Ross Lawhead - A Hero's throne

And so Daniel came here, to the complex of caves, many miles ahead of the elves and their pursuers. So far he was alone, and he had been for hours. He went to the entrance of the cave where pillars of stone created a forest-like cover. Looking out, he wondered when he would catch sight of his latest companions, and whether he could do anything to help. The dimming sky unnerved him. What would happen in the next hours? Would Night take him again? Or was that behind him?

“So, how was your day?” came a voice from behind him.

Turning, he saw the three murdered elves standing in the corridor behind him. It was Stowe who had spoken.

“Oh, you guys again,” he said with dread.

“More than that, how was last night?” Fiall said with a vicious grin.

“It was fine. I survived, obviously, and now I’m helping to restore the true king of these lands to his throne.” He looked at the dead prince, Lhiam-Lhiat, for a reaction, but his face showed nothing but pity. “So it hasn’t slowed me down any.”

“Admirable,” said Stowe.

“I haven’t learned anything either,” Daniel said, the heat rising within him. “Whatever you were trying to teach me, it’s not getting through. I still don’t regret what I’ve done, and I still say I’d do it again.”

Stowe grinned. Fiall raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s a lesson? An educational exercise?”

“What else?” said Daniel.

“We don’t control the Night. We experience it like you do.”

“What?”

“We are tortured by it, the same as you,” said Stowe.

“And we will continue to be tortured by it until it purifies us-burns us away, strips us into nothing.”

“So I am being punished.”

Lhiam-Lhiat tilted his head. “Punishment implies that you may learn from this experience-that you may be corrected by it, in an objective sense. That is not the case. You are being destroyed, piece by piece, as plain as that.”

“But I see things there,” Daniel said. “I have visions, there are. . two riders. .” His head tilted forward as he tried to remember details. The riders had appeared to him a second time; he knew it. And someone else. . “You!” he said, pointing to Fiall.

Fiall sneered back at him. “Nobody sees in the Night,” he said.

“He is not one of our kind,” the prince said, studying Daniel. “It may be different for him.”

“Delusions,” Fiall said. “Anything you saw are delusions brought by pain and terror. Humans are intellectually weak.”

“That’s not the only difference between them and us.” Lhiam-Lhiat’s eyes studied Daniel’s. “There are times when I feel as though I. .” He looked away, to the horizon, and then back to Daniel. “If you do see anything in the dark,” he said quietly, “if the dark is trying to teach you something-let it. I feel it also. There’s a part of me that the darkness wants, that it’s trying to strip away, to get at. I don’t know if it wants to destroy it, or make me give it up, or if it even knows what it’s doing, but if you can survive and not diminish. . If you can find some way through-”

“You heartless sadists,” Daniel spat. It was his turn to sneer now. “You are trying to teach me something. Well, fine. I’m up to the challenge. I’ll get out of it yet.”

“You have some time before Night falls. Do you really want to argue with us,” Fiall asked, “or do you want to start running? You may be able to delay the torture for a time, however short.”

Daniel looked at him and thought about the Night, and it did make him want to run. How much ground could he cover, and how much time could he buy in doing so? An hour? Two? Less? Days moved slower here, but then spaces seemed to be larger. Even if he could put off the Night for just a few minutes, it would be worth the effort.

Then he looked at the three dead elves before him and thought, Why give them the satisfaction?

“I’m not afraid of the darkness,” he said, spreading his arms. “Let it take me.”

The Night reached through the walls just then and grabbed him.

Daniel solidified inside the window of the upper tower and just stood for a moment, stiller than still, his muscles completely at his command but receiving no orders.

This second Night had been harder than the first. He didn’t know if it was because he knew what to expect or if it really was more harrowing. He’d had hope that his new purpose in helping the Elves in Exile would give him something to cling to when the pain got bad-that he would feel that there was something worth going through this for-but somehow that hadn’t been the case. Whereas the first night had been so vivid, he couldn’t remember exactly what had happened to him in this one. He could only recall vague notions, like echoes of events, that bounced off the walls of his mind before they disappeared entirely. Had he made a deal with himself in the darkness to forget? Had he forced himself to do so in order to protect himself? Could he trust himself to remember if he needed to, or to forget if he didn’t?

He had awakened again in the plain, for the third time since his very first visit, like a repeating track. He laid there, wet and chilled, but not shivering. All sensation existed only in the Night; only sense existed here in reality. At least, he was accustomed to thinking of it as reality, but that line had now become very blurred. Here in reality all he had was an impervious body that felt no pain or softness. Or, if he chose, then a disembodied cloud of perception. Which was the nightmare? The reality where all was pain, or the reality where all was numb? And which was truly which, for there was numbness in the pain and pain in the numbness.

Then, with a physical start, he shook himself out of his reverie and started looking for Prince Filliu and the rest of the Elves in Exile. He found them, not at the mountain camp, but at the Fortress of the Plain, which was a series of ingenious trenches and sunken rooms in the middle of a wide expanse of flat land that left the horizon unbroken and invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there.

Daniel tried to get his head around warfare with wizards involved. That skewed things slightly. He didn’t know what the enemy’s magic capability was, but it would undoubtedly involve some sort of farseeing, or foreseeing. Which wasn’t, Daniel reflected, so much different to the modern warfare that he had been trained in during his very brief military career, what with satellite telemetry and communication, infrared, hi-res, night-time imaging, and smart-guided weaponry. That was a kind of magic as well, no doubt, from the point of view of the elves who were a race that was highly advanced but circumspect about even very basic technologies that involved metal. To them, bullets were “magic pellets.” Their science had obviously developed along different lines, due to metal’s natural toxicity to them.

Daniel paused at that thought. He was thinking in his normal way again, strategically, but something had happened to him in the Night that was brutal and horrible, and it had lasted for what seemed like years. What was it?

He searched through the trenches and bunkers, floating invisibly, until he found the true prince, Filliu. He was deep in the heart of the complex in a low-ceilinged rectangular hole that served as his campaign room and sleeping quarters. The two generals were there, looking stern and grave.

They looked up as he appeared next to them.

“Where did you go? You did not turn up at our agreed-upon rendezvous.”

“I. . was. . taken.” Daniel found it hard to form sentences.

“‘Taken’? Captured?”

“Yes, in a way. I was taken by the Night,” Daniel answered.