Chains of Mist (32 page)

Then everything went black.

-15-

Aras Makree awoke with a start. His heart was pounding, and his hand had grasped the butt of his par-gun before his mind snapped fully awake. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, summoning the
at’sar
meditation of the Blood Legion. Within seconds his pulse had slowed to normal.
It was only a dream
, he told himself.
Only a dream.

But that wasn’t true. It wasn’t a dream—it was a memory.

Always the same memory
…

Makree stood before countless rows of bookshelves, an ancient library of prophecies. In front of him sat a single tome, opened to a specific page—on which were written the words that would forever shape two destinies.

As he stared at that page, a calm voice from behind him said, “Choose.”

One word, so simple, so benign, yet with ramifications that would echo across the skein of fate.

And, as he had done five years before, Makree made his choice.

It was now the third day since they had come to Espir, the fifth since they had left Tellaria, and every night it was the same—Makree’s dreams would inevitably lead back to that memory, that singular moment in his life that had defined his entire existence. That moment, where he had condemned himself to death and a friend to far worse.

And the question that had haunted him since then:
did I choose right?

At first, guilt and doubt had plagued him, and that single question had nearly driven him mad. He had responded by banishing his worries to the deepest chasms of his mind, focusing all of his energies on the present and on trying to forget the past. For five years, it had worked; his single-minded zeal, combined with his prior training in the Blood Legion, had allowed him to skyrocket through the ranks of the Tellarian military at an unprecedented rate, and no dreams of doubt had interrupted his nights. Occasionally, his thoughts would drift back to that moment, that choice, but he had never allowed them to reach full strength; eventually, they had ceased altogether. He had believed that he had reached a peace with his decision.

Until five days ago, when the Vizier had proclaimed that they would go to Espir. And then the floodgates of memory had opened; all the old worries and fears had rushed back in a torrent, forcing him to once again come face to face with his choice. And with those feelings returned the question, burning in his mind in every waking moment and pervading his dreams:
did I choose right?

Makree had thought that he had answered that question. But the truth was more elusive, more troubling—that there
was
no answer.

And yet the guilt remained.

Makree sighed and stood, shaking his head as if to clear the unwanted memories from his skull.
Soon, it will all be over
, he thought.
Soon, it will not matter anymore—at least, not to me.

Soon, my debt will finally be repaid.

* * * *

Drogni sat in silence on a rise outside the Kastria village, his par-gun in his hand. His eyes closed, he inhaled deeply through the breathing mask, held the breath for a long second, then exhaled. In his mind, he pictured a river, running calmly through an open field—a scene devoid of violence, of action, of any movement at all other than the casual meanderings of the stream.

A scene of peace.

Inhale…exhale. Inhale…exhale. Inhale…

A low rumble sounded in Drogni’s mind. The peaceful landscape began to shake. A ripple passed over the surface of the river.

Drogni concentrated harder, trying to calm his thoughts, to maintain his hold on tranquility. Inhale…exhale. In—

The rumbling grew louder, and over the shaking of the earth Drogni heard other, familiar sounds. The dull
thunk
of flint blades against flesh, the whirring of arrows, the sounds of battle and victory and death. Something stirred within him, a voice calling to him.
You were born for this,
it whispered.
Why do you hide from who you are? Why do you deny your destiny?

Drogni shuddered.
No! This is my world! I’m in control!
But he wasn’t, and he knew it; though he fought against it, his heart racing and sweat pouring down his face, he could feel his grasp slipping. The mental scene began to erode, the ground cracking and the river becoming a deluge. He saw men fighting, their weapons flashing in the sun. Three fighters stood out from the rest, and Drogni recognized the Traika whom he had brutalized. They wandered listlessly, blood streaming from their torn faces. Their voices raised in a cry of agony and lament. “
Why?
”

Drogni recoiled from the walking dead.
I’m sorry,
he tried to say, but no words came out. Instead, the field suddenly erupted with fire. A face arose within the flames, a face with burning eyes and a wicked, twisted smile. “
Accept your true nature, Ortega!
” Rokan Sellas hissed. “
Accept that you are mine!

“
Accept that you are mine!
”

A hand grasped Drogni’s shoulder. His eyes snapped open.
Die, Rokan!
Strong hands grasped his wrist; he spun, punching out with his free hand, catching a glancing blow against his assailant.
Die, you stelnak!

A voice split through the haze of Drogni’s rage. “Calm yourself, warrior of
Tel’aria
! It is I, Arex.”

Drogni hesitated, and in that moment his vision cleared. The Kastria
Dar’katal
stood before him, a look of alarm in his eyes. Drogni took a step back, in dismay over what he had almost done. His par-gun dropped from his fingers.
“I’m sorry, Arex—I didn’t see you—”

The
Dar’katal
raised his hand, cutting Drogni off. “Do not worry. You were not yourself. I saw it in your eyes; you were communing with your Inner Self, which we call
e’tana
. When one sinks into the realm of
e’tana
, it is often difficult to tell the real from the imagined.”

Drogni shook his head, trying in vain to silence the voice that still echoed there. “Yeah, you’ve got that right.”

The
Dar’katal
’s eyes grew pensive. “Tell me, warrior of
Tel’aria
, what you saw in your
e’tana
.”

Drogni shuddered. “Just an old enemy.”

“The same enemy you are hunting within Kil’la’ril?”

Rokan Sellas’s face rose up again in Drogni’s mind, and he felt bile in his throat. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

The
Dar’katal
clicked his tongue against his teeth in affirmation, and his eyes narrowed shrewdly. “I see, warrior of
Tel’aria
. And what did your enemy tell you?”

Drogni gritted his teeth against the memory.
Accept that you are mine!
Aloud, he said, “It doesn’t matter. He was wrong.”

Arex considered this. “Perhaps he was…but the
e’tana
never speaks idly. The words your enemy spoke may have been false, but they should not be ignored. There is a reason you saw what you saw, and heard what you heard. Remember that.”

“Yeah, I will.”
I know the reason. It’s a taunt, a trap. But I won’t fall for it
. “So, any word from the
kat’ara
?”

The
Dar’katal
sighed. “None yet,” he said, and his frustration was clear in his voice. “They will talk for some time, warrior of
Tel’aria
. I am confident that, in the end, they will agree with me…but I do not know how long it will take. Every day, every
moment
that they hesitate could be the one that costs all of us our lives.”

“How long do you think it’ll take before the Traika attack?”

“Not long.” The
Dar’katal
shrugged. “A few days, perhaps. And when it happens, there will be one battle to determine the fate of both of our tribes—and, if we lose, the fate of
every
tribe. The Kastria are the only people left with any hope to defeat the Traika. If we fail, all will fail.”

“Have you sent any emissaries to the other tribes? Offered an alliance?”

The
Dar’katal
laughed humorlessly. “They offered
us
an alliance—and we turned them down! The
kat’ara
feared that, by entering an alliance, we would provoke the Traika into all-out war, instead of the inconclusive skirmishes that we had fought until then. And, to their credit, they were probably right. But they did not predict the re-awakening of Kil’la’ril. And now the tribes that could have helped us—the
Sandahar, the Kedra, the Daraman, the Seramor, the Edala—are either destroyed or have fled. Those that remain are either too distant to help us or not currently at war with the Traika…although I fear that no peace can survive the power of Kil’la’ril. Warrior of
Tel’aria
, we stand alone.”

Alone and outnumbered, fighting an enemy beyond their power. And it’s all my fault. Not directly, perhaps…but if I’d done my job right, fifteen years ago, Rokan Sellas would have died and none of this would be happening.
“I’m sorry for bringing you into this, Arex. This isn’t your war. Maybe you should just leave. No shame in running from an enemy that you can’t beat.”

The
Dar’katal
thought about this for a long moment. Then he shrugged again. “Perhaps not. But if we do not stand against the Traika, who will? If we flee, the Traika will win, and eventually they will grow strong enough to destroy every tribe between the seas. If that happens, we will die with no possibility of victory. There are some who might prefer that alternative, to sacrifice any chance of long-term survival in exchange for a few more years of life. But I am not one of them. I will fight to the bitter end, and my warriors will fight beside me. It is likely that we will all die.” Arex chuckled, and a fierce gleam came into his eyes. “But I will go to meet the Sky Lord with Traika blood on my blade!”

Arex was so utterly determined, so utterly fearless, that Drogni felt ashamed for having suggested that he flee.
Yes, the Kastria may be alone; yes, they may be outnumbered…but they are not defeated. They are not willing to abandon hope. And if they aren’t, then I can’t either.
Meeting the
Dar’katal
’s gaze, Drogni placed his fist against his chest. “Then I would be honored to fight by your side, if you’ll have me.”

The
Dar’katal
mirrored Drogni’s gesture. “Warrior of
Tel’aria
, the honor is mine. However—” and his voice grew suddenly serious “—I must ask of you one favor. After the battle is over, and we have sent the Traika down to A’Lai Mar, you must leave our lands and never return. The weapons you wield are too dangerous for this land and for our people. Already, many of my warriors look upon them with greed in their eyes, and I myself confess that there are moments when I wish that I, too, could shoot fire from my hands. But such weapons would destroy us, warrior of
Tel’aria
—we would not know how to use them, and in our haste and our greed we would destroy ourselves. I have told my warriors that if they try to take your weapons you will leave and not aid us against the Traika, so for the time being you should be safe. But, once the battle is over, they will forget my warnings…and they will come for you. You must not allow that to happen. You and your people must leave, and never return to our lands. Promise me, warrior of
Tel’aria
.”

Drogni remembered the greedy, dangerous eyes of Cheradis.
Yes, there’s a man who wouldn’t hesitate to cut our throats if it meant taking our pistols. And who could blame him? If I thought I could get my hands on a weapon that would make me invincible, I’d probably take it too.
“You have my word, Arex,” he replied.

* * * *

The midday sun beamed down bright and warm through a cloudless sky. Yet as Lerana looked northward to the majestic splendor of Kil’la’ril she felt a chill spreading through her bones. It seemed as though a shadow fell over her, a shadow cast by no source. A shadow on her soul…and the soul of her people.

A darkness had come over the lands of the Traika. And nothing would ever be the same again.

It had begun two nights ago. A Kastria
tar’keta
led by their
Dar’katal
, Arex, had entered Traika land and made for the southern military outpost. They had sought to free the eleven warriors whom the Traika had captured four days earlier.

And they had sprung the trap that the Traika had laid for them.

Lerana and her fellow
to’laka
had been waiting, hovering over the outpost in spirit form. But when they had tried to harness their power something had blocked them—as if the air itself were shielded, its energy walled off and out of reach. They
had been able to do nothing except watch as the Kastria—aided by two strange-garbed warriors wielding weapons that spat fire and lightning—slew the outpost’s defenders to a man, rescued their captured brothers, and vanished into the night.