Times entwined and threats unheeded

One distraction's all that's needed.

There was a knock on the door, and it creaked open tentatively. "Lieutenant Vandaris?" a voice inquired.

"I go by the name Sirannor, now," Sirannor replied quietly, not looking up from Aari's bedside. "And it's Captain."

"Oh, right. My apologies, Captain, sir."

Sirannor glanced up at the scruffy man standing rather uncertainly in the half-open doorway. His leather-and-steel armour was dusty and battered; his sandy-brown hair simultaneously flopped about and stuck out in all directions like a wild, windblown nest. Some of the curly strands were plastered with sweat to his lean, tanned face. Sirannor managed a thin smile, and extended a hand to the man. "Nice to see you again, Hawk."

The man grinned broadly in response, and came fully into the room, dropping his helmet on the bedpost, taking Sirannor's hand in both of his gauntleted own and shaking it as though attempting to dislocate it from the Captain's shoulder. "Likewise, sir! It's been years!"

"Indeed," Sirannor murmured. It had been almost fifteen years, in fact, since he had last seen Devandar Hawk. "You may stop shaking my hand, now." He was glad it wasn't his bad arm that Hawk was massacring.

"Yes, sir!" Hawk said quickly, releasing Sirannor's hand and saluting.

Sirannor restrained himself from sighing with an effort. "You do not need to salute me, Hawk. I am no longer your lieutenant."

"Yes, sir!" Hawk replied, saluting again.

He's exactly as I remember him, Sirannor thought. Hawk was one of the best men he had ever known, but he could be very exasperating at times. Still, it was inspiring to see a man that fifteen years of military service had not turned hard, cynical and lonely.

The same couldn't be said of himself.

He nodded at the insignia on Hawk's sleeve. "Only Sergeant Major? I thought you would have made General by now."

Hawk laughed. It was one of the things Sirannor liked most about him. No matter how dark and cruel the world seemed, it always became a little brighter when Hawk laughed.

"Nah," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I was never cut out to be a leader."

That was one thing, at least, that had changed: as an overenthusiastic teenager, Hawk had been desperate for promotion. He'd been infamous for it, actually; always taking the hardest, most daring missions, on the chance that he might come back a hero. Sirannor nodded, his thoughts drifting.

Hawk gave a sudden jerk. "Whoa! Is that… an Angel?!"

Sirannor's face shifted into its usual rocky, implacable expression. "Sergeant Aari'Zan," he said.

"Geez, man…" Hawk said quietly, wide-eyed as he stared at the figure on the bed. "What happened to him?"

It took a long moment for Sirannor to reply, and when he finally did, the words came with great effort. "Lack of judgement on my part."

To his grateful relief, Hawk did not ask him to elaborate. The two men fell silent, staring at the stricken Angel.

"Is he… gonna be alright?" Hawk asked after awhile. He sounded genuinely concerned about Aari's welfare, as though any close personal friend of Sirannor's was a close personal friend of his as well. It was another of his admirable qualities.

This time, Sirannor could not bring himself to speak. He simply shook his head.

Hawk took a deep breath. "Aw, geez," he muttered. "I'm such a jerk, barging in here…"

Sirannor shook his head again. "No. I'm glad of the company," he said.

Hawk let his brown gaze wander around the room, and it came to rest, inevitably, on the thin, hunched figure in the corner. "Who's that guy?"

Sirannor did not turn around. "Cimmeran," he answered. "Ex-servant to Lord Arzath, the sorcerer."

Hawk's eyes widened again. He looked at Captain Sirannor as though disbelieving what he had just heard, then back at Cimmeran, then folded his arms across his breastplate. "No kidding?" he exclaimed.

The servant glared at him, but Hawk returned his gaze unflinchingly until he looked away again.

"Anyway," Hawk said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, as there were no spare chairs, "talking of strange people showing up –" here Cimmeran gave Hawk an extremely unfriendly look – "have you heard about the ambassador from Arkana?"

Sirannor started to shake his head, then looked up sharply. "Arkana?"

"Yep," Hawk replied, nodding. "He arrived in Sel Varence five days ago."

Sirannor stared at him in astonishment. "An Angel appeared in Selvar? Legally? Do you have any idea why?"

Hawk hesitated. "He's demanded to speak to the King. Apparently, it's an incredibly urgent matter, and he refuses to speak with the Darorian ambassador or the Princess. Only the King himself."

"He's demanded?"

"Yeah," Hawk said, raising a sceptical eyebrow. "And he won't go to the Crystal City, either, he wants a meeting in Selvar, or not at all. I guess he doesn't want to wander too far from his own land."

"And King Neodine agreed to this?"

Hawk nodded, his expression mirroring Sirannor's incredulity. "The royal entourage should be arriving any day now."

The Captain fell silent, letting these thoughts sift through his mind. This was momentous news. No Angel had been seen outside of Arkana since their 'no trade, no foreigners' law was passed nearly a hundred years ago, apart from the occasional exile like Aari. Only something of unprecedented importance could have convinced them to send an ambassador across the Tentaryl Ranges.

Apparently, the King thought so, too. His arrogance was such that he wouldn't get out of his extravagant throne to greet his own daughter.

A deep frown creased Sirannor's face.

Hawk appeared to share Sirannor's thoughts. "No one knows what this 'urgent matter' could be," he went on, "but there's a lot of speculation, naturally. Popular opinion at the moment seems to be that the Angels are finally prepared to negotiate their closed borders law."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Sirannor was unconvinced. "If that was the case," he said quietly, "then why the need for secrecy? Why the haste? Why is the ambassador being allowed to dictate all the terms?"

Hawk shook his scruffy head, frowning anxiously. "Yeah, you're right, it doesn't make sense. Which is why I sent a message to Carmine in Selvar this morning, to find out if she knows anything more about this business."

He paused, allowing Sirannor a chance to respond. Sirannor stared down at Aari, letting the silence lengthen to uncomfortable proportions, before finally saying: "So, you keep in regular contact with Carmine, I presume?"

Hawk lifted a hand and rubbed his neck self-consciously, suddenly a little too aware of Sirannor's piercing grey gaze. "Uh, yeah, oc-occasionally," he stammered. Had his cheeks coloured a shade, or was it a trick of the lamplight? "B-but, it's not what you think! Uh… well, actually, it is what you think, but–"

"It is none of my business," Sirannor said, turning away.

Hawk was taken aback, this was obviously not the response he had been expecting. "But… she's your daughter!"

"Carmine is a grown woman with the right to make her own decisions, and those decisions have nothing to do with me. But…" he hesitated. "For the record, I… approve of her choice."

Hawk was now clearly embarrassed. He had to clear his throat quite a few times before he found his voice. "You do?" he finally managed, and grinned as though Sirannor had just crowned him King. "Uh, thanks! I mean, thank you, sir!" he straightened and saluted again.

"Hawk…" Sirannor sighed.

"Sorry, sir!" Hawk apologised, and put his hand down quickly. "So, uh, a-anyway," he went on, stumbling over his words in his hasty attempt to change the subject, "I don't think the army suspects that I'm working as a secret informant for the Freeroamers, but to be honest, I don't reckon they care much either way. I doubt anyone would bother to turn me in if they found out. There's a lot of resentment and anger for the King at the moment…"

"Isn't there always?" Sirannor murmured. He rubbed his forehead with his hand, only half-listening to Hawk's chatter. He was very tired. He'd had no sleep the previous night and was unlikely to get any this night, either. Nor would he dare allow himself such an indulgence, not while young Aari's life slowly slipped away…

"Yeah, but now there's unrest even among the King's loyalists," Hawk continued. "Everyone agrees that something must be done about General Dreikan, but the King won't listen."

"Dreikan," Sirannor muttered darkly. "What has that man done now?"

"Well, it's not what he's done, but what he's planning to do that's the problem," Hawk said anxiously. He took a slow, deep breath before saying: "He wants to attack the Dragons."

Sirannor straightened. Even Cimmeran, who had been staring resolutely out of the window, looked over in surprise.

"He what?"

"He cancelled the offerings a while ago, saying they were wasting too much money–" he paused as Sirannor snorted ironically, and went on "– and surprise, surprise, the Dragons went back to attacking the miners. The General wants to exterminate them for good. I think he's getting a bit testy with this deadlocked war with the Enopians, he's eager for a big, exciting battle."

"He'll get a big, exciting massacre if he continues with that course of action," Sirannor said angrily. "Many generals have attempted to wipe out the Dragons over the years, and have succeeded only in wiping out their own troops!"

"Tell me about it," Hawk said gloomily. "The King doesn't care about sacrificing lives, he thinks Dreikan's plan is a great one. He sees nothing but the profits involved if the extraction of redstone ore can continue unhindered."

"The King is a fool," Sirannor growled.

"Yeah, but a powerful fool," Hawk pointed out. "And there is no worse kind."

They fell silent for awhile, each man lost in his own bleak contemplation. Finally, Hawk stirred and said quietly: "There's one more thing I need to discuss with you, sir…" His eyes flicked briefly to Cimmeran in the corner. "In private."

Sirannor glanced at the servant as well. He hesitated, and looked back down at Aari.

"It will only take a few minutes," Hawk assured him. "It's important."

Sirannor considered his sombre face for a moment, then slowly stood up. "Very well," he replied. He turned to the corner. "Cimmeran."

The servant jumped at the sound of his name.

Sirannor pointed to the bed. "Watch him."

Cimmeran nodded fearfully, and Sirannor followed Hawk out the door. They walked a short way up the darkened, white-walled corridor, and then Hawk pushed through a door on the right.

They emerged on a small, round, low-railed balcony. Faint smells of sand and salt reached Sirannor, but there was still no breeze to blow away the heavy air. Hawk, in his dark reddish-brown armour, was a vague shape against the backdrop of the city. He closed the door softly behind them, and peered carefully over the rail and at the nearby windows to make sure they would not be overheard. He wasted no time getting to the point.

"We found a seal in the moltmetal mine," he said in a low voice.

"A seal?"

Hawk nodded. "Big round thing, covered in creepy-looking runes. We hadn't noticed it before now, because it was hidden behind stalactites and a slide of rocks. Some miners discovered it when they were attempting to widen one of the tunnels. No one knows what its purpose is, whether it's still active or the dead remains of some ancient spell. Could it somehow be connected to the Aegis?"

Sirannor could not make out his face well in the dark, but pictured it wearing a worried expression. "It was always my understanding," he replied, "that the Aegis is generated by ten stones…"

"… sunk into the sea bed surrounding the island," Hawk finished, nodding. "Yeah, that's common knowledge. We've never come across any other spells or runes on the Isle, certainly nothing as huge and intimidating as this. But that's not the worst of it."

He paused, running a hand nervously through his hair. "People have been getting sick. Mostly the miners digging the moltmetal out and the blacksmiths who have been working with the stuff. They've been acting really strange."

Sirannor frowned slowly. "What are their symptoms?"

"Hallucinations, amnesia, nausea… it varies," Hawk replied, shrugging.

Sirannor remained silent for a time. "This is worrying," he said at last.

"Yeah," Hawk whispered, glancing unconsciously in the direction of the Old Quarter. "It sure is."

Cimmeran waited until the door had closed and the footsteps receded into the distance before he sagged with relief. He thought they were never going to stop talking; he'd almost drifted off to sleep.

But finally, he was alone. Alone, save for the mortally sick Angel.

He uncurled his stiff legs and stood up, the chair creaking loudly in the silence as he did so. He walked over to the bed. His shadow rose to meet him on the wall, his dark opposite, with the Angel lying between them.

Or am I the dark one? Cimmeran thought wretchedly. After all, what had his shadow ever done? It had never hurt anyone, never taken something that didn't belong to it, never lied or run away. It had never felt anger or misery or hate.

Cimmeran envied his shadow.

He looked down at Sergeant Aari, at the once great white wings wrapped in bandages, and tears sprang unbidden into his eyes. Why did you have to smash your wings up? Why?

Something dropped from his long, ragged sleeve into his hand – something that glinted in the soft lamplight.

Slowly, Cimmeran lifted the knife and looked at it. The knife that he had stolen from the table at dinner, that he had kept hidden inside his sleeve, pressed against his arm the entire time Sirannor and Hawk were talking, and nearly stabbed himself with when Sirannor made him jump.

This knife was the only way out. The only way to be free.

He blinked his eyes to clear them, and whispered down at Aari: "Please… please u-understand, I… I don't want to do this, but I have no ch-choice…"

His arm began to shake involuntarily. His heart was beating so loudly he could barely hear his own thoughts, which kept repeating themselves in an anguished cycle: I have no choice. I have to do this. I have to do it now. I must be free.

He closed his eyes, swallowing back his sobs. "I'm sorry…"

When he opened them again, his eyes were strangely clear and focused. As if in a dream, he placed the knife at the Angel's throat.

Sirannor knew that something was wrong the moment he saw the door to Aari's room standing open.

Suddenly gripped with terrifying, unexplainable panic, he broke into a run.

When he entered, time froze.

The shadowy room was empty, except for…

"No!" he cried. "Gods, NO!" He ran to Aari's side.

The Angel was lying exactly how Sirannor had left him, eyes peacefully closed, wings folded and bound, but now there was a dark stain of blood splashed across the sheets and pooling beneath his head.

His throat had been cut.

Sirannor sank to his knees, his head spinning, alternate waves of shock, horror and anguish surging through him. He took Aari's bloodless face in his hands. "Why?" he gasped weakly. "He was dying… why would anyone… why…?"

Hawk had gone almost as white as Aari. "The servant's gone," he said shakily.

The words slashed through Sirannor's consciousness like claws.

Staggering to his feet, Aari's blood on his hands, he croaked: "Give me your sword, Hawk."

Hawk looked frightened. "C-Captain, I don't think that's a good–"

"GIVE IT TO ME!" Sirannor screamed.

Hawk jumped. His sword had barely left its sheath before Sirannor snatched it and raced out the door.

Hawk stood for a moment in the sudden silence, taking deep breaths to dispel the shock and nausea he was feeling. He had seen men die before, but not like this… The Captain was right – why would anyone murder a dying man? What possible purpose could it serve? Was it just random insanity?

He swallowed, and shook his head. "Dammit, Captain," he whispered, and ran after Sirannor in case he did something he'd regret.