Chains of Mist (30 page)

Effortlessly.

He clenched his fists as first anger and then despair swept through him.
Am I so vulnerable?
he wondered.
So…helpless? How can I beat Rokan Sellas…if I cannot even control myself?

“Come, Admiral,” said Makree. “The Traika shamans will have sensed the battle. We have to go, before they can send reinforcements.”

It took a moment for Makree’s words to register. Finally Drogni heard, but he could not meet his fellow soldier’s gaze. Without saying a word, he retrieved his pistol, and then strode away.

It was as Rokan Sellas had said, back on Hilthak:
‘You are the Destroyer, Ortega. You are the Sword of Chaos.’

He left destruction in his wake. But the truth was worse; a truth he supposed he had known all along.

The truth: he carried destruction in his heart.

-14-

The hawk-nosed Penar fixed the three of them with a cold gaze, his wrinkled face alight with anger. “Explain yourself, Arex,” he said.

The Kastria
Dar’katal
stood defiantly, not yielding before the cumulative wrath of the
kat’ara
. “I was not aware, Penar, that my actions required any explanation,” he replied calmly.

Standing next to Arex, Drogni tried to mirror the Kastria
Dar’katal
’s confidence, but it was difficult. In his mind, all he could see was the Traika he had killed, scattered like broken leaves in the wind. The death he had caused, had
glorified
in, despite his promise that he would not let himself become the monster.
What good are oaths against such power? What good is anything?

Penar’s eyes bulged with fury, and he jabbed a bony finger derisively at Arex. “You enlisted the aid of outsiders in an act of war—a direct violation of the Third Rule of Den’ja, given to our people by the war goddess herself! Do not deny it—through the
to’laka
, we have
seen
your blasphemy with our own eyes!”

“Blasphemy?” Arex’s voice was soft, but Drogni heard anger rippling beneath the
Dar’katal
’s words. “Be warned, Penar: that is not an accusation to be uttered lightly. It is my right, should I choose it, to challenge you to mortal combat over such an insult, should it prove false. Tread carefully, old man.”

“Is that a threat?” Penar’s thin mouth twisted into a sneer. “Do you think that you can frighten us with heavy-handed words, Arex? You are not the supreme power in this land,
Dar’katal
—we are.”

“Calm yourself, Penar.” The speaker was the blind woman, Celora. “We discussed this before we called this meeting of the
kat’ara
—Arex has earned the right to explain himself. And as distinguished members of the
kat’ara
we have a responsibility to listen to our
Dar’katal
before passing judgment on his actions.”

Penar turned his angry gaze on Celora, but it was not possible to intimidate a blind person in that fashion, and he subsided. “Very well. Arex, please speak.”

The
Dar’katal
inclined his head slightly, the smallest possible gesture of respect. “Thank you, Penar. You are correct in some of the facts. This last night I, along with my personal
dar’kata
, raided an outpost of the Traika. I requested the aid of our two guests, and they agreed to help. However, this raid was not an act of war—its purpose was to free eleven of our warriors, who had been captured by our
a’dia
enemies. The destruction of the outpost was incidental. We were successful—of those eleven, nine have been returned safely, and the final two gave their lives valiantly to aid the escape of their brothers. Were it a common act of war, of plunder and slaughter, then I would not have included the outsiders—I know the customs, and I have followed them. I have complained of them, I have at times raged against them, but
always I have followed them
. There is precedent for my actions: when the children of the Most High Ja’nal were captured by the Demon Prince, the god sought the aid of Skar’ska, the barbarian
Dar’katal
, to recover them. Blasphemy, you say? I say: curb your tongue, before you say something you will regret.”

“We know the story of Skar’ska,” said Penar in a scathing reply. “Do not lecture us on the gods. The cases are different; the Most High Ja’nal was acting as
fai’la’if
against the Demon Prince. You, Arex, are no
fai’la’if
, and we all here know that your true purpose was not rescue—it was slaughter. That makes it an act of war—a violation of the Third Rule—”

“That is my defense,” Arex interrupted, his voice low and deadly. “If I am guilty of blasphemy, then so are the gods.”

That statement seemed to disturb Penar, for he did not reply immediately and a worried look came over his eyes. “You claim that it was a rescue mission, but the gods will see your true purpose and punish you as they punished the Helion of legend,” he said at last, but his voice was unsure. “You can lie to us, but not to them. If you have broken the Third Rule of Den’ja, the gods will punish you—”

“Then so be it.” Arex folded his arms across his chest, as if daring the white-haired elder to defy him. “I did what I did; if that damns me in the gods’ eyes, then so be it. I would not change my actions, even if I could.”

Penar thought on this, his eyes still flitting nervously at the implication that condemning Arex’s actions might be akin to condemning the gods. “This changes nothing,” he said. “You may have found one loophole to use these outsiders in your war, but you will not find another. They are still not of this tribe; they cannot fight alongside us. Understand, Arex, that what you do reflects on us all in the eyes of the gods—I have no wish to suffer eternal damnation because of you.”

“Then the solution to this problem is simple.” Arex turned his gaze upon each member of the
kat’ara
in turn. “Accept these two into the tribe. You, Celora, said that they had to earn our trust. I believe they have done so. What more do you need? Without them, the Traika will destroy us. With them, perhaps we have a chance. Choose.”

The elders exchanged glances, and on their faces Drogni saw apprehension and fear but also determination. In times of great danger, those in power had to be prepared to consider actions that they would never entertain otherwise, and the Kastria
kat’ara
was beginning to realize this. After several long moments of silence, Celora spoke. “Your words—your ultimatum—troubles us, Arex. And yet you are not wrong, which is even more troubling. We will discuss the matter, and we will not punish you for your actions last night.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Arex.

Penar gave a gesture of dismissal. “Leave us. We will send a messenger to you when we have reached a decision.”

* * * *

Austin stood in a dark room. Cold air swept over him, fetid and dank, and he shivered. The only light came from an unidentified source above his head, a faint, feeble illumination that sent long shadows everywhere.

An archway stood in front of him, beyond which yawned a gaping chasm that appeared to have no end. Just beyond the archway stood Justin, his arms hanging loosely by his sides, his face haggard. There was fear in his eyes, as if he could see his death coming for him but was powerless to stop it. His mouth opened, but Austin could hear nothing. All was heavy silence.

Austin tried to step forward, stretching his arms out, but a pair of hands reached out from behind him, grasping his wrists and holding him fast. He struggled, his movements growing frantic, but the hands that held him might as well have been hewn from stone. He could not break free. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he called out in desperation, “Justin! Justin! I’m here—I’m coming for you!”

Justin met his gaze then, and he bowed his head.
You cannot save me
, he seemed to be saying
. You cannot…

“No!” Austin screamed. “I can save you. I will…save…”

But Justin turned away from him and began to fade away into the darkness.

“No!” Austin screamed, writhing futilely against his captor. “No! Justin!”

But he could not break free. And a moment later Justin was gone.

Austin felt himself go limp, as if his life force had just been drained from him. “No!” he repeated weakly, the sound a whisper that barely escaped his lips. He sagged, but even then his captor held him fast, unwilling to let him free even though what he sought was gone, unwilling to relinquish its prisoner.

Austin turned his head, and saw the man standing behind him, holding him back.

The face he looked into was his own.

Austin awoke in a sweat. He sat up and ran a trembling hand through hair that was damp and matted. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart and clear his mind. But he could not shake the image of Justin disappearing into the shadows, or of his own hands preventing him from saving his friend.

The Belayas had been housing him in the
a’kali’a
, the same small building where he had first met with
Sho’nal
Taralen. Rising to his feet, he walked to the entrance, pushed aside the bo’al
weave, and stepped outside. The first rays of sunlight were just beginning to peek over the western horizon. Distant bird calls danced through the air, light and melodic as they ushered in the dawn. Dewdrops clinging to the low-cut bo’al made the village sparkle like a huge diamond.

Austin looked around him. It was still early enough that there was little movement. A few sentries stood guard in the watchtowers, and a handful of bleary-eyed villagers were already up and about, stoking low fires and tending to other similar tasks. Other than that there was nothing of movement or sound. All was quiet and peaceful.

Looking around at the sleeping Belayas village, Austin knew what he had to do. He had spent too much time here as it was; every moment he delayed was another moment when Justin was enduring unimaginable torments at the hands of Rokan Sellas.
The Belayas can’t help me. And even if they could, the cost to them would simply be too high. I can’t ask that of them. I have to do this on my own. Whatever the consequences of my actions, I and I alone will bear them.

At some level, Austin had known from the start that it would come to this. But fear had kept him within the confines of the village. Fear of the Traika, and what their magic-users might do to him if they caught him trespassing on their land. Fear of the various deadly beasts that he knew prowled the wilds. But mostly fear of Rokan Sellas, of the impossible and horrific feats of magic Austin had witnessed on Hilthak. Of Mari’eth warriors dissolving into dust, of five Tellarian soldiers drained of their life essence and tossed aside as empty husks. It was a power that Austin didn’t understand and didn’t want
to understand. The thought of facing it a second time shivered him to the core, a terrifying feeling of helplessness.

But Justin needed him. Austin had made a promise—to Justin and to himself. No matter the danger, he had to act. He had to do
something
. He would not simply sit idly by while his friend suffered.

His mind made up, he reentered the
a’kali’a
, gathered up his pack, and strode once again into the open air. He did not see the
Sho’nal
or Katrina as he walked through the village, for which he was glad. He had no wish to stop and explain himself. Especially to Taralen, whose skill with words was great enough that he could probably convince Austin to stay. Austin knew deep within his heart that if he did not leave now he would never be able to gather up the courage to try again.

The guards at the entrance looked at Austin as he passed them, but they made no move to stop him.
Probably glad to get rid of me,
Austin decided. There was certainly no love lost between him and the majority of the Belayas. Nor could he particularly blame them for their animosity. These were obviously perilous times for the tribe; the last thing they needed was to harbor a stranger who might potentially disrupt that fragile peace.

Once outside the village, Austin quickly made his way north towards where the great bulk of Nembane Mountain towered up like some earthbound god. He moved swiftly, determination lending speed and strength to his steps. He chose a path that skirted close to the edge of the forest without actually going inside, which let him keep clear of the sticky bo’al without having to pick a slow, painful route through the juraa networks
.
More of the tiny rodent-like creatures darted in and out of the undergrowth, occasionally stopping to investigate Austin’s feet with their long, wriggling noses. Irritated, he kicked at one of them, and the rest scattered to the trees. They eyed him cautiously with beady red eyes, chittering softly to one another.