A gruesome find; a chilly day
At last a meeting of the ways.
Three and a half days later, the Freeroamers and sorcerers found themselves in much wilder country, where the wind flew free and rippled the grass like waves on the ocean. Crowds and settlements vanished, and the signs of Ferrian’s destruction dwindled as the land opened up to little more than rocks, grass and trees stooped like weary travellers on a pilgrimage to nowhere.
The wind blew relentlessly in their faces from the direction of the mountains north, flaring cloaks, hair and tails behind them. It bore a sharpness to it that made them wonder if they were at last closing in on the infamous boy that they were seeking, or if it was merely an early change of season.
The sky remained sullen, casting a dreary pallor over the landscape. The road beneath their feet was old and unused, weeds rustling restlessly in their passage.
Cairan walked a little way ahead of the rest. His natural ability to sense magic meant that the sorcerers did not need to waste time and effort using spells to detect Ferrian’s trail.
There was only one road, however, and it led to only one place:
Arkana.
Grisket was baffled as to why the Gods Ferrian would want to travel to Arkana, until Requar told him about Grath Ardan.
He felt hardly more enlightened, however, as it still did not explain why the boy had left the mentorship of two sorcerers to ride off to a forbidden library on his own.
Requar seemed to think that Ferrian didn’t trust them, which was understandable. But the kid was so intent on finding them, Grisket brooded.
When he asked Requar what had happened at the castle, the sorcerer had difficulty answering, frowning as though he didn’t understand it himself.
Arzath kept to himself, striding at the back of the group and refused to engage in conversation.
Grisket turned his attention forward, leaving Requar staring at the ground with a troubled expression, and Arzath staring at his back as though contemplating the possibility of blasting him off his horse and stealing the ride for himself.
But he had more important things to worry about, such as what had become of the Freeroamers he had sent after Ferrian: Hawk, Raemint and Dogwyn. Were they with him now? Were they in danger? Having lost so many of his people already, he felt anxious for their safety. If any of them tried to return to the Guard House, they would find it no longer existed and a horrifying demon-Dragon had taken up residence there instead.
Oddly, he also found himself thinking about Flint.
He couldn’t fathom why a Bladeshifter would have tried to save the life of a Freeroamer, but he was thankful more than he could say. He regretted having to abandon the man to his fate.
Then, with a jolt, something that Dogwyn had said on the bridge flashed into his mind: Called himself Lord Requar. And he was travelling with a Bladeshifter, of all people. Some guy with a massive crossbow…
He turned in his saddle. “Requar.”
“Hmmm?”
“You know someone named Flint?”
The sorcerer looked up at him in surprise. “Starshadow Flint? Large hat and ridiculous crossbow?”
Grisket nodded. “That’s him.”
Requar blinked at him. “I do indeed! You’ve met him?”
“Yeah.” Grisket rubbed his beard. “Back at Forthwhite. He saved Cairan’s life: pulled him down the hill out of the flames.” He shook his head, frowning. “I’ve no idea why.”
“Ah,” Requar replied. “I would guess he had gone there to join you.”
Grisket’s eyebrows raised. “You don’t say?”
Requar nodded. “He had no desire to rejoin the Bladeshifters.” He raised an eyebrow. “You may trust me on that.”
Grisket mused. “How d’you know him?”
Requar was quiet for a moment, then smiled slightly. “That,” he said, “is an interesting story.”
Grisket smiled as well. “Interesting enough to share?”
Requar started to reply when an awful sound froze the blood in their veins.
It was something in between a scream and a shriek. It took Grisket a horrified second to realise that it had come from Cairan.
Up ahead, the Centaur surged into a full gallop.
Feeling the pit of his stomach drop out, Grisket spurred Foxxin after him.
A few yards later, however, he reined the stallion to an abrupt halt. He climbed out of his saddle, the world tilting around him, heart pounding in his ears.
There was blood all over the road, vast amounts of it. It was dry, several days old at least, and there were bodies lying amongst it.
Two wore black armour, like the rogue soldiers he had witnessed attacking people in Sunsee. One was a horse with no head. The others…
Dogwyn and Raemint.
They had been slaughtered.
Cairan knelt by Raemint’s side, weeping. Grisket did not want to move to the nearest body, but found his feet taking him there regardless.
It was almost unrecognisable, save for the blue sleeve and silver, blood-smeared badge.
He fell to his knees.
Dimly, he noticed movement on his peripheral vision, of Requar placing a hand on his shoulder, saying something, shaking his head, moving away.
Eventually, he became aware of talking, distant words carried on the breeze. Though his mind was wrapped in fog, something about the urgency of their tone caused him to turn his head.
The others were gathered in the centre of the carnage, around Raemint. Requar knelt beside Cairan, his Sword out, gesturing with his free hand, apparently explaining something. Arzath stepped around him, up to the corpse and then took a step backwards in shock.
What has been done to her? Grisket thought in grief and horror.
He forced himself to get to his feet and walk over to them.
“… need to take the sword out, but by all the Gods, do it carefully!” Requar was saying. “Do NOT touch the blade!”
Cairan took hold of the hilt of the black blade impaled in Raemint’s side. There were tears on his face, but his eyes were fierce.
Grisket looked down at the body. She looked very dead.
Noticing his expression, Requar looked up. The sorcerer was pale, but his eyes were calm and determined. “She lives,” he told the Freeroamer Commander. He shook his head. “She should have died of her wounds, but the trigon is keeping her alive.”
Grisket struggled to speak. “Trigon?”
Requar nodded. “If we do nothing,” he continued quietly, “she will eventually turn into a demon-wraith.”
Grisket turned away, shaking.
“I can save her, Commander,” Requar said from behind him. “I brought Arzath back, and his infection was far more advanced than this.”
Grisket squeezed his eyes until the tears subsided, then turned back to them and nodded wordlessly.
Cairan appeared to be having trouble sliding the sword out of his partner’s body. The Centaur shook his head in frustration. “It will not come out!”
“You’d best leave it in,” Arzath muttered darkly.
They all looked at him, but he offered no further comment.
Requar considered for a moment, then placed a hand on Cairan’s shoulder and nodded, indicating that he should move away. “Arzath,” Requar looked up at his brother. “Collect the rest of the trigonic weapons and armour, take them away from the road and bury them as deeply as you can.”
Arzath looked as though he would rather lop off his own arms. For a moment he just stood there staring around at the corpses, before finally, grudgingly, moving away to do as he was told.
Requar turned to the others. “Stand well back,” he warned. “And do not, under any circumstances, interrupt me.”
Breathing deeply, he placed a hand gently on the fallen Centaur’s side and closed his eyes. “It will take some time and require all of my concentration,” he said.
Cairan got to his feet and he and Commander Trice moved away to the side of the road.
Arzath finished blasting a hole in the ground with his magic. It was annoying work. Getting lightning to strike the same spot multiple times was practically impossible. He had to use short, sharp hand strikes, which were not as powerful, but eventually got the job done.
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Standing in the wafting smoke of charred dirt and grass, he used more magic to drag the vile trigonic items into the hole: two swords, a helmet, and two corpses clad in black armour. Doing it this way was difficult and inefficient – the trigon absorbed most of his magic – but physically touching them was worse.
He had no idea where the hell these things had come from, but their very existence sent boiling anger rushing through him.
One trigonic dagger had ruined his entire family.
A whole army equipped with such weapons… and armour made of the stuff! It was likely those soldiers had gone insane.
And now his brother was obliged to do battle with trigon again to save the life of yet another Freeroamer.
He turned and looked towards the road. Requar crouched there alone. He had extricated the sword without incident and was now fighting to purge the Centaur’s body of the black evil. His head was bowed, deep in concentration, his form almost obscured by the blazing blue light from his Sword and an inky halo of shadow that roiled around him.
Arzath turned away from the incredible sight and his attention back to filling in the hole.
Having completed this task, he stood with his hands on his hips, sweat from his exertions chill on his skin. After a moment of consideration, he lifted a hand and uprooted a nearby boulder, rolling it carefully over the disturbed patch of ground.
Then he made his way back to the road.
He gave Requar a wide berth, heading instead to where the Freeroamers stood sadly near their fallen comrade, the one far beyond saving. Grisket’s fine red horse stood on the slope above them, oblivious, grazing.
They seemed to be waiting for him, growing quiet and turning as Arzath approached.
They asked if he would help them bury Dogwyn.
“No,” Arzath replied flatly.
He cared nothing for these people. Let them bury their own damned dead!
They looked taken aback, and Commander Trice gave him a dark look, but they said nothing. Instead they gathered up their friend and carried him up the grassy hillside.
Arzath stood on the road with his arms folded, watching his brother and attempting to ignore the Freeroamers. But their pitiful attempts at digging into the hard, stony soil without any adequate tools irritated him. They would be there for a month at that rate.
His foot tapped on the cobblestones.
Finally, sighing loudly, he strode up to them, blasted a hole barely deep enough for a grave, then swept away, ignoring their heartfelt thanks.
But something fluttered in his chest as he stepped back onto the road.
He had never known true gratitude before.
He had never, until now, granted anyone a favour, especially someone he barely knew.
Feeling heat rising in his face, he folded his arms again and stared moodily down the road.
* * *
The journey through the mountains had been long and dismal. The Winter kept pace, white flakes falling gently around them, into a silence broken only by the soft crunch of the horses’ hooves in the snow.
Hawk rode quietly beside Ferrian. The Freeroamer had barely said a word since leaving Arkana, and this was worrying. Hawk had always been the cheerful one, always ready with a joke or a smile when their spirits were low, even in the darkest circumstances.
But there was no one now to cheer up Hawk.
Ferrian couldn’t manage it, lost as he was in the murky swamp of his own thoughts. It felt wrong to leave a member of their party behind, to an uncertain fate. He wished he had ignored Hawk and gone in search of Mekka.
But if the Angel had indeed gone to the Pit, there would be no trace of him left behind.
They would never know.
It was the not knowing, of course, that weighed on them both.
Though it had been many days since they left the land of the Angels, Ferrian still occasionally searched the skies and the rocks around them, hoping for a glimpse of black feathers.
Sometimes, he found them, but it was only crows.
He eyed them warily, hoping that they weren’t following him like those damned plant things in the jungle, waiting for a meal.
They passed the old traveller’s shelter that he, Hawk and Mekka had rested in shortly after Ferrian had met them. He suggested stopping for a break, but Hawk shook his head, insisting they press on, even though they had been riding since dawn. Ferrian didn’t argue, but glanced at Hawk anxiously; his friend looked weary.
I guess the Winter isn’t helping, Ferrian thought gloomily. His magic might be preventing his body from deteriorating, but it wasn’t doing much for anyone’s mood.
He tried to turn his attention to what to do when he reached the castle, but the fact was, he simply didn’t know. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was going back there in the first place, except that the Dragon wanted him to. But he had nowhere else in the world to be, so it was as good a destination as any, he supposed…
He was ruminating on how to convince Hawk to return to the Freeroamers and leave him to continue his journey alone – he was pretty sure there was no way that Hawk was going to agree to that – when he noticed a glow through the fog ahead.
He brought Serentyne to a halt. “Hawk.”
Hawk looked up and reined in Ardance. They both stared at the light for a moment. It was a bright, slightly scintillating patch in the gloom like the sun shining through water, clean and cold, and seemingly in the middle of the road.
“What is that?” Hawk commented. “It doesn’t look like a campfire.”
Ferrian studied it nervously. “It looks an awful lot like magic...”
Hawk turned to him in surprise. “Magic? How could–”
A figure appeared out of the mist.
They both drew their swords.
The stranger approached unhurriedly, snow swirling around his black cloak, and stopped a short way from the horses.
Then he lifted his head.
A flash of fierce, familiar eyes beneath his hood caused Ferrian’s sword arm to drop to his side. His mouth fell open.
“Well, well!” the figure below remarked. “What a fortunate coincidence!”
Ferrian climbed hurriedly down from Serentyne’s back and walked a few steps forward, not believing what he was seeing. “A… Arzath?” he gasped. “I… I thought you were…”
“Back at the castle?” the sorcerer offered. “Dying in a horribly gruesome way? Surely turned into a demon-wraith by now?”
Ferrian didn’t know what to say. He could do little more than gape.
“Tsk, tsk.” Arzath smirked. “You really should make more of an effort to keep up with events, boy.”
“Ferrian?” Hawk appeared at Ferrian’s side, silvertine sword in front of him. “You know him?”
“And who is this?” Arzath looked Hawk up and down, then his eyes caught sight of the blue sleeve. He threw his arms up. “Oh Gods, not another one of you Freeroamer people!” He made a sound of disgust. “You are everywhere! Like rats!”
Hawk’s eyebrows raised, affronted. “Excuse–”
“I expect your Commander will be pleased to see you, however,” Arzath cut him off, folding his arms across his chest. “I imagine it will come as a relief to find at least one of his people still in one piece...”
“What are you talking about?” Ferrian demanded.
Hawk stared at him. “Commander Trice is here?”
Arzath raised an eyebrow. “Oh, indeed.” He made a shooing gesture with his hand. “Why don’t you run along and find him?”
Hawk hesitated. He stared into the gradually darkening fog ahead, then at Arzath, then at Ferrian.
Ferrian watched Arzath for a moment, then turned to Hawk. “Go ahead,” he sighed. “It’s okay.”
Hawk frowned. “You sure?”
Ferrian nodded. “Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “What’s he going to do to me? I’m already dead.”
Hawk cocked his head to indicate that Ferrian had a point. Then, with another uncertain glance at the sorcerer, he backed away and mounted Ardance. Nodding to Ferrian, he galloped ahead, disappearing into the mist.
“This had better not be a trick, Arzath.”
The sorcerer snorted. “Please. When have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”
Ferrian hesitated. It was an unexpected question. Of course, he had pretended he’d had magic when he hadn’t, but that had been a matter of self-preservation, which would have ended horribly if Ferrian had not provided an escape route.
He could not be sure if everything Arzath had told him about Requar was true, but considering what he’d learned in Grath Ardan, Ferrian was inclined to believe that it was.
He looked down at the snow and scuffed at it with his boot. “Maybe you haven’t,” he conceded.
Arzath stepped forward.
Despite himself, Ferrian raised his sword.
“Don’t be a fool!” Arzath hissed. He swiped a hand. “I did not travel halfway across the country in search of you in order to cause you harm, unless you provoke me!” His eyes narrowed. “And you’d best think before pointing that Sword at anything!”
Ferrian would have flushed, if he’d had the ability to. But he could still feel embarrassed. He had forgotten that it was no longer a Sword of Frost but something highly dangerous that he wasn’t completely sure how to control.
He put it away and folded his arms across his chest. “Why did you come here then?” he said, feeling sulky. “To call me pathetic? To remind me that I’m not worthy of wielding–”
“Requar is alive.”
The words died in Ferrian’s throat. He stared up at Arzath wide-eyed.
“Not just alive.” Arzath stepped nearer to him. “Healed. Whole.” Arzath moved even closer, uncomfortably close, his eyes narrowing and his voice lowering. “I came here to ensure that he stays that way.”
Though Arzath had claimed that he didn’t intend to hurt him, it was a clear warning that he wouldn’t hesitate to do so if Ferrian crossed him.
But Ferrian could hardly think about Arzath. His mind had taken a backward turn, his world shattered into a thousand pieces, as though he had gone inside his Sword and fallen through the wrong reality after all.
He stared at the light in the distance, hazy through the mist. “But,” he whispered. “How? He was…” he shook his head uncomprehendingly. “You said… his mind was ruined…”
“It was.” Arzath took a breath and closed his eyes. “I brought him back.”
Arzath explained to him everything that had happened back at the castle, of his struggle to piece together his brother’s mind, and eventual success.
Of the lie he had been forced to tell to convince Requar to use the Sword of Healing on himself.
Ferrian listened in silence.
“Do you see now,” Arzath said quietly, “why it is imperative that you do not tell Requar what happened?”
Ferrian said nothing for a long moment. “Yes,” he replied finally.
“He must never know that he attempted to kill himself,” Arzath said emphatically. “He will be undone!”
Ferrian looked him in the eye. “I won’t tell him.”
Arzath seemed to sag into himself, as though a huge weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. He put his face in his hands, which were shaking.
Feeling suddenly sorry for everything the sorcerer had been through, and moved by his remarkable change of heart regarding his brother, Ferrian repeated: “I won’t tell him. I promise.”
Slowly, Arzath removed his hands from his face. Straightening, he attempted to regain his former composure, though Ferrian was certain he saw a glitter of tears in his eyes.
The sorcerer said nothing, however, simply turned and strode back towards the light.
Taking hold of Serentyne’s reins, Ferrian quietly followed.
Dusk descended swiftly, though there was no sun to declare it, just a deepening of the gloom and chill. The magical light dwindled and went out, leaving only a grey fog hiding everything beyond the road’s edge.
The corpse of a large animal passed to Ferrian’s left; a horse maybe, covered in snow. He was disturbed to see that it had no head.
His anxiety grew as a group of people materialised, huddled around something on the ground. He drew closer, then stopped in shocked recognition. “Raemint,” he whispered.
Hawk and Commander Trice stood looking down at the body; Cairan knelt at her head, cradling her. Arzath crouched beside a white-haired man that could only be Lord Requar.
As they watched, the Centaur woman stirred. Everyone moved back as she rose to her feet, looking startled and confused.
Cairan let out a sob and embraced her.
Requar looked as though he was about to collapse. Arzath helped him up, retrieved his Sword and sheathed it for him.
“I’m fine, Arzath,” Ferrian heard him say. “Don’t fuss...” But he held his head as he said it.
Serentyne nudged Ferrian’s shoulder; she was hungry. Ferrian stroked her nose and released her reins, allowing her to wander off in search of something edible.
Then the sorcerers turned, and Requar lifted his head and saw him.
There was an endless moment as they stared at each other through the drifting snow, each frozen in place.
“Ferrian,” Requar whispered.
He was far more handsome than he had a right to be, Ferrian thought; his face surprisingly sympathetic, with eyes of piercing intelligence.
The cold, empty space inside him expanded into a cavern, and began flooding with conflicting emotions...
Requar started towards him.
Ferrian took a step back, resisting the urge to reach for his Sword. He wasn’t ready for this. He hadn’t expected to meet Requar so soon; hadn’t expected to meet him at all, actually. He had thought he would return to a castle full of wandering wraiths.
The sorcerer stopped, his expression turning sad. “Ah,” he said, closing his eyes. “I see.” He nodded wearily, as though expecting this reaction.
“You need to rest,” Arzath told him abruptly, eyeing Ferrian.
The Freeroamers were engaged in a joyful reunion and didn’t appear to have noticed Ferrian, yet. Hawk was busy with conversation, so Ferrian decided to speak up.
“There’s a shelter a couple of miles back that way.” He pointed north. Then, without looking at anyone, turned and walked over to the horses.
It occurred to him, as he fed Serentyne a handful of oats from the saddlebag, that she was in fact Requar’s horse and that he would most likely want her back.
“Guess it’s bye, then,” he said sadly, stroking her mane. Ardance peered at him from over Serentyne’s back, wanting some oats as well but too proud to ask for them.
“Ferrian!”
This time it was not Requar, but Commander Trice.
“Commander,” Ferrian greeted him awkwardly, feeling suddenly incredibly self-conscious. Hawk was used to his appearance, but the other Freeroamers weren’t yet aware of his… condition.
Unsure of what to say, he rubbed his neck. “I’m… um… kind of… dead.”
If Grisket was repulsed or shocked, he didn’t show it. Ferrian was glad it was getting dark, and they were all little more than shadows, now. “We know, lad,” Grisket said reassuringly.
Then, without warning, he pulled Ferrian into a hug.
Ferrian let him.