everything I possibly could to… save her life!"
"STOP LYING TO ME!" he screamed.
"I am not… lying to you!"
The trigonic dagger quivered. Arzath gripped it in his fist with the blade pointed directly downwards, within a hair's breadth of Requar's head. Just the tiniest cut, that is all it would take to ruin him. The same way it ruined Lady Fyona.
"Goddammit!" he cried. "I saw you! I saw what you did!"
"What? What are you –"
"I was awake that night, standing at my chamber window! The yard was flooded with moonlight: I could see EVERYTHING! I saw the figure in the black cloak flee out of the house, saw it discard the knife on the grass – THIS KNIFE – saw its panic-riddled face, its distinctive white hair!" His glare burned into his brother's blind eyes. "It was not some homeless urchin that broke into our house that night, WAS IT?
"IT WAS YOU!"
Requar did not respond. Arzath shook him, slamming his head into the floor. "IT WAS YOU, WASN'T IT?"
Requar was so still and silent for so long that Arzath began to think he had choked him to death. Then a single tear, mingled with blood, leaked from one of his scorched eyes and rolled down his cheek.
Finally, almost imperceptibly, Requar nodded his head.