TheT/SomewhereBetweenDayAndNight
South of Kirighast, in the rough hills, night was falling. Shadows pooled in a boulder-strewn valley as the sun lowered. A shadow shifted againt the fading light. It became more solid, more substantial, it rose into a tower reaching up into the sky as if to say farewell to the departing sun. It caught the dying rays, and the translucent stones were alive with golden fire, transforming the twilight of the valley into glorious day.
Even as the tower ignited, a swirling wind stirred the stillness of the valley, and a small whirlwind touched down, in a cloud of obscuring dust. The wind spun itself out and a thin young man stumbled out of the cloud at a run.
“Master Tinch! Master Tinch!” he screamed, between bouts of coughing, “It’s true! The Wyld Hunt is coming –“ And then he was inside, and the portal closed behind him.
The sun set behind the hills, and the tower’s light faded. In the space of minutes, it was one with the shadows once more, and gone as if it had never been.
“So cute. Weeks on the road and still as smooth as a baby’s bottom!” Nil patted Golden Fortune’s cheek. He shied away, blushing, even as he grinned. Nil’s assertion wasn’t true – Fortune had a deep (and appealing, in Nil’s eyes) shadow of a beard on his youthful face. Too bad he was so young. She had no doubt he wouldn’t kick her out of his bedroll, as it were, but she preferred a little more maturity. With her eye for such things, she could tell he’d become a little infatuated with her on the long way from Talt to the dusty kingdom of Harborhead, where they were today.
Both of them were more than a little road-weary, hardened by and heartily sick of travel. Now they were passing though hills south of Kirighast, capital of Harborhead. They were almost at the end of the first leg of their journey.
Golden Fortune rubbed at his fuzzy cheek, not quite looking at Nil as he did so. He is certainly going to break a lot of hearts one day, she thought to herself. Tall and dark, his hair thick and black, eyes nearly the same color as his hair – he was flatly beautiful. Hell, he was even better looking than she was, even after their weeks of traveling. He still dressed poorly, not ready to give up the grays and blacks of a Varang outcaste. Even were they not threadbare, his breeches and tunic would have been ugly.
Nil wore cotton in blue and purple, with spots of color in the form of scarves and sashes in the flamboyant style she preferred (much to the distaste of her former Blessed Isle compatriots), but her finer clothing looked all the worse for the wear. She hoped she carried herself well, at least. It was in her breeding. But for her height, she was the very picture of a pure-bred woman of the Scarlet Empire. Her black hair, tilted dark eyes, fair skin, bold nose, and full lips had marked out her origins to the observant many times before.
“It’s night,” Fortune pointed out. “It’s pointless to look anymore. That woman –“ He still couldn’t bring himself to speak the name of the Singer of the Solemn and Endless Dirge, “—has sent us into a trap.”
“You know she hasn’t.” It was almost a rote response by this time, a daily reassurance they were on the right path. Nil knew the Singer had told the truth, though she had told it for reasons of her own. The goal of the priestess was to convert Nil and Fortune to her creed, or to see them destroyed. There was a trap involved, some subtle nudge to the Singer’s plans, and Nil only hope she could see it before she was caught by it.
A flurry of wind disturbed the campsite of the two Solars as they stopped for the night. This was not what it was sent to see, but it was of interest, nonetheless. The sorcerer would find this of great interest. Without a sound, the winds moved on.
Ledaal Niloba was not certain when or how it happened, but it was now the priest that led them, rather than herself. In that doomed hostel, two weeks back, the voices of the undead had spoken something that had sparked Sparrow’s resolved. Now, he rode with purpose. He assured Niloba they were more than sufficient to face any traps the Anathema might set, and Pasiap preserve her, she believed him every time. There was no denying she looked forward to it, though and she was glad someone was as resolved to see this done as she was.
Linopa and Pren were more and more despondent as time went on, though Niloba suspected each had their own reasons. Pren still did not want to kill what he still, on some level, believed to be his sister. Linopa didn’t want to ride into what she felt was an obvious trap, and was worried over what seemed to be an obsession. They were twins, and sometimes Niloba wondered at how Linopa didn’t know her any better. This was no obsession, but a holy mission.
They were close, and the Immaculate Dragons were with them. She could feel it.
Dawn was just past, and they walked the trail through the hills with the purpose of the unerring, leaving their horses behind. There would be battle today.
“We will find it tonight,” Sparrow said, as if hearing Niloba’s thought, and she thrilled to hear it. She was quite willing to let him lead the way. For now.
The old man appeared in a whirlwind on the narrow path ahead, not there one moment, then standing before them, hair wild, robes still whipping in the wind. As fast as he appeared, Nil was faster, her sword out and at the old man’s throat before the dust settled.
It was mid-afternoon, and twilight was only hours away.
Quick as he was, Golden Fortune was still fumbling for his knife when the old man spoke in a querulous, age-roughened voice.
“Why do you bring danger to my doorstep?” The old man was clearly angry, and just as clearly unbothered by the sword set to let out his life’s blood. “Better yet, how did you know I was here? Since it must be me you’re looking for, right?”
Realizing who this was, Nil quickly put her sword away.
“Master Tinch,” she began, with a bow of her head, “we came alone seeking –“
“Fool.” Tinch cut her off abruptly. “You bring the Wyld Hunt! They must never find the way into the Tower. We will have to kill them, and kill them before dusk.”
The Wyld Hunt! Nil looked back at Fortune, and the horror was plain on his face.
“Merciful Mela,” she whispered. “Niloba. It has to be.”
Tinch leaned forward, leaning on a long walking stick. “Niloba? You know these people? Not only do you bring a Wyld Hunt, but one with a personal vendetta against you? You’re more dangerous than they are!”
“We don’t have time for this!” Fortune spoke up, even as the glanced at the trail behind. “How many are there? Do they have any special weapons we need to worry about?”
Tinch glared at the young man, but answered his question. “There are only three Dragon-Bloods, but there is another. A monk. He is named Sparrow, and he is the most dangerous of the bunch.” He turned and started walking back up the path, expecting to be followed. Left with no other option, Nil and Fortune went along.
“Sparrow is a Sidereal Exalt, at the old work of backstabbing his kind have perpetrated for eons now.” Tinch clearly had some sort of grudge against this Sparrow. Nil could hear it in his voice.
“So, it isn’t necessarily us that brought them if you know this Sparrow the Sidereal,” Nil said. “Whatever that is supposed to mean…” She trailed off when she caught sight of Fortune’s stunned face.
“I don’t remember…” Fortune shook his head. “They were helping us. They were probably killed off by the Terrestrials, just like…”
“Fools,” Tinch said yet again, openly derisive. “If we all stumbled about so blindly before, it was no wonder we were all slain.”
Nil had never recalled the First Age so well as Golden Fortune, but now wasn’t the time to indulge her curiosity. They had to survive the night first. They had to… A sick feeling gripped the pit of her stomach as she realized the Singer’s plan. It was Niloba and Linopa. And Pren. If she were made to kill her own brother, her own friends…
“Master Tinch, we can’t kill any of them. They have to learn we’re not murderous demons.”
That stopped the old man in his tracks, and he whirled to face his two younger companions.
“They are here to kill us,” Tinch said, his quavering voice now sharp as a knife’s edge. “If they are not killed, they will come back again and again. You will endanger my home. They were dead the moment they decided to come after me. Remember that.”
“You said this Sidereal person was the only real danger, though. I am correct?” Nil was insistent. She had to be. The Singer of the Solemn and Endless Dirge would not win. Not this time. “I’ll take care of the Dragon-Blooded. You can do what you have to do with Sparrow.”
Nil saw the old man’s shoulders slump, she heard him sigh. “Exalted or not, young people are always idiots. Fine. If you can subdue them before twilight, they will be sent away. But I cannot risk them letting Sparrow into the Tower. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Nil agreed readily to that. Fortune gave her a troubled, but approving, smile. He had never much liked the idea of killing anything, anyway.
They rounded a hill and began the descent into a stony valley, filled with vast boulders and deep shadows.
“The Twilight Maze,” Tinch explained. “This is where we will make our stand.”
Nil could see where the valley got its name. The afternoon sun was dimmed by the shadows of the hills, and the piles of tumbled rock surrounding them in virtual walls. In some places, it was difficult to tell where the shadows ended and the rock began. Tinch knew the way, however. They ended up in a cleared area from which they could see the sun going down behind the hills.
“Soon, they will come,” Tinch said. He leaned against his staff and waited.
Sparrow could feel he was being watched. Tinch was waiting. Even as he realized it, the challenge was issued. Light flared in a nearby valley, sun-bright, golden fire bursting from deep shadow.
“They want us to come get them,” Niloba said, moving alongside Sparrow. “Is it a trap or just a challenge?”
“There is no trap but the sorcerer’s own self-confidence,” Sparrow assured her. “I will take care of him. The other Anathema I leave to you.” Niloba wouldn’t refuse. Her need to kill this Maret had become the cause of her life. It stood between her and Anjis Pren, whom she loved, it stood between her and her faith in the way the world should be.
“Very well,” she said, after a pause. Sparrow smiled faintly. It was so much easier when they cooperated.
Golden Fortune saw them first. He was crouched atop a rock and scuttled down the moment he spotted them. He was sure one of them had spied him – a big man at the very end of the group of four. No alarm was raised, however, at last not so Fortune could hear it.
Tinch leaned against his staff, Nil against a rock. They looked almost bored. How could they be so calm? Four Exalts were coming to kill them.
“They’ll be here soon,” he told the others, trying not to sound desperate. They knew, of course. Tinch had purposely drawn them by letting his anima show.
Nil straightened up. “Was one a big man, an Aspect of the Earth Dragon? Two more, both women, one in a red breastplate, the other in green robes?”
“…And Tinch’s – Master Tinch’s – monk, yeah,” Fortune answered. As much as he admired Nil, her continued reticence about her past was starting to rankle. The lack of information could easily get them killed tonight. “You have your own personal Wyld Hunt after you? What did you do?”
Nil flicked a sad, almost guilty glance at Fortune. “Same as you did. Exalted in the wrong way.”
“So blind.” Tinch still leaned heavily on his staff. “Boy, it’s obvious these are former friends of our obviously false-named compatriot. A lover? Siblings? Someone took ‘Nil’s’ Exaltation personally.”
Nil’s flinch told Fortune that Tinch was more than a little right.
“I will engage Sparrow,” the old man continued. “I advise you draw your opponents elsewhere, for your own safety. Three Dragon-Bloods should be no difficulty for a pair of Solars.”
Golden Fortune had his doubts about that, but didn’t speak them aloud.
“And here they come,” Tinch said. For the first time, he sounded pleased.
A frontal assault was the only plan, other than Sparrow taking on the sorcerer alone. It was fine with Niloba. Maret had to be put down quickly, since her hellish powers had made her skillful enough to beat both Niloba herself and a Fair Folk noble. She has to be put down quickly and purged from their lives, so things could get back to normal, especially for Pren’s sake.
At long last, they were almost there.
Light flared again, like a miniature sun, from behind the rocks just ahead. The Anathema challenged them, and Niloba was ready to answer. Without waiting for the others, Niloba ran forward and used her lance to vault over the high rocks. At the top of her arc, she fed Essence into her anima and wrapped herself in holy fire.
In that instant, she saw the foe. Maret was almost directly below. Yards to her left was presumably the sorcerer, blazing gold and white, the vile light of the Anathema surrounding him. And there was another, a Southern boy, pressed against the rocks on the other side of Maret. She paid him no mind.
Ledaal Niloba hit the ground, sweeping the tip of her lance in at Maret’s chest, probing her defenses. No mortal could have blocked an attack of such speed, but Maret did so, her slender blade knocking aside each thrust with little apparent effort.
“Niloba! Wait!” Maret back away, through a narrow passage between rocks, past the boy, away from the sorcerer. She assumed a defensive stance, retreating before Niloba’s vicious jabs. “I’m not a demon! I’m still me!”
Niloba stopped her ears to the lies of the Anathema. She hardened her heart. Blazing like a comet, she advanced again.
Foolish Terrestrials! Sparrow went around the rocks Niloba had vaulted over, Pren and Linopa close behind. He was relieved to see Niloba still alive, though that was doubtlessly only because the small swordswoman he assumed to be Maret was defending herself only. There was another, fearfully pressed against a rock, a Southern boy, a Varangan outcaste by the look of him, but he was of no consequence, at least no in the face of being so close to finally catching Tinch.
The Solar sorcerer had ignited his anima and he still looked old, but no longer feeble. He had shed his facade and was now a Solar Exalted in all his glory. Sparrow had Exalted young, and remained the same, but Tinch’s Exaltation had come to him in old age, but granted him the vigor of the young.
“More fodder for the Imperial grist?” Tinch asked mildly as Pren and Linopa raced to join the fray against Maret. They quickly disappeared behind a wall of rocks, the Southern boy slinking after.
“If you only understood the danger of people such as you,” Sparrow said, honestly sad at his duty. The Solars could not be allowed to live, not under any circumstances. In them were the seeds of the world’s destruction. It was terrible that young Maret had to die, but Tinch, he was a whole different magnitude of dangerous.
Tinch invoked the Invulnerable Skin of Bronze and his skin was transformed into gleaming metal. Sparrow smiled grimly and made a sign of countermagic. Golden light bled away from Tinch, as the old man’s defensive spell eroded.
Sparrow had decades of Exaltation behind him, Tinch less than ten years. The battle would be brief.
Nil moved back, close to Golden Fortune, her sword at the ready, once they were in their own separate enclosure of the Twilight Maze. Pren and Linopa emerged, and now there were three, all arrayed against her. Niloba kept Nil at bay with her lance. Linopa nocked an arrow. Pren drew his daiklaive. Nil was good, but she doubted she could fight all three of them without someone dying. Despair weighed down her heart more than fear. Even so, her mind continued to work.
First, she had to deal with Linopa. It was difficult enough to get behind Niloba’s defenses without worrying about an arrow in the back. At the next thrust of Niloba’s lance, Nil leapt up to the shaft of the weapon, then sprung from it, somersaulting over the Fire Aspect’s shoulder, right at Linopa.
Now that he saw Maret, Pren’s indecision grew only worse. She fought so gloriously, like she always had, holding her own against Niloba, protesting her innocence all the while. It was all in vain, though. Niloba would never let her guard down again. Eventually Maret would wear down, and Niloba’s lance would find Maret’s heart.
But things were changing almost too quickly to follow. Maret was in the air over Niloba, sword raised high. She catapulted herself at Linopa. Pren acted on instinct, his the broad blade of his daiklaive sweeping up to knock Maret’s sword aside with a resounding clang. Maret twisted in mid-air to land on her feet, facing Pren, the startled Linopa behind her now.
“Damn it, I wasn’t going to hurt her, Pren!” Maret was angry, but under it was desperation. Was it the desperation of a demon run to ground or of Pren’s sister trying to earnestly persuade him she was still herself?
Behind Maret, Linopa drew her bowstring back again, the point of her arrow not more than ten feet from the Anathema. For Niloba’s love, for Pren’s soul, she let her arrow fly.
No one seemed to notice Golden Fortune, and he liked it that way. Nil seemed to be holding her own against the fiery-haired (and just plain fiery) Dragon-Blood. And then, the one in the green robes had tried to interfere.
Nil was magnificent, but it was not enough when the big warrior with the big white-jade sword intercepted her path. In that moment of confrontation, Nil faced the massive swordsman, and an arrow was loosed at her back.
The time for watching was over.
Golden Fortune plucked his knife from his belt and threw it, and into that throw he poured the surety of the Unconquered Sun. His knife flared and roared with golden fire and soared true, not at the archer, but at her arrow, and shattered it mid-flight.
Niloba whirled to face the Southern boy. A third Anathema! This was likely the trap the undead had tried to send them into. They would learn to their sorrow the mettle of a child of the Dragons. Now, the boy was without a weapon, and she took her chance, pivoting to aim a vicious strike, the head of her lance bursting into flame.
The boy wasn’t looking, but he dodged nonetheless, swaying to one side, leaning just out of reach of Niloba’s strike. He turned a fearful eye on her, and his knife sprang back into his hand, called by his unholy power. The fires of her anima roared about her as loudly as her battle cry as she renewed her attack.
“Damn it, Pren, I don’t have time for this!” Nil was not oblivious to how Golden Fortune had saved her life. “He could have just as easily killed Linopa as stopped that arrow. Don’t you see?”
And speaking of Linopa… Nil ducked to the side, jumped, sprang from a rock, and launched herself at the archer again. This time, the arrow never got a chance to fly, as Nil’s sword sliced right through the bowstring.
Linopa gasped, and throw her bow to the ground, fingers twisting in arcane gestures to throw some spell or Charm – and there was Pren again, between the two women.
And still, he did not attack.
Golden Fortune felt his forehead grow warm as he spun away from attack after attack. His Caste Mark was likely shining like a beacon.
The Dragon-Blood woman was a whirlwind of fire, and it was taking all of Fortune’s ability just to keep away from her. Essence made his motions fluid, but he could already feel himself dwindling, even as his anima flared brighter and brighter.
Desperate, he puts his knife between his teeth, ducked backward under a thrust from the lance, and handsprung out of reach.
Screaming defiance, trailing flame, the Fire Aspect came, and Fortune threw his knife, Essence guiding his throw to hit her knee in just the right spot. She tumbled to the ground in a resplendent ball of fire, even as the knife returned to his hand.
Fortune raised his knife to throw again, but the woman surged upward in a burst of heat and light, exploding from prone to combat-ready in the space between breaths. The bright image of a dragon reared above her head, triumphant, as she backed Fortune into a wall, where there was nowhere further to run.
“Pren, let me save Fortune!” Nil knew the boy was no combatant, while Niloba was an accomplished warrior. She’d kill him sooner or later. Behind them both, she more felt than saw Linopa trembling, on the edge of tears.
For the first time, Pren spoke, and his rumbling voice brooked no argument. “Drop your sword, Maret, and I will save him if I can.”
He was Anjis Pren, and he always kept his word. But more than that, he was her brother, and she loved him. She wanted him to know she was still the same sister he’d known all his life. Nil dropped her sword.
One Anathema down. Niloba drew her lance back for the killing blow, only to have her thrust blocked by a broad length of white jade.
Niloba’s gaze did not waver, nor did her lance drop. “Stand aside, Pren.”
“They surrender.” Pren was steady as a stone, and often twice as stubborn. Niloba had spent months trying to convince Pren his sister wasn’t some sort of exception to the evil of the Anathema. She had to free him, and the only way to do so was to kill Maret. For the sake of her love for him, she would break the hold of the Anathema upon him once and for all.
Niloba withdrew her lance, planted the tip in the ground and spun, using her weapon to swing herself around Pren. Her burning feet lashed out to knock Maret to the ground, but the Anathema wove to one side, the evil sign on her brow shining brilliantly as she drew upon her power.
“No!” Pren ran to stop Niloba, but he could never make it in time. Niloba landed with only a slight stumble from her numb leg, flipped her lance into position – and dropped it as a sharp twinge in her shoulder caused her arm to seize up. That boy with his knife!
Pren had seized the boy in his granite grip by one arm, until he moaned in pain, but it was too late now. Niloba’s leg and arm were useless. She could no longer fight. Her knee threatened to buckle, but she would not fall. No, if she were to die today, she would die on her feet.
The boy squirmed in Pren’s grip, and would have died, if Pren had not realized Niloba was not really wounded. He’d seen masters of the Immaculate Arts perform the same sorts of attacks – she’d be fine in a couple hours, if aching. But he could have just as easily thrown that last knife through Niloba’s throat.
Everything he had ever been taught told him these were murderous demons, yet they were doing everything they could to avoid killing those that sought to kill them. If their powers were evil, perhaps they had not yet been overcome. Perhaps they could even be saved.
“Niloba,” he said, as gently as he could, “they surrender.”
“You are in thrall to her.” Niloba’s voice trembled in frustration and rage. “You will never be able to see it until your soul is gone.”
Pren looked at Maret who stood silently by. She looked much as she always had, if a but dusty from travel, and of course, the mark of the Deceivers plainly shining upon her brow like gold. She could have picked up her sword, but she didn’t, standing straight and proud, as she looked back at her brother. He couldn’t betray her. But he couldn’t betray Niloba either.
“We will take them to Sparrow, and he will decide.” Pren saide. Niloba literally smoldered, but said nothing. The Southern boy gasped: “No!”
“I doubt Sparrow will be deciding anything too soon.” The querulous voice announced the arrival of the old man, and the brilliant glow surrounding him heralded his power. Dust swirled in a great cloud, and Sparrow was deposited at Niloba’s feet, alive but limp and unmoving.
Now, the tables had turned. Nil had been ready to give herself up. It was better that than killing Pren and Linopa and Niloba and proving the Immaculates right. She would not fall into the Singer’s trap. But now, the Wyld Hunt had been defeated. Pren and Linopa could still fight, but without Niloba and Sparrow, their chances of winning were slim.
“I didn’t surrender,” Nil said to Pren. “But now, you must.”
“You’re a fool,” Tinch insisted yet again, but he was no longer grim with purpose, but flush with victory. He was practically crowing over the monk. “But now, they are no threat.”
It was twilight, and now a tower rose before them, blazing with the light of the Unconquered Sun. Even Pren gasped in awe.
“Without Sparrow, they will never find their way back.” Tinch made a vague gesture at the monk.
“Is it the soul of the priest that you wanted then, sorcerer?” Niloba spat, and it hissed on the ground.
“You are incredibly tiresome.” Tinch made a sharp gesture at Niloba. A great wind swirled around the Fire Aspect, picked her up, and receded into the distance.
“Niloba!” Nil, Pren, and Linopa all cried out as one, and Pren lifted his daiklaive, even as Nil kicked hers up from the ground and into her hand.
“She’s quite alright,” Tinch sounded unconcerned with the threats of violence. “The others, excepting Sparrow, will soon be joining her, just on the other side of the hills.”
“Maret comes with us,” Pren stated. Nil knew from that tone he would not be swayed. But she tried anyway.
“You said to let the priest decide,” Nil pointed out, “and he’s not in any position to do so. Furthermore, you never asked me to surrender. You promised to save Fortune if I dropped my sword. I did, you did, and now my side is in control.”
Pren smiled, grudgingly. “Then what now, oh victorious one?”
Nil smiled back. It was almost like old times. “Then stay with me.”
“No!” Now it was Tinch, Golden Fortune, and Linopa that all spoke in unison.
Nil ignored them. “I’m not going back with you, because you know Niloba will spit me in the night to save your soul. If you want to keep an eye on me, you can stay with me, and I’ll prove to you I’m not evil. Or maybe you’ll prove that I am. Either way, you’ll never get a better chance than this.”
The whirlwind returned, and now it was Linopa who vanished, with an abbreviated shriek.
“A Dragon-Blood?” Tinch was almost screeching. “In my Tower?”
Fortune, strangely enough, burst into laughter. “You might as well accept it, old man. Nil has a way of getting what she wants.”
“Nil?” Pren rumbled quietly (for him), before speaking in a louder tone. “You laid down your sword. That generally means surrender.”
“I never promised that. All putting down my sword meant was putting down my sword. It was a gesture of good faith so you would save Golden Fortune.” Nil lifted a finger. “Now, you have to decide if you will accept my terms.” She turned to Tinch. “And be my responsibility, Master Tinch.”
Tinch sputtered for a moment before regaining his composure. “Your young and stony friend had better be prepared for some unpleasantness mixed in with his truths. He’s not going to like it one bit.”
“Brother. Pren is my brother,” Nil told them. “So treat him with respect. No one ever had better.” Gently, she took Pren’s arm and led him toward the looming Tower of the Descending Suns.
Tinch and Golden Fortune could do nothing but follow, a tame whirlwind carrying the comatose Sparrow trailing behind.
comments
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fortune mouth: ‘Maret’?
Doesn't Golden Fortune already know Nil's real name? _Ikselam
Yikes. You're right. Time to edit. Thanks. :) -- TheT
