The Divided Knight - Chapter Twenty-Seven

Thaddeus blinked and the Vault changed around him. The change wasn't because of anything he did, but there was magic behind it – one of the enchantments Solanas had placed on Thaddeus's sword had triggered one of the myriad, overlapping spells that filled the chamber, which then had a very specific effect on Thaddeus, himself. Gone was the sickly green glow that had suffused the Vault before, replaced, instead, by a sterile white light that lit everything in the room uniformly, without any apparent variance in brightness or shade. All of the alcoves along the far wall were now empty and, with a start, Thaddeus realized both Zoe and Aylander had vanished. I'm not alone, though.

“Hello, again, Thaddeus.”

Turning toward the voice, Thaddeus was presented with a man who looked older than he had the last time Thaddeus had seen him, though not quite as old as he had the first. His eyes – Solanas's eyes – still glowed as blue as they always had, however, and, when Thaddeus looked at him, he gave Thaddeus a sad smile. “So,” he said, “you found him. Just as I asked you to.”

“I did,” Thaddeus said. “I haven't quite found myself yet, though.”

“Not surprising. Many of us go our whole lives without finding that. I, myself, didn't discover my true purpose – who I really was – until it was too late to do anything with the knowledge.”

“You were a Battlemage, and the first Magister of the Torvaran Empire. You defeated Atraxos the Black – for a time, anyway – and forged a peace that lasted two thousand years. What other purpose could you possibly have had?”

“I could have been the Nightslayer who slew the Hidden King and sealed the Sundered Halls forever. I should have been.”

For a time, Thaddeus said nothing. He understood the implication of Solanas's words. Solanas expected Thaddeus to be what he hadn't. But that was impossible. Even if the Nightslayers had been more than a legend, their time was long since gone. If they could be brought back – if Thaddeus was to become one of them – the means to make it happen had long been lost. “So, why weren't you?” Thaddeus asked.

“I was afraid,” Solanas said.

“Afraid? You?”

“Yes. Afraid of what I had to do in order to seize my destiny, of the horror I had to unleash. I couldn't do what I had to and, because of my fear, I sealed the doom of the very peace I forged.” His voice grew quiet. “And also condemned the woman I loved to a fate akin to being buried alive when I should have set her free.”

Though he wanted to understand better what Solanas meant, Thaddeus felt a sudden surge of anger. Had Solanas somehow manipulated events after his death? Had he guided things so that they would come to the point they'd come to, now? He he used Thaddeus, hoping that, through him, he could atone for those things he'd failed to do because he was afraid? And so what if he did? a voice in Thaddeus's head, which sounded a lot like Zoe's, asked. Is your anger at him going to undo anything that's happened?

“This is the last time you're going to appear to me, isn't it?” Thaddeus asked.

“Yes,” Solanas said. “You're very near the end, now. The time will soon come where you will be faced with the same decisions I was. I trust you will choose better than I did.” He suddenly smiled. “If Ilya did what I suspect she did, I probably shouldn't be worried. Her storytelling prowess was without equal and, in the end, isn't that all a prophecy is? A story of what is to come?” The blue light in his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Or of what may come?”

Thaddeus had no idea what Solanas meant, but a part of him sensed that Zoe might. Which means she's the key to me making the right choice, and that she can't know anything about what I'm seeing, now. “How did you die, Solanas?” Thaddeus suddenly asked, not knowing what prompted the question.

“I didn't, really. You see, after I stepped down as Magister, I lived for a while among the True in Eltara. They sensed my guilt, and I'm sure many of them suspected the reasons for it, but they did not judge me. I think they felt sorry for me, honestly. They did what they could to heal me, but they could never heal the intense loneliness I felt. And so, one day, I decided I'd had enough. And, when I did, I simply faded away.”

Magic had taken him. That was almost as legendary as the Nightslayers, but, if it had happened to anyone, why shouldn't it have been Solanas the Elder? “How do I become the Nightslayer?”

“You'll find that out soon enough. Trust in your companions. Trust in your family. Farewell, Thaddeus.”

“Wait!”

But Solanas was gone, and the Vault had gone back to looking as it had before the vision began. Beside Thaddeus, Zoe looked at him and arched a puzzled eyebrow. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You looked like you were somewhere else, and Aylander isn't in your sword, right now.”

“I'm fine,” Thaddeus said. He glanced at the far wall of the Vault, where Aylander worked to free the Sprite from the alcove. “How's he doing?”

“I don't know. He just started.” Zoe frowned, and Thaddeus had a vague sense of her touching him with her magic. The frown deepened when the answer her magic gave her was, apparently, not satisfactory.

“Are you all right?” Thaddeus asked.

Before Zoe could answer, the alcove Aylander was working on exploded, and the Vault was flooded with blinding, white light. An otherworldly howl filled the air – it came from the Sprite, Thaddeus realized, and was full of rage and anguish – and, for a moment, it seemed like the whole world was about to end. Then the light faded – it didn't go away completely, but it did fade – and the Sprite stopped howling, the howl replaced by a growling hum that, every few seconds, was broken by a snapping hiss that reminded Thaddeus of static electricity. Squinting, Thaddeus looked at the newly freed Sprite, which was much larger than the one at the Guardian's dwelling had been. Thaddeus also looked to see where Aylander was, but the spectral Eltaran was nowhere to be found.

“A foolish move, freeing me,” the Sprite said, its voice almost booming in comparison to that of the one back at the Guardian's dwelling. “You should have left me where I was, forgotten and alone.”

“You've been imprisoned here for centuries,” Thaddeus said. “No one deserves that.”

“Perhaps, but, now that I am free, who's to say I won't do to you what my brethren did to the others?”

“Do I deserve your vengeance? Do my friends? We freed you. We are not the ones who imprisoned you.”

A crackle of crimson energy coursed its way over the Sprite, and Thaddeus thought he could feel how unstable the fabric of reality was growing around it. “Be that as it may,” the Sprite said, “you still want to use me, which makes you no better than the others. I should send you to join them. Punish you as they were punished.”

“And what would become of you, then?” Zoe asked from Thaddeus's side. “We met a brother of yours not that long ago, and he implied that, even though he hadn't been imprisoned like you, he was still trapped. Would you still be trapped after you finished punishing us?”

The Sprite seemed to hesitate before answering. “No,” it said. “I would be free. The other Sprite you spoke of is bound. He may not have been a prisoner. He may not have had vile experiments performed on him. But he is forever tied to what binds him. I have no such limitation.”

“What if what he was tied to was destroyed?” Thaddeus asked.

“Impossible. Not even those who create constructs can destroy them. Only a Battlemage would have that power.”

Thaddeus let his eyes come alight. “I am a Battlemage, though. And I destroyed the Guardian. I destroyed that which the other Sprite was tied to. And, when I did, he said he still was not free.”

“You're lying,” the Sprite said, a frantic note creeping into its voice. “You're lying!”

“You know he isn't, Grandfather,” Aylander said, his voice seeming to come from everywhere at once. “You can sense his power, and I think you can also sense the potential of what he may become. Punishing him, or any of us, will not make you free. Oh, you'll be free of the Vault. You'll be free to roam above ground, again. But you will still be trapped, tethered to a world you should have left behind long ago.”

“There is nothing but this world,” the Sprite said, snarling. “Nothing!”

“That's what you've allowed yourself to believe. It's the same lie the ones who experimented on you believed. That lie allowed them to commit an atrocity, and, if you perpetuate it further, it will make you no better than they were. Is that what you want, Grandfather? Is it truly?”

“But, if this world is not all there is, what else is there? There is no afterlife.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Zoe said. “There is an afterlife, and we can help you get there. We can set you free.”

“You are a Sorceress!” the Sprite said, astonished. “Do you pray to Adarion, then? It is said the Lord of the Dead was the sole member of the Council to escape.”

“Will you help us?” Thaddeus asked. “Help us, and we'll set you free.”

A tendril of energy lanced out from the Sprite. It struck Thaddeus, but, when it did, he felt nothing. The tendril lingered for a moment, then the Sprite drew it back inside itself. “You carry a Scourger,” the Sprite said. “One that was forged in this very room. Perhaps my helping you will aid you in setting me free. Draw your sword.”

“Do it, Thaddeus,” Aylander said. “The wards were broken when I freed him.”

Thaddeus drew his sword. As soon as it was out, it was torn from his grasp, flying across the room toward the Sprite. Like the tendril of energy before it, the Sprite drew the sword inside itself, and then immediately began to flash, crackle, and spark. Colors strobed – red, blue, gold, white – and the Sprite hummed and growled. And then the sword was back out, hurtling across the room toward Thaddeus. Reflexively, Thaddeus snatched it out of the air. Its hilt was warm to the touch and, as Thaddeus looked at it, he saw the runes etched into the blade had changed. They also glowed blue – the same blue as the glow that came from his eyes.

“What have you done to it?” Thaddeus asked.

“Made it what it needs to be,” the Sprite said. “Your sword is no longer tied to this reality. It will cut through any armor, and can be used against creatures from the Abyss – such as the drake you fled from. It will also amplify your power. However, it is no longer a Scourger.”

“What about Aylander?”

“I want you to use my energy to forge a new body for him.”

Thaddeus shared a wide-eyed look with Zoe. “Can I do that?” he asked the Sprite.

“With the sword, and help from your Sorceress. Truthfully, the power to place his soul in another body has always been within you. By using my energy, though, it will give my final passing some meaning. You see, I still doubt the existence of the afterlife, and so I choose, willingly, to sacrifice what remains of my life so that Aylander – the grandson I never knew – can have a second chance at his.”

“But you've made it so there's no other way!” Zoe said.

“Indeed I have, Sorceress. Now, please, grant my final wish and do what I ask.”

“What do we need to do?” Thaddeus asked.

“First, extend your sword out toward me. Then, reach out with your magic and will it to start drawing my energy into the sword. At that point, Sorceress, grasp the hilt of the sword and begin channeling my energy out of it. Once you start doing that, the both of you will begin to work together, blending your magics to forge a new, physical body to house Aylander's soul.” The Sprite paused, and Thaddeus had a sense of it focusing its attention on Zoe. “Sorceress, though you will be being assisted by the Battlemage, the success of this task will fall mostly on your shoulders. I sense that you have knowledge of spells that, while known, were forbidden from use by my people. Remember those spells, now, and know that, if you fail, it will result in two deaths instead of just one.”

“I won't fail,” Zoe said.

“Then let us begin!”

Thaddeus leveled his sword at the Sprite. “One thing,” he said. “What was your name?”

“I don't think that's relevant,” the Sprite said. “I haven't been that person in a long, long time.”

Thaddeus smiled. “I think both of us know that isn't true. Now, what was your name?”

“Zolanos.”

“Zolanos. Very well, Zolanos. I swear to you that you will not be forgotten.”

“You honor me. Just as a grandson should.”

Grandson? But wasn't Aylander the Sprite's grandson? Thaddeus decided it was something he would wonder about later. He reached out with his magic.

Almost at once, energy began streaming from the Sprite and into the sword. As energy bled off of it, the Sprite began to dim, but Thaddeus hardly noticed – with its energy, the Sprite brought its memories, and as Thaddeus's sword took in the energy, his mind took in the memories. In a span of mere moments, Thaddeus learned all there was to learn about who the Eltaran Zolanos had been. In his life, which had ended its physical span eight hundred years ago, he'd been a scholar, a soldier, and a wanderer. Surprisingly, he'd often been at odds with the ideals of the True, though he'd never done anything to undermine them, and, in the latter part of his life, when he'd at last settled down and had a family, he'd supported his son's desire to join their ranks. Thaddeus was surprised – almost to the point of losing his concentration on what he was doing – when he realized just who Zolanos's son had been, and what it meant about the sons that son had gone on to father. Trust in your family, Solanas had said in Thaddeus's vision, and Thaddeus hadn't even stopped to think about what that might actually turn out to mean.

Thaddeus was brought back to the present by Zoe taking hold of the hilt of the sword. As she did, Thaddeus saw that both of them had begun to glow with the Sprite's energy, and that the Sprite had dimmed to the point of being little more than a pinprick of light. Thaddeus felt his magic begin to blend together with Zoe's, and saw that Zoe's lips had begun to move in a soundless chant. There wasn't a lot that Thaddeus had to do beyond maintaining his focus and concentration – Zolanos had been right about most of what they were trying to do being on Zoe's shoulders – but he understood that, if he let it slip, even by just the smallest amount, all would be lost and Aylander would die.

Suddenly, Zoe looked at Thaddeus, her eyes wide and glowing. Her soundless chanting didn't stop, but there was something in her gaze Thaddeus found accusatory. She knows about the vision, he realized. There were no secrets between people who blended their magics together.

Still looking at him, Zoe raised her free hand, palm facing outward. Energy streamed from her hand and, as it did, it began to coalesce into a solid shape. The shape was that of an Eltaran, an Eltaran who wore a blue tabard emblazoned with the symbol of the True on it, and, as the last of him solidified into place, what little light the Sprite still gave off was extinguished. With gasps from both of them, Thaddeus lowered his sword and Zoe took her hand away from the hilt. Silence, save for the sound of Thaddeus's own heart pounding in his ears, filled the Vault. Strangely, Thaddeus realized he didn't feel as tired as he should have, and a glance at Zoe showed she didn't, either. Hadn't they just done something that required a great deal of magic? They should both have been drained to the point of exhaustion.

“You two never cease to amaze me,” Aylander said. “You do such wondrous things so easily. Has it always been this way with Battlemages and Sorceresses?”

Thaddeus may not have felt as tired as he should have, but he was starting to feel the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes. Too much to hope there wouldn't be some consequence. “The least you could say, Brother, is thank you,” he said.

“Oh, don't mistake me, Thaddeus, I am quite grateful for what you and Lady Zoe have done. It saddens me that Grandfather had to sacrifice the last of himself for it to happen, but I am quite grateful.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Wait! Did you just call me 'Brother', Thaddeus?”

“Isn't it normal for two people who have the same father to call each other that?”

“I'm really surprised it took the two of you all that to finally realize it,” Zoe said. “I've known for days.”

Thaddeus looked at her. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

Zoe shrugged. “Oh, I don't know.” The playful look in her eyes vanished. “Why didn't you say anything about your vision?”

“Why didn't you tell me about the prophecy?”

“Are you two seriously going to do this right now?” Aylander asked. “I mean, we do have a pack of drakes to escape from, remember?”

Thaddeus glared at him. “You weren't like this while you were in the sword.”

Ayandler shrugged. “What can I say? Having a body again makes me feel, well, more like me. Now, can we save the lovers' spat for a more appropriate place and time?”

“This isn't a lovers' spat!” Zoe said. “Thaddeus has been keeping things from me!”

“And she's been keeping things from me!” Thaddeus said.

“I'm sure, I'm sure,” Aylander said. “Still, any . . . discussion . . . about that can wait until after we've dealt with the drakes. Don't you agree?”

“He's right,” Zoe said. She looked at Thaddeus. “But, afterwards, you and I are going to have a long talk.”

Thaddeus didn't answer right away. “All right,” he said finally. “Fair enough.”

“Just remember,” Aylander said. “Dealing with the drakes is only a small part of what we have yet to do.”

Thaddeus looked at him. “I'm so glad you're here to remind us of these things, Brother,” he said. “I shudder to think what we'd do without you.”

Aylander smiled. “As do I.”

Thaddeus snorted, but didn't say anything else. Together, they left the Vault.

The Divided Knight - Chapter Twenty-Six

Zoe and Thaddeus had taken refuge in a cave not far from the ruined Eltaran village. A pack of drakes – at least five of the creatures, and probably more – stalked the night outside, their intermittent shrieks and screeches, coupled with the inherent sense of wrongness that emanated from them, making Zoe's skin crawl. She was sure that, if they had to stay in the cave much longer, she'd eventually lose her mind and run, screaming, outside, where one of the drakes would make a meal of her soul – the myths all said they fed on souls instead of flesh, and Zoe, right now, had no reason to discount them. At least it wasn't dark, as Thaddeus had been able to conjure a faint ball of mage light and set it between them without drawing attention from outside. Apparently, the drakes weren't just immune to magic – they couldn't sense it, either.

“What are we going to do, Thaddeus?” Zoe asked, her voice hardly louder than a whisper.

“I don't know,” Thaddeus said. “How many times are you going to ask me that?”

“I'm sorry. Those . . . those things out there are just so wrong. I need to get away from them. I need to!”

“I know. So do I. But the minute we leave this cave, we're dead.” A drake screeched outside, very close to the cave opening, and Thaddeus cast a wary glance in that direction. “If only they weren't immune to magic!”

“Do you remember how they moved when they were chasing us?”

Thaddeus looked at her. “Jerkily, you mean?”

Zoe nodded. “Their motion was blurred, too. It was almost like . . . I don't know . . . like they weren't completely in phase. Like not all of them are in this reality.”

“If they aren't, that would explain why they feel so wrong, too.” Thaddeus's eyes grew glassy they way they did when Aylander was saying something. “Aylander thinks that might also be the source of their immunity.”

“It would make sense if it is. Magic can only have an effect on things with a solid existence in this reality. That's why spirits are immune, too.”

“Do you think there might be a way to draw the drakes fully into our reality?”

“There might be. I don't see how it would be possible to kill them, otherwise. And the myths all agree that they can be killed.”

Thaddeus's eyes glazed over, again, then he frowned.

“What did he say?” Zoe asked.

Instead of answering, Thaddeus spoke the spell – learned from her – that conjured Aylander. The Eltaran appeared at the edge of the mage light, back where the cave started to extend further into the mountain, his spectral form just barely visible.

“Though I am loathe to speak about it,” Aylander said, “the answers to many of our questions may lie deeper within this cave. If memory serves, we are in a shaft that leads down to one of the Vaults.”

“What's a Vault?” Zoe asked.

“It's a prison,” Thaddeus said. “A prison built for Sprites.”

“What?”

“Thaddeus speaks truthfully, if a bit crudely,” Aylander said. “Vaults were large chambers lined with iron where Sprites were kept so they could be studied. My people understood the Sprites no better than your own, and attempting to learn about them outside of a controlled environment proved to be a fruitless endeavor. When it was found that Sprites reacted in very specific ways when exposed to iron, we constructed the Vaults.” He paused. “The Vaults taught us much. They were largely responsible for making us what we were. In the end, however, they failed and, when they did, the Sprites betrayed us.”

“They betrayed you,” Thaddeus said, his tone full of bitter irony. “You built your empire on them. They were your slaves. They owed you nothing!”

Aylander looked at Thaddeus for a long time. “Perhaps you're right,” he said at last. “Perhaps we did misuse them, and, in so doing, brought about our own doom. My people have a long history of arrogance and hubris, and, one way or the other, it caught up to us. Still, the Vault this shaft leads to might provide us with what we need to escape the creatures outside. Is that not worth overlooking the misdeeds of the past?”

“In this case, I'd say it is,” Zoe said before Thaddeus could answer. Then she looked at him. “Isn't it?”

“I suppose,” Thaddeus said. He glared at Aylander. “This won't be the last time we speak about those 'misdeeds', though.”

“Indeed,” Aylander said, voice stiff. “I hardly dared hope it would be.”

Thaddeus rose, summoning the ball of mage light until it floated in the air above his head. Zoe – startled about the revelation concerning the Sprites, but feeling less indignant toward Aylander than it seemed Thaddeus did – came to her feet, as well.

“You know where we need to go,” Thaddeus said to Aylander. “Lead the way.”

They set off deeper into the mountain. Behind them, a drake shrieked.

“How many of these Vaults were there?” Zoe asked, surprised when her voice failed to echo off the massive chamber's iron-lined walls.

“The exact number was never disclosed,” Aylander said. “The only reason I was aware of this one was because it was the closest to my home village, and would have been where I was assigned had I not been made one of Atraxos's tomb guards.”

“Your people were ashamed of these places, weren't they?” Thaddeus asked. “They knew they were wrong, and that was why they didn't want to disclose how many there were.” He sneered. “And I used to think Eltarans were so noble.”

“Thaddeus,” Zoe warned.

“My people were just that, Thaddeus,” Aylander said. “People. We were neither more noble, nor less noble, than your own, though we sometimes tried to convince ourselves otherwise. We made mistakes, and I will freely admit that these Vaults may have been one of the worst. It is beyond my ability, however, to atone for it, and that is not why we are are here. Do you wish to say anything else?”

“No,” Thaddeus said. “Not right now, anyway.”

Zoe suddenly understood why Thaddeus was so angry. He knew – or thought he knew – more about the Sprites than Aylander did, and, for some reason, that knowledge made him feel like he had some kind of moral superiority over the Eltaran. And maybe he did. Zoe remembered the conversation Thaddeus had had with the Sprite back in the Guardian's dwelling. Were the Sprites manifestations of the souls of fallen Eltarans? And, if they were, had the other Eltarans known and carried out their “studies” anyway? It was a sickening thought, but, when she looked at Aylander, when she read the sense her abilities gave her of his soul, she couldn't imagine him being a willing participant in such an atrocity. He has been cleansed by a Scourger, however, she thought. Maybe it scoured that from his soul, too.

Aylander lead them deeper into the Vault. It was unnerving how silent their footfalls were as they walked, and Zoe, despite the room's cavernous nature, began to feel a growing closeness around her, as if, at any moment, something would happen that would leave her trapped here, hundreds of feet beneath the earth, with no hope of ever escaping. A glance at Thaddeus showed her he felt it, too, his eyes and head shifting from side to side, his hands clenching and unclenching as he no doubt itched to draw his sword – which was something that Aylander had warned them would elicit an immediate and fatal response from the wards protecting the Vault. Whatever Aylander hoped to find here, Zoe prayed it wouldn't take him too long – being in this place, she was finding, was worse than being in close proximity to the drakes.

“There,” Aylander said, pointing a finger that, in the sickly green glow that filled this place, Zoe thought looked more solid than it should have at the Vault's far wall. As soon as he did, a light began to flash inside one of the alcoves that had been built into the wall, the flashes alternating rapidly in color from white, to gold, to blue, to red. “How I had hoped, though it would have doomed us, to find them all empty.”

“Gods Above,” Thaddeus said, “there's a Sprite in there!”

“Indeed there is,” Aylander said, the dread in his voice unmistakable. “And, in order for it to help us, we must let it out.”

“How long has it been in there?” Zoe asked.

“At least four centuries.”

“Why is it still here?” Thaddeus asked.

“That is a question I have no answer for.”

“You're afraid of it,” Zoe said. “Why?”

Aylander glanced at her, then looked again at the alcove. The flashes were coming faster, now, and there was a twitchy agitation to them. The Sprite that made them was clearly not happy. “Because, in the time it's been sealed in that alcove, forgotten and alone, there is a high likelihood it has gone mad.”

“That's all right, though, isn't it?” Thaddeus said. “I mean, we've still got all this iron to protect us, don't we? Or doesn't it work on mad Sprites?”

Aylander gave him a flat look. “I don't know,” he said. “And the only people who would are, unfortunately, dead.”

“Pity.”

“Stop it, Thaddeus!” Zoe snapped. “If Aylander's afraid, he has a good reason to be. Of all people, I thought you'd be the one who understood that best. Constantly taunting him won't help any of us. Especially if we release that Sprite and it turns out to be unmanageable.”

“Zoe, why in Hel's name do you keep defending him? His people are the reason that Sprite is in that alcove. If it's gone mad, it's their fault, which makes him guilty by association. If he weren't already dead, I'd give him what he deserves.”

“I see. So, you'd execute him, would you? Kill him for the crimes of his ancestors? What makes you think you have that right?”

“Zoe, don't you see? When they locked the Sprites away in here, the Eltarans took away whatever freedom they had. They used them. They made them into things they weren't ever supposed to be. And then they forgot about them. Someone needs to be made to answer for that! Someone!”

“You mean someone needs to be made to answer for what happened to you,” Aylander said.

“Shut up!” Thaddeus snarled, turning on the Eltaran. “This isn't about me! This is about you! And what you did to your own ancestors!”

“But I did nothing to them. I regret what was done, and sorely wish there was a way I could undo it, but there isn't. Just as there was no way for Lady Zoe to undo all that was done to you. She was able to do more for you than I can for them, however. Did that not make it right, at least in part?”

Thaddeus looked like he wanted to say more – there was even a brief moment when he started to go for his sword – but then he relaxed, his shoulders slumping as he looked down at the floor. Before he could start weeping – which Zoe was sure would be coming next – Zoe reached over and placed her hand on his arm, sending him a small pulse of healing energy. Zoe wasn't surprised Thaddeus still had some resentment about what had happened to him – the Wanderer had been full of it, and that was still a part of him, even if it had been subsumed since he had been made whole – and found she wasn't hurt by it, either. Thaddeus was grateful to be whole, again, and Zoe knew the love he had for her was genuine and unchanged. Any outbursts he might have could be forgiven, provided he didn't take them too far. Which the prophecy states I must not allow.

“Is he all right?” Aylander asked.

“He will be,” Zoe said. She looked at him. “How do we free that Sprite?”

“I will attend to it.” He started to move away, no longer seeming so afraid.

“Aylander,” Thaddeus said, opening his eyes and raising his head.

Aylander paused and looked back.

“You don't deny they're your ancestors anymore, do you?”

“No. There is no point any longer. Why continue to deny something that's been known for thousands of years?”

“I'm sorry, Aylander.”

The Eltaran gave a sad smile. “So am I. For this, and for a great many other things, besides.”

Zoe couldn't help but wonder what else Aylander was apologizing for. Probably best I don't know, she thought. Some people's secrets should remain their own.

The Divided Knight - Chapter Twenty-Five

Garrold emerged from the flames on a platform surrounded by trees. The platform had not been a part of the larger network connected by transit spells, but Garrold had somehow been able to find it – he'd been drawn to it, in fact, almost as if it had been a platform left specifically for him to find. He suspected part of his finding it had to do with his being a Spellbinder, but he also a had the sense there was something else behind it, as well. Had the Spellbreaker who had broken the transit spell back at the castle known a Spellbinder would follow in her wake and then done something to mask the platform he was now on from the rest of the network without disrupting it, something that would call to him the moment he remade and utilized the spell she had broken? Garrold strongly suspected that that was the case. Who were you? he wondered. What were you trying to do?

The platform Garrold had emerged onto was in a stretch of forest just to the east of where King Lyrian's forces had made camp for the night. Garrold began to head in their direction, then stopped, looking down at himself. Luckily, he was no longer dressed in his bedclothes from the night before, but the simple clothes he wore, now – cloak, tunic, breeches, and boots – were not clothes that were meant for battle. Plus, he had failed to bring his sword, or any other weapon of any kind. What would Garrold do when he confronted the king's forces? How would he face down the creature that lead them? He was fairly certain harsh language wouldn't work.

You're a mage, idiot! he thought. Do you really need a physical weapon when you can use magic?

But how much magic would Garrold be able to wield using nothing but intuition? While it was true that he had already done several impressive things – not the least of which was create a spell which had summoned the spirit of his dead wife – how much more could he do without really knowing what he could do? Taking a deep breath, Garrold decided that none of that mattered. He was the Duke of Telvany, and his people were in danger. Stalling here in the forest and worrying about what he could do to protect them would not serve them. He set off.

It took Garrold about an hour to leave the forest and step out onto the plain where the king's forces had camped. The night was clear and cold, the moon a sliver in the western sky, just above the line of the trees. The King's Guard, whose forces probably numbered between five hundred and a thousand, had set up their tents in a fairly standard military fashion, and had lit only what torches were absolutely necessary. From where Garrold stood, he was able to see two sentries standing outside the nearest tent, and sensed the spell that had been placed on them that would keep them awake and alert. Drawing himself up to his full height – deciding that, to start with, anyway, he would approach his enemies with every bit of ducal air that he could muster – Garrold started toward the tent.

“Halt!” one of the sentries shouted. “Who goes there?”

“Garrold Hilstren, Duke of Telvany!” Garrold shouted back. “What is the meaning of this incursion into my lands?”

“These are the king's lands as much as yours, Your Grace,” the sentry said. “Something our commander feels you may have forgotten.”

“Does he, indeed? Fetch your commander for me, then. I wish to speak to him.”

Garrold sensed the sentry's nervousness – his fear – as he answered. “The commander is not to be disturbed,” he said. “If you wish to speak to him, it will have to wait until morning.”

Garrold stepped closer, summoning more of his magic – enough, he knew, to make his eyes start to glow. “I don't think it would be very wise of you, son, to make me wait until morning to speak to your commander,” he said. “Get him for me. Now.”

From deeper within the camp came a blur of motion. It streaked over to where the sentry stood, and, when it stopped, a tall, pale creature, with upswept, pointed ears and wearing black, leather armor had joined him. The creature, whose armor was emblazoned with the symbol of a blood red serpent, reeked of magic, and, as Garrold watched, it pulled an enormous, rune-covered sword from a hilt it had strapped to its back. “You wished to speak to me, Your Grace?” the creature said, derision dripping from its hissing, raspy voice.

Garrold summoned enough magic to make his eyes blaze with blue light. “Only to tell you that you, and the force you command, are not welcome on my lands. From this day forward, these lands are protected, and no one holds sway over them but myself, and my heirs.” Garrold used his magic to enhance and amplify his words. “Leave Telvany, creature, or you, and any who follow you, will die.”

“So, you are a mage,” the creature – who had to be some kind of twisted, evil form of Eltaran – said. “But you are a mage who knows not what he can do. Your powers will not save you from the bite of my blade, Duke, and, when I kill you, your people will be helpless before what is to come.”

“That may be so, but they are my people, and I will not sacrifice them without a fight.”

“Then die, fool!”

Multiple things seemed to happen at once. First, Garrold became aware that, hidden within the trees he had just come out of, a large group of people – maybe as many as fifty, and all giving off a faint magical signature which was all but identical to that given off by his brother – waited for the signal that would tell them to emerge and attack. Before Garrold could wonder why he hadn't noticed them earlier, that signal came, an ululating cry, amplified by magic, splitting the night. The cry was followed by a throng of figures in dark robes, each of them carrying a staff carved from ash, rushing out of the trees at a dead sprint. Except for the sounds of their bare feet striking the ground, they came toward the camp soundlessly, and, as the seconds passed, their speed increased until they became blurs that streaked passed Garrold and into the camp, the two sentries having no time to react before being knocked to the ground.

The creature Garrold faced, who had been momentarily distracted by the monks' sudden appearance, turned back to Garrold, snarling as he raised his sword to strike. Garrold dodged to the side, then launched himself into the air, hurtling his opponent and landing behind him before he had even finished his first swing. Targeting the sentries – and only having the barest idea of what he wanted to do – Garrold flung his hands out to his sides, twin balls of blue light streaking out toward the two men. When the spells struck, the sentries sprang up as if the monks had never knocked them down, then turned and hurried into the chaos the camp had become. If everything worked the way Garrold hoped, those two soldiers, as they fought alongside the monks, would free other members of the King's Guard from whatever spell their commander had put them under to make them follow him.

There was a red flash as the commander's sword made contact with the shield Garrold had thrown up around himself. Spinning around, Garrold conjured a fireball and flung it at the Eltaran, narrowly missing him as, hissing, he ducked out of the way. In a flash, the Eltaran was back on his feet and attacking, hacking and slashing wildly with his sword, each blow rebounding off Garrold's shield with flashes of red light that came so fast it was as if Garrold had acquired a flickering halo the color of blood. Garrold knew the flashes for what they were – rents in the fabric of reality – and he felt the power within him starting to swell, feeding off the energy that was being unleashed. He's making me stronger, and he refuses to attack me with his own magic. Doesn't he realize he can't beat me this way?

Before his opponent's next blow landed, Garrold unleashed a torrent of radiant energy – a blast made of nothing but pure force – at him, throwing him backward and causing him to lose his grip on his sword. Garrold summoned the sword into his hands, then, using nothing more than his own force of will and the power surging within him, snapped it in half across his knee. Now, he'll attack me with magic.

Except the Eltaran didn't. Instead, he started begging for his life.

“Please, my Lord,” the Eltaran said as Garrold stood over him, the two halves of his sword still in Garrold's hands, “spare me. Allow me to leave, and I swear I will never return.”

Garrold was puzzled by the Eltaran's behavior – didn't he understand that, if he just used magic, he might stand a chance of winning? – but decided not to let it show. “I doubt your master will give you that luxury,” he said. “He'll send you back, and, when he does, you'll die, anyway. But, you see, I want you to go back. And take this message with you.” Garrold waved his hand and there was a hiss as the crimson serpent on the Eltaran's armor was burned away. “Tell your master that Garrold Hilstren, Magister of the Torvaran Empire, has declared the days of the Crimson Serpent over. This time, they will be dealt with once and for all, and never again will their filth be allowed to blight the world. Now go!”

Once the Eltaran was gone, skittering off into the night like a whipped dog, Garrold turned toward the camp. The fighting had started to quiet down, and, as Garrold watched, a soldier and one of the monks emerged and walked toward him. They stopped a short distance from him, the soldier giving a respectful bow, the monk resting on his staff and smiling one of those damnably serene smiles Garrold so often saw on his brother's own face.

“You have something to report?” Garrold asked. He had released his hold on most of his magic and, with it gone, was beginning to feel exhausted.

“Just to let you know that, with the exception of a few holdouts, we're yours, Your Grace,” the soldier – who, Garrold suddenly realized, had been the sentry that had challenged him when he'd first approached the camp – said.

“Well,” Garrold said, feeling woozy, “that's good news, isn't it?”

He never felt the soldier and the monk catch him as he collapsed.

The Divided Knight - Chapter Twenty-Four

Thaddeus stood on the edge of the platform, looking out toward the east. For some reason, he wasn't surprised to not be looking out on row after row of towering, snow-capped mountains – the Guardian's dwelling apparently stretched almost the entire breadth of the Ivory Spires, its eastern end opening out on where the mountains began to descend before disappearing all together at the point where they bled into the gently rolling rills that comprised the western plains of Eltara. From the lore the Wanderer had known, Thaddeus understood enough to realize that the view he looked out on hadn't always been so gray and barren – Eltara had been green and full of life, once, an idyllic paradise where no one had wanted for anything. So much for thinking there might be something left, Thaddeus thought. If only Zoe hadn't disrupted the transit spell!

If she hadn't, Atraxos might have had his prize by now, Aylander said, his soul once again inside Thaddeus's sword. And you're forgetting the new powers she received from the Abbott. He took us from the ruins of Athelden to his abbey without using a transit spell. It stands to reason that Zoe can do something similar.

It stands to reason. Thaddeus chuckled and shook his head. You already know she can, Aylander. I can sense that you do. What aren't you telling me about what she's become? What does it mean for her to be a Priestess of Adarion?

It means many things, most of which you will simply have to experience to learn. What I can tell you, however, is that she is now one of the most powerful magic users in existence. Women like her were once called Sorceresses, and were considered by some to be goddesses made flesh. They weren't, of course – Sorceresses are just as mortal as any of us – but their power was never to be questioned. And Battlmages, like yourself, had no greater allies.

Because they can augment our powers, like she did when we faced that Sword Priest.

Precisely. And that was no Sword Priest, Thaddeus. Based on how Zoe dealt with him, he was even more Twisted than I was. Or less, as the case may have been.

Thaddeus didn't need to ask Aylander what he meant about their latest foe being less Twisted than Aylander, himself, had been. That creature had embraced his Twisted nature completely – had reveled in it, in fact – and showing him mercy of any kind would have been unthinkable. That was ruthless reasoning, Thaddeus knew, but ruthlessness was something that had become a part of him since being made whole.

“You're brooding,” Zoe said, walking up to stand beside him. “I'm not sure how well it suits you.”

“You might have to get used to it,” Thaddeus said, looking at her and smirking. “I am a whole man, again, after all.”

Zoe smiled. “You are that.” The smile turned wicked. “Too bad I couldn't have left you as two whole men. That could have been . . . interesting.”

Zoe's wicked smile, coupled with her words and the tone she'd spoken them in, made Thaddeus's blood grow warm, and he had to fight to keep from taking her right then and there. It wasn't the time for that. Not yet, anyway. “I'm sure one of me will be more than enough.”

Zoe winked. “So am I. Now, what were you looking so stormy about?”

“I was thinking about how we were going to get out of here without the transit spell. At least, I was until Aylander reminded me about your new powers. Then I got to thinking about that . . . thing . . . Aylander and I fought, and how ruthless I was in deciding it was right that we showed it no mercy.” Thaddeus looked out toward Eltara, again. “I'm finding this new, darker side to myself a little hard to get used to, still.”

“And yet you don't doubt the rightness of the decision, do you?”

“No,” Thaddeus said. “I don't.”

“Good. Because it was the right thing to do. Some souls are beyond saving, and it's best they be done away with before they can do any more harm than they already have. Demons are born, otherwise.”

“Demons.” Demons were the worst of the Abominations, and were the only kind that could appear independent of a Necromancer's spell. Despite that, however, there had been no substantiated reports of demons since before the founding of the Torvaran Empire. “Atraxos has become one, hasn't he?”

“No. He's become something worse.”

Thaddeus looked at her. “What could be worse than a demon?”

“One of their lords,” Zoe said.

“Atraxos has become one of the Lords of Darkness?”

“I'm almost certain of it.”

“That would mean he has some sort of direct contact with the Sundered Halls!”

His book, Aylander said. Not only was it his prison, it is also the source of his power. And, if he combines its power with that of the Amulet of Adarion, he could open the Sundered Halls.

“Which would free the Lords of Darkness,” Thaddeus said. “Gods Above!”

“I don't know what Aylander just told you,” Zoe said, “but I suspect he has an inkling of how Atraxos was able to contact the Sundered Halls, and that whatever power it has, coupled with the power of what he seeks, would be a very bad thing for everybody. We need to get moving.” Zoe closed her eyes and turned her head, then, as if suddenly remembering something, opened one eye and glanced back at Thaddeus. “You know, why don't you do it?”

Thaddeus frowned. “Do what?”

Zoe looked at him with both eyes. “Take us where we need to go.”

“But, I don't know how. Remember? That's your area, not mine.”

“You can do it, too. And we don't need to ride the wind, either. Light would get us there much faster.”

“But, I don't know the spell!”

That's because there is none, Aylander said. Not for someone like you, or like her. Magic will obey your thoughts, no matter how complex the thing you want it to do is. Your power is truly unfettered. And you have no idea how envious that makes me.

Thaddeus grinned. Oh, don't I?

“What did he say?” Zoe asked.

“That you and I make him envious. Now, where should I take us?”

“Anywhere. After Atraxos. But it'll have to be in small jumps. What we can do doesn't have the range of the transit spell.”

Make for the Plateau of Leng, Aylander said. I will help guide the journey.

Thaddeus closed his eyes. An image of where they would emerge from their first jump – a village that, in Aylander's memory, was pristine in every detail, even having a fountain in its square around which Eltaran children laughed and played – appeared in his mind, and with it came an impulse to go. Thaddeus fed that impulse with light, drawing it seemingly from the very day, itself, and, all at once, he was moving. Zoe came trailing after – it was like they were caught up in a wave of some sort – and then, almost as soon as they'd left, they had arrived at the village from Aylander's memory.

Except the village was nothing like how Aylander remembered it. Its stone buildings, so white and unblemished, before, were now gray and broken. The fountain in the village square was dry, and had crumbled into a barely recognizable ruin. There were no children, either, or any other people of any kind.

This was your village, wasn't it? Thaddeus asked Aylander.

It was, Aylander said. A very long time ago, it was.

Something nearby – something that had to be alive even though Thaddeus couldn't sense it – screeched. And then a black thing, with small, leathery wings and a snout like a river lizard, emerged from one of the ruins. Thaddeus knew what it was – there were few who wouldn't, though the creature was commonly thought of as mythical – and seeing it turned his insides to ice with terror.

“Gods Above, that's a drake, isn't it?” Zoe asked.

It was, and, according to myth, where there was one drake, there were more. And drakes, just like their larger kin, which included wyverns and dragons, were immune to all forms of magic. “Run!” Thaddeus shouted.