The Darkling Child

TWENTY‑ONE

USURIENT WATCHED IT ALL HAPPEN FROM NOT TWENTY FEET away, crouched within the convenient pile of rubble behind which he had dropped during the first few seconds of the encounter. He had not once given any thought to going to the aid of Mallich or The Hammer; his common sense told him that they were likely not going to come out on the winning end.

He shuddered now, remembering what had just witnessed. The crince, freed from its chain, going after what appeared to be a ghost image that had attached itself to Mallich and led to his demise. He could still see the crince ripping its master to pieces, tearing at him until nothing recognizable was left. And then the oketar joining in on the frenzied feast, all of them become maddened and uncontrollable in a matter of seconds.

He glanced down at his hands. They were still shaking. He hadn’t been able to stop them from doing so. That boy. What sort of magic did he possess? How had he managed to turn those savage animals against Mallich? How had he managed it so easily?

He picked up the flash rip from where he had dropped it and tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white, forcing his hands to be still. This wasn’t over yet. He looked up to where the boy and the girl were still locked in an embrace, arms about each other, heads pressed close. The girl, he thought, was as dangerous as the boy, although her methods were more conventional. She carried a weapon even more advanced than his own, a prototype that was supposedly in no one’s hands but those of its developers. Clearly this was not the case, and he found himself wondering how many others were out there that shouldn’t be.

His gaze shifted momentarily to the inert form of The Hammer, sprawled face–forward in the rocks, lifeless. That girl had taken him down with two well–placed shots, either of which would have killed him. She was skilled with that weapon, and whatever she and the boy they were to each other, they were a formidable pair.

Would they come looking for him? Not even knowing he was there, would they decide to mount a search just to see if they had missed anyone? He could face them, he supposed. He could kill one or even both of them perhaps. But did he want any part of such an encounter? What was the point?

It was Arcannen he had come to find, and the sorcerer hadn’t made even the briefest appearance.

He watched the boy and the girl separate, moving apart but still holding hands, talking now, their voices too low to hear. In a moment they would be on the move. What was he going to do?

He watched the heavy fog momentarily enclose them in its folds. Now he could see the crince snarling at the oketar, driving them back as it dragged the remains of Mallich out of the rubble and into the rugged terrain inland, warning off its competitors. The oketar were snarling back, but even together they weren’t a match for the crince, so they made no move to attack as it hauled its kill into the rocks and disappeared. After giving momentary consideration to the boy and the girl and deciding that wasn’t worth the attempt, the oketar moved off as well.

Usurient had just about decided to stand up and shoot both the boy and the girl before either could respond and then have a look around for Arcannen when a door set deep within the back walls of the ruins swung open and the sorcerer walked out.

“Did you hear that?” Avelene asked Paxon, stopping short of the crest of the ridgeline fronting their approach route to the coast.

“It sounds like animals fighting,” he said.

They had flown in during the early hours of the morning, departing Sterne before it was light and finding their way east by reading the stars. By then, the storm that had threatened early had blown south, taking clouds and wind and rain with it, leaving behind the beginnings of a warming trend that left the surface of the earth below covered in layers of brume.

Avelene had thought it might be best simply to fly into the ruins of Arbrox and confront whatever was happening there, directly. But Paxon persuaded her that Druids would intimidate neither Arcannen nor those hunters sent by Usurient to stalk the sorcerer. They would simply be putting themselves in danger by announcing their presence. It would go better if they landed somewhere far enough away that they would not be seen and walk in from there. It might take a little longer, but it would gain them an element of surprise.

But now, concerned about the sounds they were hearing, they picked up their pace. Paxon’s ears were sharp enough that he was certain he had heard screams as well as the guttural animal noises, which meant that some sort of attack was under way. The Highlander had his sword out, holding it before them protectively as he led the way. Nothing they encountered at this point was likely to be friendly.

The crest of the ridgeline elevated them to a view of a long, shallow depression in the terrain ahead marked by clusters of rocks and pockets of fog. They could just make out the ruins of Arbrox–broken walls and collapsed roofs, areas blackened by fire launchers and flash rips, a village destroyed almost beyond recognition. The growls of the animals had changed to something less clear, although the urgency was still there, and the screams had gone silent.

Something moved through the gloom, off in the distance, a huge figure lunging suddenly at something hidden from their view. In the next instant a pair of fiery projectiles struck it, and it fell to its knees and toppled forward.

Paxon and Avelene began running, scrambling down the rocky slope in an effort to get to the scene. The sounds of their passage could not be heard over the roar of the ocean, but there was danger in coming in too quickly and being caught by surprise. Neither could be sure who was up ahead. So when they descended the rise, the Highlander slowed their pace and made a sweeping gesture toward the mist–shrouded lowlands ahead, reminding his companion to be wary of hidden dangers.

As they drew nearer the battle site, they saw two people clinging to each other within the ruins, vague figures in the gloom. The giant lay sprawled nearby, unmoving. The animals they had seen earlier, beasts the like of which neither had encountered before, were moving off, the largest of them dragging what appeared to be the remains of a man. Paxon motioned for Avelene to get behind him, but the Druid ignored the command and instead moved sideways to put a little distance between them. Everything ahead was locked inside a sea of heavy brume that swirled in erratic circles and alternately concealed and then revealed the rocky terrain it covered.

Too much may be hidden in there, the Highlander thought. We have to be very careful.

They were within thirty yards or so when a door opened in the cliff face amid the ruins and Arcannen appeared. Paxon slowed involuntarily, a surge of excitement and exultation rushing through him. Avelene stopped, going into a crouch. The sorcerer, cowled and wrapped in his robes, a spectral look to his dark form, moved toward the embracing couple. The couple broke the embrace, and Paxon was shocked to see that one of the pair was the boy who had use of the wishsong, the one he had pursued unsuccessfully in Portlow.

The boy and his partner–a girl who looked to be no older than he was–had turned to face Arcannen when abruptly a man stood up from behind an outcropping of rocks to one side of them and fired a handheld flash rip at the sorcerer, half a dozen fiery charges slamming into the other. Arcannen simply flew apart, arms and legs flung wide, body disintegrating. An instant later, the attacker had dropped back into the rocks and out of sight.

But that wasn’t the end of the strangeness. A second man now appeared–a lean, feral–looking creature armed with a long knife who surfaced from behind the ruins atop the cliffs and dropped down on the couple as they shrank from the carnage they had just witnessed. As the man attacked the couple with his blade extended, the boy flung out his hands in a warding gesture, his cry filled with despair, the sound emitting a burst of wishsong magic that sent this new threat flying. Instantly the girl bolted for cover, but when she looked back, the boy was still standing where she had left him, staring into space. She turned back, seized his arm, and pulled at him in desperation, but the boy didn’t move. A moment later their attacker, recovering more swiftly than expected, launched himself at the girl, struck her a powerful blow, and knocked her to the ground where she sprawled, unconscious. The boy still didn’t move, and the man wrapped his arm about the other’s neck and, using him as a shield, began backing toward the cliff face. The boy went without a struggle, almost as if he didn’t realize what was happening.

Neither Paxon nor Avelene was quite sure who everybody was at this point. Given the likely possibility that the two attackers were part of the contingent sent to kill Arcannen, what did the boy and the girl have to do with anything? It felt odd that they should be here at all, especially the boy. Hadn’t he seen enough of Arcannen in Portlow to stay clear of him?

Paxon glanced over at Avelene. She seemed undecided, staring at the scene below. “What do we do?” he whispered.

No response. Then she looked at him wordlessly and stood up. Together, they began walking toward the boy and his attacker.

It took only a moment for the man to see them. A knife appeared in his hand, and he pressed it to the boy’s neck. “Where is he?” he screamed at them.

Both Paxon and Avelene slowed, confused. “Dead,” the Druid answered. “They’re all dead. Let the boy go.”

The man looked around wildly, noting the giant’s body and dismissing it. “Not them! The sorcerer! He’s not dead! Are you blind? Where is he? You answer me! You want this one’s throat cut, do you?”

He pressed the knife blade harder against the boy’s throat, but the boy didn’t even flinch. He just stared into space.

“Look down!” Paxon shouted at him. He pointed to the charred rocks and bits of tattered robe that lay almost at the man’s feet. The man glanced them and gave a shrill, wild laugh, as if this was the funniest thing he had ever seen.

Avelene kept moving forward, drawing Paxon with her. “Your fellows are all dead!” she called out. “You have nowhere to go. Let the boy go, and I will give you your freedom!”

The man spit at her. “You’ll give me nothing. You’ll do what I say or I’ll kill him right in front of you! You stay where you are.”

Avelene slowed, but not by much.

“How stupid are you, woman? You think the sorcerer dead? Just like that? Quick and simple, a flash rip does the job? Dead? He’s got nine lives and then some! He’s waiting us out–all of us–just to see who lives and who dies. Those that die quick are the lucky ones. But I’m not fooled because I see things you don’t!”

Paxon experienced a flash of uncertainty. Was he right? Was Arcannen still alive? But if so, then who had the flash rip explosions torn apart?

He knew the answer before he finished asking himself the question. Magic. The sorcerer had used magic. It was an image the flash rip had destroyed.

He separated himself from Avelene by a few steps, searching for a way to disable their adversary. If he could get close enough, it should only take a moment to render him senseless. But it would be tricky, and he would only get one chance. He hesitated, glancing at Avelene. She was continuing her own advance, white fire flaring at her fingertips, tense resolve mirrored on her narrow features.

“Wait,” she whispered at him.

The man continued backing away from them, working his way toward a gap in the ruins that would give him access to the coastline. “I’m not so stupid as these others, Arcannen!” he shouted at the ruins about him. “Not Bael Etris! I see you. You can’t hide yourself from me, witchman!”

The mist was shifting in front of him with such frequency that he was disappearing into it every few seconds. Any attack would be semi–blind in these conditions. But Paxon knew they had to do something.

“You want this boy dead, Arcannen?” Bael Etris screamed suddenly. “Show yourself or he’s meat on the–”

An explosion of smoke infused with a brilliant crimson light cut off the rest of what he intended to say, flooding the whole of the ruins surrounding Etris and the boy, completely enveloping both. At first, Paxon thought Avelene had caused it, but when he glanced over she was down on one knee, shielding her eyes from the glare. Throwing caution aside, knowing there was no time for it, he charged into the swirling miasma, the black blade of his sword alive with movement, its emerald light flaring in bright streaks against the crimson of the haze.

If he could just reach the boy …

But it was the girl he found instead. Blinded by the smoke and groping futilely for direction, she stumbled out of the gloom and collapsed at his feet. Kneeling beside her, one eye on his surroundings in case the next person to appear happened to be the one with the knife, he pulled her up and held her, whispering that she was all right, that she was safe.

She grasped at him in response, her words urgent, grateful. “Reyn, are you all right? I saw what happened to you! You used too much again, tried too hard! I warned you …” Then she stopped abruptly as she looked into Paxon’s face. “No! Where is he? What … ?”

Abruptly she realized he wasn’t the boy and pushed him away violently. She leapt to her feet in an effort to escape, but she wasn’t strong enough to free herself from his quick hands, and he brought her down again with a rough yank.

“Whoa, hold on!” he said. “Not so fast. No running away until I find out what’s going on.”

She struggled for a moment and then gave up. To her credit, she didn’t cry or whine. Instead, she faced him squarely. “You have to let me go! I have to find him! You don’t understand what’s happening!”

“I’ll give you that last part,” he replied, pulling her to her feet, one hand firmly clasped about her wrist. “So let’s go have a look and see if we can change things. What’s your name?”

She glared at him. Her delicate, beautiful features had turned hard and tight. “Lariana.”

“Sharp eyes then, Lariana. Don’t let us get caught by surprise.”

They advanced cautiously, but no one else appeared until after several long minutes a crouching Avelene materialized almost on top of them. Her appearance was so sudden that Paxon barely managed to stay his sword arm from striking out at her.

“Calm down, Highlander!” she snapped at him, flinching away. Her narrow features took on an ironic look. “We’re on the same side, remember?”

He exhaled in relief. “Can’t see anything in this stuff.”

“Why don’t we get out of it then, give the winds a chance to blow it away? Who is this you have with you?”

“Lariana. She hasn’t told me more than that, so far.”

Wordlessly, the Druid led them away from the ruins and the mist and out onto the rocky flats where the air was still clear. Paxon glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see that the crimson haze wasn’t dissipating. It was hanging motionlessly above the rocky terrain, almost as if anchored in place, its weight enough that the sea winds couldn’t budge it.

Avelene came close to Lariana, eyes fixing on her. “How do you come to be here?”

For a moment, it looked like the girl wouldn’t answer. It seemed to Paxon as she hesitated that she was making up her mind about something. There was an air of desperation to her that issued in part, no doubt, from her concern for Reyn Frosch. But he thought something more was at work, too. She was young and beautiful, and she was out in the middle of nowhere. That couldn’t have happened by accident, so there was a story waiting to be told and she was trying to decide how to tell it.

Or at least how much of it she wanted to reveal.

“If I tell you, will you agree to help me look for Reyn?” she asked.

She was looking at Paxon, but he held his tongue. It wasn’t his place to answer. “The boy?” Avelene asked. Lariana nodded, and the Druid shrugged. “Of course we will.”

The girl took a quick breath. “I was brought here by Arcannen. He took me out of Rare Flowers, a school for young women in troubled circumstances, and brought me with him to this place. On the way, we picked up Reyn. This was no accident. Arcannen knew who he was. I was to help persuade Reyn to use his magic, to practice with it. He never told me why. Then these men came, trying to kill Arcannen. But he disappeared, and Reyn had to face them alone. I tried to help him, but then … well, you saw. The man with the knife knocked me down, and then that mist swallowed everywhere and the man disappeared and so did Reyn …”

“What was wrong with Reyn?” Paxon interrupted. “He didn’t do anything to try to help himself. He seemed almost unconscious.”

Lariana glanced at him and shrugged. “He must have been frightened. I don’t know.”

Paxon was reminded suddenly of how his sister had looked after she had first used the wishsong’s magic and gone catatonic. The boy had worn a similar look, and he didn’t think the cause was simply fear.

“Why did you help Arcannen?” Avelene demanded before Paxon could pursue the matter. “Don’t you know who he is?”

The girl gave a sardonic smile. “I do now. At the time, I didn’t care. He was going to get me out of Rare Flowers, and he said he would teach me to use magic if I helped him. That was reason enough for me to go with him. I knew what would happen if I didn’t take the chance he was offering. No one else was going to do anything for me. Not anything I wanted them to do, anyway. I was on the verge of being thrown into the streets. They didn’t like me at Rare Flowers. I was too difficult, they said.”

“So this boy, Reyn, what kind of magic can he use?” Avelene pressed. “Have you seen him use it?”

Lariana shook her head. “I won’t tell you anything else unless you help me find him. Or just let me go so I can find him on my own. I’m not afraid to do that.”

Avelene smirked. “I guessing you’re not afraid of much. But there’s more to this than you know. We need you and Reyn to help us understand it. So you don’t get to do anything on your own. We can search the ruins together, if you want.”

This time Avelene didn’t reenter the red haze as Paxon had chosen to do earlier, but conjured a spell that brought the wind about from the ocean and caused it to blow the scarlet mist out over the choppy waters and away. It took considerable effort to achieve this; the haze was stubbornly resistant to her efforts. But in the end it dissipated and was replaced by the familiar sea mists of earlier.

With the way forward more readily visible now, the trio plunged ahead, scrambling until they reached the spot where Reyn Frosch had last been seen. It took them only moments, and then they stood together casting about the empty terrain fruitlessly. Then Lariana spied the open door in the cliff face, a black, gaping hole in the rock, and she charged over with a sharp cry, heedless of any danger. Paxon and Avelene followed, and quickly they were down the hallway beyond and inside the sorcerer’s lair.

Empty.

A swift search revealed the rooms were deserted, and Lariana stood staring about the central living quarters in a furious attempt to understand. “Arcannen has him,” she said finally.

“No,” Avelene said at once. “Arcannen is dead. I saw the man with the flash rip send so many of those projectiles into him there was nothing left.”

The sharp eyes fixed on her. “That’s what he wants you to think. But he’s alive. He’s alive, and he’s taken Reyn with him.”

“And left you behind?” Paxon asked. “Odd.”

“Not so odd. I was always expendable. Once he got what he wanted from me, once he used me to get to Reyn, to persuade him …” She trailed off. “I knew he would do something like this. I just hoped I would be able to keep Reyn close enough to prevent it …”

“But where’s the man with the knife?” Avelene wanted to know.

“Dead,” Lariana said at once.

“But what happened to him?”

The girl hesitated, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

“We need to go back outside!” Paxon said suddenly. “Have another look around.”

They departed the sorcerer’s, going down the hallway and outside once more into the open air, where they began their search anew, eyes scanning the ruins through gloom and shifting mists.

“There!” Lariana exclaimed almost immediately, pointing upward.

Paxon and Avelene turned, eyes shifting. The Highlander heard his companion’s sudden intake of breath.

A steel support rod jutted from the shattered walls of the buildings above where they stood. The body of Bael Etris hung from that rod, his lifeless husk pinned in place with enough force that the rod had passed completely through his body. His eyes were open and staring.

“So Arcannen is alive after all,” Avelene murmured, looking at Lariana. “And you think he took Reyn with him?”

Lariana was nodding slowly. “Arcannen has him,” she repeated. “But I know where they are.”