To meet the dark or seek the cold
Either way must truths be told.
Cairan's tail swished in the silence. No sound filled the valley save the endless rush of water and the gentle crackling of the cooking fire. Overnight, a thin mist had crept down out of the grey mountain rock, and lurked eerily over the river below. The sky had brightened to pale blue, but the sun had not yet climbed the high peaks.
Grisket sat beside his Centaur friend, sipping tea and warming his hands on his mug. The air was chilly; the nights were becoming colder as summer moved on. It made Grisket feel pensive. The mist reminded him unpleasantly of the demon-wraiths; he kept expecting it to darken and shift form into horrifying, deadly figures. And he wished he knew what had become of Ferrian. If the boy's Winter was out of control, was there anything that could be done to help him?
Arzath seemed adamant about finding the boy. The sorcerers had spent most of the previous afternoon arguing about what to do next. Lord Requar wanted to give up on the search and travel back to Forthwhite to deal with the black monster, considering it a much more dangerous threat, but his brother would have none of it.
The Freeroamers kept carefully out of their way, but thankfully nothing got set alight and no one ended up in the river.
As far as he was aware, they hadn't come to any conclusion.
They all decided to rest the night at the guard house. The sorcerers were tired and famished. No other travellers passed through the Break, and the Watch did not return, though they'd left behind a wealth of supplies in their wooden hut. There were spare weapons, clothes, hunting equipment, food, tea and a considerable sum of gold in a coffer. They divvied up the supplies between them, though both sorcerers seemed interested only in a good meal and water.
A short time later, Cairan had taken up a bow and offered to go hunting, but had barely taken two steps out of the hut when to everyone's surprise, Arzath appeared from the pass carrying a couple of slightly scorched rabbits. Dumping them by the fire, he declared haughtily that they needed to be cleaned, then disappeared inside.
No one complained. Grisket disliked the man intensely, and would likely never forgive him for what he had done. But he could no longer be angry. The founding principle of the Freeroamers was to ask no questions and allow everyone a second chance to redeem themselves, no matter what terrible things they had done in the past. As Requar had said, sorcerers were Human too, even if they often gave people reason to believe otherwise. Grisket wasn't convinced that Arzath was averse to committing further atrocities, but at least he was capable of admitting his mistakes.
The door of the guard house opened and the black-haired sorcerer emerged, as though drawn by Grisket's thoughts. Giving the Freeroamers a sour look, as though disappointed they were still there, he stalked off along the bridge and stood looking moodily out at the river.
Grisket eyed him, but said nothing. Beside him, dark and silent, Cairan watched the sorcerer as well.
The Freeroamers hadn't needed to discuss their own plans. As soon as Grisket had told Cairan that he had sent Raemint and Dogwyn after Ferrian, the matter was decided.
The first rays of sunlight had just speared through a crack in the peaks, igniting a rainbow in the waterfall spray, when the door opened again.
“Good morning,” Requar greeted, taking a seat near the fire opposite Grisket, gathering his cloak around himself to ward off the chill.
“Mornin',” Grisket said, pouring a cup of tea and handing it over. “Rest well?”
“Very,” Requar replied, warming his hands on the mug. “A straw mattress is considerably more comfortable than the ground.”
Grisket merely nodded. As nobles, they were obviously unused to sleeping rough. “You travelled far?” he asked, nodding at Requar's appearance. “You look a little beat up, if you don't mind me sayin'.”
The sorcerer smiled slightly, then shook his head ruefully. “Only a few days,” he replied. “But we had an unfortunate encounter with a Dragon. It made a rude appearance at my castle.”
The Freeroamers stared at him, stunned. “You were attacked by a Dragon?” Cairan said.
Requar nodded. “Yes. However, I persuaded it to leave us alone.”
“By the Gods!” Grisket exclaimed. “How did you manage that?!”
Requar did not reply at once, watching the steam rising off his cup, his smile vanished. At last, quietly and enigmatically, he answered: “I told it what it wanted to hear.”
They fell silent. Requar frowned into his tea as though it troubled him.
Grisket leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, sensing that the mood had changed. “You really thinkin' of fighting that black Dragon thing over Forthwhite?” he asked seriously.
The sorcerer looked up at him. His eyes had resumed the profound intensity that had disarmed Grisket the previous day, when they had first caught each other's gazes. The whole world seemed to lay behind those eyes, and it was a heavy, heavy burden.
“I have no choice,” Requar replied. “I am the only one who can.”
Grisket nodded in Arzath's direction. “What about your brother?”
Requar shook his head. “Magic alone is not enough. The Dragon-wraith is a monster corrupted by negative energy. Only silvertine can harm it.”
“Silvertine?”
Requar reached up and touched the glittering hilt that protruded over his shoulder. “My Sword is made of it. Silvertine comes from Caer Sync, the Holy Tower of the Angels. I believe they have weapons made of it as well. But those are not sufficient either.” He paused for a moment. “When silvertine and trigon are put together,” he went on, “strange effects are produced. But they can be used to repel each other. I have done so successfully, after many years of failure.”
He hesitated again, turning to look at Arzath, standing alone on the bridge. The rising sun caught on his gold sleeves, making them shine brilliantly. The rest of him was dark, including his expression, as he turned his head and saw them watching him.
“Arzath was infected,” Requar went on softly. “He had already begun to transform into a wraith, but I brought him back.” He turned back to look at Grisket. “It can be done. However…” He frowned. “A Dragon's soul is huge. Its life force is far more immense than that of a Human. I entered the mind of an ordinary Dragon and it nearly crushed me with the strength of its will alone. I do not know if I am powerful enough to defeat a trigonic Dragon…” He sighed. “But I must try. My brother does not have a Sword. There are no other sorcerers. I am the only person in possession of one…”
There was a sound nearby, as of someone drawing a breath through their teeth.
Grisket and Requar looked up.
Arzath had ventured over to the fire. “That is… not... entirely true...” he said.
Requar frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”
Arzath's green eyes flicked over the group and then he turned away, looking anywhere but at Requar. “There is something I failed to tell you,” he muttered.
“Oh, indeed?” Requar replied dryly.
Arzath scowled at him. “You… may want to put your tea aside…”
Requar did so, slowly and carefully.
Taking a deep breath, Arzath paced away a few steps, spun, and paced back. “Ferrian has a Sword.”
They all stared at him incredulously, not least Requar. “What?!”
Arzath spun and began pacing again, his cloak swishing, his eyes scanning the grey cliffs around them as though desperate for a means of escape. “I… I have been working on it for many, many years,” he went on quickly. “I went to great effort to discover how the Swords of the Gods were made, not to mention obtaining silvertine and having the blasted thing forged. Angels were tortured and killed in the process.” He hesitated. “At first, I simply wished to create a Sword of Lightning to replace the one I had lost. But I became too ambitious. I wanted something more than just a channel for my own magic. Something better. Something… greater.”
He shook his head, continuing to pace. “I experimented with many different types of magic, hunting down any artefacts I could find; some from the School, some hidden in far-flung corners of the world, centuries old.
“One of these was a Winter crystal placed in the mountains above Verlista. At some time, it had protected a great Dragon, but the creature was long dead… or so I thought.” He frowned. “I underestimated the power that the gemstone contained. It was very old, and I assumed its magic had faded. I overloaded it while testing its potential, and it exploded.”
He swallowed, as though the taste of his own words was bitter. “It was wise that I had taken precautions, otherwise I would have killed myself. As it was…” he flicked a glance at Grisket, “it destroyed the town of Ness.”
He took a deep breath. “The Winter magic escaped, and with it, the soul of an ancient White Dragon. Apparently, it searched for the nearest suitable alternative vessel…”
Requar's eyes widened. “Ferrian!” he whispered.
Arzath nodded unhappily, and swiped a hand as though to brush the matter away. “But this is not important. Eventually, I created a Sword and hid it in a tower in my castle. It was guarded by Murons, but somehow, the wretched Griks got their hands on it and tried to slaughter me with it.”
Requar stared at him, aghast.
“They would have succeeded,” Arzath went on dismally, “if Ferrian had not been present. The boy summoned his Winter, enabling us both to escape.” He shook his head. “But not before Ferrian picked up the Sword.”
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Requar looked down at his hands. “I see,” he said quietly.
“It bonded with him instantly, of course,” Arzath said bitterly, “creating a Sword of Frost.” He sighed. “We fled towards your castle, Requar. I forced Ferrian to use the Sword to freeze the river so that we could cross, but he was stupid enough to lose his grip and drop it.” He glowered off into the pass, as though the Barlakk Mountains were personally responsible for everything that had happened. “Then he perished pathetically in the snow,” he continued, “so I left him there…”
Requar blinked, looking up. “That was when I spoke to him. He got up and stumbled into my shield...”
Grisket frowned in confusion. “Wait. Ferrian perished in the snow? What do you mean?”
“Ah, you don't know!” Arzath remarked, turning back to them and smiling unkindly. “Ferrian is dead!”
Grisket got to his feet, and Cairan gasped.
Requar looked up at their shocked faces. “He is conscious, however,” he explained quietly. “If a Dragon is using him as a vessel, it is likely keeping him alive.”
“Are you tellin' me,” Grisket said incredulously, “that Ferrian is a walking corpse?!”
“Quite,” Arzath replied with a smirk. “Best get used to the idea before you meet him.”
“And Ferrian retrieved his Sword from the river?” Requar asked.
Arzath hesitated. “Of that, I am not entirely certain,” he admitted. “But I have reason to believe that he did.” He turned away for a moment. “There is more,” he said darkly. “And… worse.”
They all looked at him in dread.
He took a long, deep breath. “When I created my Sword,” he went on, slowly, “I deviated from the established design. I fashioned a recess in the hilt, intended to hold something very specific.” He swallowed. “A… a dagger…”
Requar, staring up at him, went pale. “Arzath…” he whispered.
When Arzath turned again, he looked ill. Fear darted in his green eyes. “I… believe that was why Ferrian took the trigonic dagger with him. There is no knowing whether he has figured out how to use it… but the boy is damnably smart…”
Grisket sat down, slowly. This entire conversation was beyond him. He was still trying to get his head around the fact that Ferrian was dead, and yet alive at the same time. Terrible things were happening, and they were past his ability to comprehend, let alone do something about.
Beside him, Cairan looked equally troubled and confused.
Opposite him, Requar looked as mortified as he had when Grisket had told him of the Black Dragon.
“Why…” Requar shook his head after a long, heavy moment. “Why did you not tell me all of this earlier, Arzath?”
The black-haired sorcerer glanced away. “I had hoped to convince you without–”
“Without resorting to the truth?!” There was an edge to Requar's voice. Hurt and anger flashed over his face.
Arzath rounded on him, anger sparking in his own eyes. “Well!” he retorted. “If we are discussing the truth, perhaps you would like to reveal why you were so interested in Ferrian in the first place! You seemed awfully keen on finding him when we left the castle, and now you have miraculously changed your mind!” His eyes narrowed. “And don't bother feeding me some garbage about wishing to help him, because I know it is something else!”
Cairan shifted restlessly, his tail twitching. Grisket felt tense as well, ready to be on his feet if sparks started flying.
Now it was Requar's turn to look uncomfortable. He tightened his blue cloak around him, as though trying to use it as a shield. “What I have to say is for Ferrian to hear,” he replied quietly. “It does not concern you…”
“I am your brother!” Arzath snapped. “The last of your kin! And considering all you have done in the past, including destroying the art of sorcery as the world knows it, I think it is fair and reasonable to assume that everything you do concerns me!”
Requar put his face in his hand. Sunlight spilled over his back, making his white hair glow and the gems on his Sword sparkle like blue stars. But his face, hidden in his hand, was a shadow of gloom.
For a long moment, no one moved or said anything. The two sorcerers, backlit as they were against the cliffs and waterfall and stone arch of the bridge, looked like a painting; Arzath glaring down at his troubled brother, both of them still as statues.
Grisket pulled the pointed brim of his hat down to block out the glare of the sun, and cleared his throat carefully. “Seems to me,” he ventured quietly, “that whatever this important thing you have to say to Ferrian is, it ain't gonna be of much use to either you or him if you're not alive to say it.”
He glanced up at Arzath; to his surprise, the sorcerer was smiling at him in admiration.
“It would be wise not to keep your secrets too close to your chest,” Cairan agreed. “Lest you lose them forever.”
Arzath folded his arms and inclined his head. “Are you really intent on slaying the Dragon-wraith, Requar?” he said. “Or are you avoiding Ferrian?”
At last, Requar stirred, removing his long fingers from his face. He did not look up, but Grisket caught a glimmer of tears in his eyes. “Very well,” he said, so softly that his words went almost unheard. “I will tell you.”
He was silent a long moment more, as though searching for the right words to say. Finally, he took a breath and started to speak. “I...” his voice faltered, and his shook his head. “Ferrian… means a great deal to me,” he said with an effort.
Grisket peered at him from under his hat. “You're not gonna tell us you're his father, are you?” he asked frankly.
Requar raised his head slowly and looked at him, for so long that Grisket was sure the answer was 'yes'. But then the sorcerer shook his head. “No,” he whispered.
“Such a thing is impossible,” Arzath stated. “Sorcerers cannot produce children. Our magic makes us infertile.”
Requar nodded unhappily. “That was why our father was avidly against us studying at the SOMS. He did not wish the family bloodline to be destroyed.” He sighed sadly.
Closing his eyes, he was silent for a long moment before continuing. “Decades ago, before moving into the valley, I worked at the infirmary at Sunsee. I used a different name, disguised myself and hid my magic, learned traditional healing practices, primitive though they were. I wished to live an ordinary and peaceful life.” He shook his head. “But it proved difficult. I could not resist using a little magic when the usual methods proved ineffective. It was too frustrating to watch people suffer needlessly.
“I was extremely careful, of course. I did not allow anyone to know that I was using magic on the patients. It was not easy to keep my Sword out of sight, but I managed it by rendering them unconscious before healing them a little at a time. Everyone thought I was an exceptionally skilled healer, though I was simply very skilled at deception. After a time, I became rather renowned – people came from far away to seek out my services. I might have ended up in the King's retinue if things had continued along that path, but that would have been dangerous for everyone…”
He opened his eyes and stared into the fire, gaze distant with memory. “Sometimes, I was called into the orphanage to see to the children. Most of them came from the Outlands, where families lived harsher lives, without the privileges of city folk. Disabled or very sick children were often simply abandoned.
“One day, the Matron called on me to look at an infant who had just been brought in and was… unusual. She was fearful and flustered and it took me some time to get a coherent story out of her. Evidently, the child had passed through many hands before arriving there, and it was uncertain where he had originally come from. But at some point he had been seen with two other homeless children, who were believed to be survivors from a disaster at Ness.”
He paused. “The nature of this disaster is now clear to me, but at the time, I was puzzled…”
Grisket shook his head. “I saw those kids!” he exclaimed. “After my family… while I was sittin' there mourning, those young 'uns were wanderin' along the road, carrying a baby wrapped up. They stayed with me for awhile, till a local farmer came by and took 'em off to Skywater. The bloke returned later to help with the bodies of my wife and sons, to bury them…”
Cairan put a hand on Grisket's shoulder.
“I see,” Requar said. After a moment's silence, he continued.
“I recognised that the baby possessed magic at once,” he said. “But of course, I did not mention this to the Matron. She was spooked and anxious as it was – the child's eyes were… unsettling. Instead, I made up a medical condition on the spot, and she trusted me enough to not question my word and withhold her doubts.”
Requar closed his eyes. “I fear that she would have quickly done away with him if she knew the truth, and that his life would be short if he stayed at the orphanage. So I told the Matron that he was a special case and I would take him into my personal care.
“However, things became complicated very quickly. Once he was living with me, I tried to examine him, to understand his magic and how he had managed to survive. Children born with magic usually die shortly after birth. But whenever I tried to use a Mind Sweep, an intense flash of white light blinded me. I could not see his mind or aura or effectively study his magic; it was as though something were protecting him. Otherwise, as far as I could tell, he was a healthy baby boy – though very quiet. But sometimes he became restless, and when he was restless he cried, and when he cried, it snowed outside.”
He stared worriedly at his own memories. “I knew nothing about raising a child, so I hired a blind nurse to help me. Others would have noticed his eyes and wanted nothing to do with him, or worse, become alarmed as the Matron had done. Yet for all my careful preparations, rumours began to spread. Word of the boy got around and a strange, increasingly cold Winter descended on the city. People were beginning to grow fearful and suspicious. I received fewer patients, and the ones that did come seemed almost distrustful. It became extremely difficult to use magic on them discreetly.
“My reputation was on the verge of unravelling; the boy and I dangerously close to being exposed.
“So one day I took Ferrian – he had already been named by the children who had found him – and travelled with him, up and down the highway, nowhere in particular. I noticed that whenever we were moving, he remained calm and quiet, with no sign of his magic. But if we stopped too long, he became irritable, and Winter fell.
“I found myself sitting beside the sea with him, feeling lost and desperate, wondering what was to become of us. Ferrian was alone in the world, feared and misunderstood, and so was I. At first, I thought that I could take him somewhere safe, give him a good life, teach him how to control his magic when he was older. Raise him as my son. But…”
Requar looked grief-stricken. “But my brother hated me and sought my death. I feared that if Arzath found someone I cared about, he would hurt Ferrian or seek to use him to punish me in some way. But worse than that…” he shook his head miserably. “I doubted my own ability to look after a child. After… after the atrocious things that I had done, I did not want Ferrian to grow up in my image. To abuse his power like every other sorcerer before him had done.” He blinked away tears.
“So…” he swallowed. “So I wandered into the Outlands until I came across a gypsy caravan.
“Their leader was an old woman with dyed black hair and garish cosmetics. She was hard and stubborn and as suspicious as they came. But I made the rare decision of being honest and straightforward with her; I saw no point otherwise. She was the type of person who could see through lies like glass. I told her of Ferrian's magic and what it was capable of, assuring her that if she simply kept travelling, there would be few problems.
“She told me in no uncertain terms where to go. So I…” Requar swallowed again. “I offered her a large sum of money. Redstone royals.
“She couldn't refuse them. She could hardly pick her jaw up off the ground. So she took the boy and the money and left without another word, leaving me standing beside the road watching the caravan trundle away across the plains, heartbroken.”
He fell silent for a few moments before continuing. “I did not return to Sunsee. I didn't have the heart to, and I was tired of the subterfuge. Instead, I hid myself away in a valley, building a castle there in secret.
“I know you thought I was attempting to rebuild the School, Arzath, and in a sense… you were right.” He shook his head. “But I only wished to teach healing there. I had seen what magic could do if it was put to unselfish use. So much could be achieved, if it was done with care and respect.
“But my castle was never completely finished. Arzath discovered my location and built a fortress of his own there, and laid siege. Attacks were constant.”
He shook his head in frustration. “You must understand, I always intended to return for Ferrian, when he was older and I could explain everything to him. But I never had the chance. Even leaving my castle for supplies required careful planning. I could not risk searching for Ferrian whilst being tracked by Arzath's minions. Nor could I bring him to live with me in a war zone.”
“So,” Arzath murmured, as silence finally fell. “You abandoned him to wander the Outlands instead, at the mercy of superstitious, murderous villagers? I imagine that was infinitely safer…”
“I did what I thought best at the time,” Requar replied. “I realise that this has been my downfall…”
Grisket rubbed his chin. He knew how it was to care deeply for someone who was not your own. Aari had meant a lot to him after he had lost his own sons. And he knew only too well that words left unspoken could haunt a person forever.
“Ferrian'll likely not take the news well,” Grisket told Requar. “But he's a good kid. He grew up to be his own person, and learnt how to figure things out on his own.”
Requar regarded him sorrowfully. “I regret that he ran away from my castle without talking to me,” he said, shaking his head. “I still do not know why. Perhaps he already knows. Perhaps he has pieced together the puzzle of his life on his own.”
He fell silent. They stared at the glowing coals of the campfire, which had grown low in the chilly sunlight. Arzath stood staring at his own shadow stretched out on the dirt road before him. “Touching,” he muttered. “But we should resume our journey. We have wasted too much time here already.”
Spinning on his heel, Arzath strode towards the hut. The door flung open before he reached it, with more force than was necessary. “I am going after the boy,” he declared. “Do as you wish.” He swept inside.
“His conscience weighs heavily as well,” Cairan murmured after a moment. “A little jealousy too, perhaps…”
Staring at the guard hut, Requar finally sighed in resignation, and stood up. “Very well,” he said softly, and followed his brother inside.