Wil Ogden - The Nightstone

“Sheillene is right,” Estephan said, “You deal with sadness with risk. You use the rush of the daring accomplishments to overcome the depression. You shouldn’t. It’s dangerous. I’m sure you can appreciate how being in a depressed state means you might not be performing to your best. If I know you, I know you take pride in how little risk you actually take. Stealing pouches from people fighting a battle is the biggest risk I’ve ever heard of.” Estephan looked around the battlefield a moment then said, “You were stealing from the living, right?”

“Steal from the dead?” Pantros asked. “Where’s the challenge in that?”

Heather then approached them. “I can’t see any Vulak left to burn,” she said.

“It’s good to see you,” Kehet said. “I’m sorry I left you alone in the city.”

“You left?” Heather asked. “The Wizards hadn’t let me leave the training platform until this morning when Mirica came up to get me.” Heather pointed to the woman in the white gown, who was walking towards them. “It seems that what I am to fire magic, she is to air magic.”

“Close enough, anyway,” Mirica said. She bowed and said, “Your Majesties, thank you for giving us the room we needed to come and save my brother-in-law and two of my brother’s closest friends. She looked at Pantros, “The healers didn’t fix that shoulder?”

“I haven’t seen a healer, yet.” Pantros said.

“Are you telling me you came through that almost unscathed?” Sheillene said.

“I don’t like fighting,” Pantros said. “That was always Bryan’s thing. I did my best to only engage in combat where there was little chance of the Vulak swinging back. It would have been easier, but my sword insisted I only attack from the front of the Vulak I chose to confront. There were a couple that got in my way that I hadn’t planned on. I wasn’t counting but my sword tells me I killed fourteen, which isn’t much compared to Marc, Bryan or you.”

“I didn’t count either,” Sheillene said. “But I can guarantee no one killed as many as the Wizard.”

“Are you okay?” Kehet asked Heather. He had kept count and the number of Vulak he’d killed was four and he felt remorse for having to do so. “You shouldn’t have been thrust into a battle.”

“Fire kills,” Heather said. “Learning to understand that is part of maintaining a Wizard’s calm. I’ve killed warriors prepared to die and I’ve killed innocents who never saw it coming. I can feel sad for the loss of life, but I cannot feel guilt for being the instrument of their death. The warriors I killed on purpose, but they understood that potential fate. The innocents I had no design to kill, but no one without training could control that rage, that power. I kill; it’s a part of who I am.”

“That’s disturbingly rational,” Kehet said.

“Wizards come in two kinds,” Heather said. “Pragmatic and insane. Being able to rationalize the results of our magic allows us to still care about the outcomes without being crippled with guilt. It means we maintain the emotional and intellectual facilities to choose how to use our power in the future. Those who can’t rationalize lose all ability to make those choices.”

“We should head to the city,” Sheillene said. “Mirica can you fly us all back?”

“That’s what I came over to tell you,” the woman in white said. “The healers are done, but Marc and two of the Abvi may not wake up for days. I’m going to fly them back, but I can take you all with us.”

“I’ll meet you at the palace,” Estephan said. “I trust your ability to fly us, but I can’t speak for my horse. Pantros, I will want to talk to you about my brother, later.”

“And I look forward to telling you about Prince Reginald,” Pantros said.

“Sheillene,” Kehet said, “Your ear?”

“My ear?” Sheillene’s hand touched the side of her head where her left ear had been. It didn’t find anything. “All I have is a little hole in the side of my head.”

One of the healers rushed over and stood with his gaze on Sheillene’s feet. “I am terribly sorry,” the healer said. “I didn’t notice the missing ear. I am afraid there is nothing that can be done now that we’ve closed the wound.”

Sheillene pulled back her hair, showing scarred flesh around a tiny hole. “This is permanent?”

“Can you hear?” The healer asked.

“That’s not the point,” Sheillene said, “But yes, I can hear. I’m just not thrilled about the idea of going through life looking like this. I know healers can regrow body parts, find one that can regrow an ear.”

“If we hadn’t healed your flesh, we might have been able to re-attach the old ear,” the healer said. “But we cannot do more than regrow flesh and ears are more than skin and muscle. Perhaps a Tempest could regenerate it. I’ve seen them do what you said and regrow limbs.”

Sheillene turned away from the healer. “I’m ready to head back, Lady Mirica.”

The woman in the white gown reached out to her sides and Kehet felt the wind pick up around his legs. The wind grew stronger though more densely focused closer to the ground. Then something pried his feet from the ground and he nearly stumbled. He stood on a wide disk of wind. Mirica pulled it from the ground and they floated back to the city.

The Abvi had launched an attack from the city gates when the Unicorns arrived. The Unicorns had focused on the demons, and the Abvi had simply formed into battle lines and advanced slowly to the enemy. In most cases the Vulak fled before the Abvi reached them. At the end of the day, the Demons were all dead, the Vulak were running back to wherever they came from and only three people died, though the number of people injured was far greater.

King Allaind announced a day of celebration and had the royal stores of wine emptied and distributed throughout the city. He then held a memorial for the fallen of the Battle of Melnith in his audience chamber. The gathering was small, only a couple hundred people. Sheillene and Pantros were among them, as was Marc who seemed as healthy as ever. Three bodies lay draped in sheets, two had swords and shield lain over their chests; one had only a very large sword.

Heather didn’t come to the memorial. After the battle, she kissed him goodbye and retreated back into her training chamber. As much as she said she was fine with what she did, she’d had a melancholy air about her since they’d come back to the city.

The king stood before his throne and said, “There is, among the Abvi of Melnith an Honor rarely given, and when it is, it is only to those whose actions preserve our kingdom. It is an award of such prestige that no Abvi alive has achieved it. Few do so and survive. Today we induct six into the Order of Light.”

An Abvi knight approached the king, holding a cushion in his hand. On the cushion, several pendants glowed. Each was attached to a blue and yellow ribbon. The king took one of the pendants and stepped over to one of the covered bodies. He draped the pendant over the hilt of the sword and said, “Elefth Tercloud, you are hereby inducted into the Order of Light, you have served with honor.”

He did the same with body of Vila Wythetone.

As he stood by the last body he said, “No human has ever earned any Abvi award of such prestige. He set the pendant over the huge sword and said, “General Bryan Aaronson, you have served with honor.”

He then returned to stand by his throne, “General Bryan is not the only human we induct today. Prince Estephan, if you would accept on behalf of your brother.”

The prince, who had been standing near the king, stepped forward. The King placed the pendant in Estephan’s hand. “Your brother, Prince Reginald, a king among men and Abvi, is hereby admitted to the Order of Light. He has served with honor.”