Robert Newcomb - A March into Darkness

The warriors again clicked their heels. “We live to serve!” they shouted in unison.

Walking back to the phalanx, Traax selected half of his warriors. Leading the twenty-five troops skyward, he turned to fly alongside the orb’s charred path.

Staying on track was more difficult this time, because the dark gouge blended well with the charred earth. Even from their height, the warriors could smell the scorched trees and brush. It smells like death, Traax thought. As he climbed higher he strained his eyes, trying to find the azure pass.

Suddenly he saw it. Twinkling icy blue, its shimmering face stretched high into the fog. The Tolenkas’ dark granite walls lay tight against its sides. Like they were begging to be released to the outside world, white light shards shot to and fro within its luminous depths. Again drawing their swords, the warriors warily landed about twenty paces downhill.

Motioning with his sword, Traax led his warriors closer. The heat was greater here, and warm cinders crunched beneath their boots. When they reached the five bodies, Traax let go an angry sigh. All the warriors lay dead.

Bending over, Traax unfastened the armor of one corpse and he looked at the warrior’s wounds. They were much like those the base camp victims had suffered. Standing, Traax sadly shook his head. After looking around he gathered his warriors.

“There is not enough material here to build suitable litters,” he said. “I want ten warriors to fly back to camp. Construct the litters there then return with them. After we have taken these fallen heroes back, we will cremate all our dead at once. Then we will take a well-deserved rest. Go now and hurry back.”

Ten warriors quickly took to the sky. Sheathing his dreggan, Traax watched them go.

Looking around, he spied another dreggan, its blade deeply embedded into a partly burned tree trunk. Walking over, he grabbed the sword’s hilt. With a mighty heave he yanked it free.

Traax held the blade to the sun. Like the other one he had examined, this blade was unstained. More than ever, he was convinced that these deaths had been Xanthus’ doing.

Beckoning his warriors to follow him, he walked to the pass. As they neared they were forced to narrow their eyes against the light. Standing before its majesty was nearly blinding, yet it gave off no heat.

His curiosity piqued, Traax gently inserted the dreggan blade into the shimmering azure wall. Like the pass was made of gossamer, the sword entered it effortlessly. From the wall’s opposite side, light shards danced to the metal blade like gathering Parthalonian fireflies. Retrieving the weapon, he again inspected it.

The shiny blade showed no sign of having violated the pass. He reached out to find the razor-sharp blade still cool to the touch. Perplexed, he shook his head. He looked over at his warriors.

“No one is to come closer than ten paces to this wall,” he ordered. “Is that understood?”

At once the warriors clicked their heels.

“You may rest,” he said.

Sheathing their swords, the grateful warriors started making themselves at home in their predecessors’ makeshift camp. They knew the litters would not be long in coming. His expression darkening, Traax looked back at the wall.

You were here, you bastard, he thought. My gut tells me so. You killed a dozen of my warriors then blithely went on to murder innocent Eutracians. Now you are on your way back and bringing the Jin’Saiwith you. I do not know how to stop you from taking Tristan into that azure void, but I must find a way. I believe all of our lives depend on it.

Turning back, he looked down the charred hillside and then to the ruby pin that Duvessa had secured to his armor. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever see her again. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes.

This was far from over.

AS HE WATCHED ENVELOPERS BY THE HUNDREDS UNDULATEtheir velvety sides, Reznik smiled. At first, traveling this way had seemed frightening.

He would have preferred sailing in comfort, aboard one of Serena’s war frigates. But the Citadel queen had ordered what remained of her fleet, manned by some of the consuls who had remained behind with her, to sail west and search for theJin’Sai ’s Black Ships.

At first she considered ordering the envelopers to perform the search, for they could range faster than her frigates. But Serena decided on her ships for the job, because her envelopers could not detect endowed blood. Most of her envelopers had stayed behind, guarding her island fortress from above.

As always, Reznik had been given no choice but to agree with his queen’s dictates. But as his confidence grew in the envelopers’ abilities, he soon enjoyed being carried through the sky.

Looking down, he watched the Sea of Whispers pass beneath him as its restless waves crashed against the Parthalonian coast. He hungrily breathed in the bracing sea air. Looking west, he saw that night would soon fall.

His group had been traveling north for eight hours, continually hugging the shoreline to avoid Necrophagian territory. This course also lessened the chances that they might meet theJin’Sai ’s fleet. Reznik’s impending experiments were paramount to the Heretics’ plans and had to be protected at all costs.

Reznik again regarded the hundreds of envelopers surrounding him. Despite their closeness, he could barely see them for their clever camouflage. Their backs were the color of the ever-shifting sea; their undersides perfectly mimicked the cloudy sky. Shaking his head, he marveled at them.

Many more enveloper pairs flew nearby. Between each pair stretched an azure net filled with supplies. Each net’s opposite sides were held fast to the envelopers’ backs by an especially clever spell. The elaborate spell calculations had been Einar’s handiwork, with Reznik consulting. Sitting on a net between another enveloper pair, Einar flew along beside him.

Reznik turned to look rearward. Dozens more camouflaged envelopers followed, each pair also connected by a net. More blue-robed consuls and Valrenkians sat in the nets, as did the various craft tools and treatises needed to conduct their experiments. Between another enveloper pair lay the consummately precious Scroll of the Vagaries. Reznik had cringed when he learned how it was to be transported. But as his fears for his personal safety subsided, so too did his concern for the scroll.

Waving an arm, Einar ordered a course change. Avoiding the port town of Everstill, the thousands of envelopers turned east. Soon they crossed the shoreline to go soaring over Parthalon proper. As green fields stretched beneath them, the envelopers’ backs quickly changed to mimic the new terrain.

Soon we will reach the great lake, Reznik thought. If things go as expected, Parthalon will be ours. The greedy partial adept could hardly wait. Grinning, he eagerly rubbed his hands together.

An hour later, Reznik could distinguish a huge lake lying in the distance. To his relief, he had seen no Parthalonians. That was welcome, because they wanted no alarms to go out. For the time being their mission was secret, but that would soon change.

Before the group departed, Serena and Einar had told him about the lake, and why it was so important. Even so, he was surprised by its massiveness. Its cold depths were said to be bottomless. As the envelopers descended, it came into better focus.

The lake’s waters were dark, and its shoreline highly irregular. A light breeze rippled its surface. Approaching from the west, Serena’s forces had also purposely avoided Trinity Downes, the town situated on the lake’s southern shore.

Waving a hand again, Einar ordered his envelopers to land at a spot on the western shore. No Parthalonians were about. As darkness fell in earnest, Einar, Reznik, and the handpicked consuls and Valrenkians jumped from their nets to the ground.