Halfstone: A Tale of the Narathlands (12 page)

“It had better,” said Sinin, rising. “But in case it does not, let
us celebrate now and die later. Jon, do you have drink?”

“You have your priorities in order, my friend,” Jon said with
elevating spirits. “The answer is yes, I do. Let me fetch us some wine. We must
share mugs!”

They did indeed share mugs. Jon retrieved enough dusty wine
bottles from a small cellar to supply a tavern for a week, many of which were
hastily claimed by Sinin who proceeded to down them as if his life depended on
it. Aldrick also found himself drinking more than he judged to be wise. It was
a fine wine, made from the merry grape—a rare berry found only in the eastern
provinces, Jon had proudly told him. Télia expressed her appreciation of it,
but drank sparingly, instead spending time in the kitchen preparing food. She
insisted that they must fill their stomachs.

“We have an early start and a long journey ahead of us, my
friends,” she said, resisting Sinin’s attempt to claim her as a dance partner.

Jon was by the fire playing a jolly tune on a flute and dancing
with Aru. It was a peculiar dance with lots of small jumps and spinning that Aldrick
had never seen before, but then again, he had never been much of a dancer.

Aru appeared to be enjoying herself, though like Télia, she had
refrained from consuming much wine. She was smiling, unlike upon her arrival.
Second to Jon, she was the oldest among them. Her face bore the permanent
markings of many trying days—serving in conflicts under the command of the
Synod, Aldrick supposed.

He had chosen to distance himself from the dancing and stood near
the kitchen, separated from Télia by the bench. He used it to rest an elbow on
while he drank.

“Are you feeling all right?” Télia asked, catching him staring
down into his mug.

“I’m fine thanks,” he replied. “I was just considering that I
should probably put my drink down and keep my mind afloat. There is nothing
worse than waking to a throbbing headache.”

Télia laughed. “I have had my fair share of such mornings, which
is why I cautioned you all. We need to keep our wits about us. There could be
danger at any time, even tonight.”

“Let your guard down, Télia, there will be no danger tonight. Be
merry!” Sinin had overheard them talking while he clumsily refilled his two
mugs.

Télia sighed. “Fine, but I will not drink like you. I intend to
preserve my dignity.”

Sinin bowed.

“Princess,” he said, then returned to dance with the others.

Télia’s mood did brighten after that point. With Aldrick’s help,
she served a sumptuous dinner of goat meat and fresh vegetables from Jon’s
garden. The smells quickly drew the others to the kitchen bench.

“Simply delicious!” exclaimed Jon, sampling the vegetables. “What
herbs did you use, dear?”

Télia shrugged. “Just a whole lot. In Daraki, everyone loves
cooking. My grandmother taught me all the secrets of making vegetables the
tastiest part of a meal. It is a trick she used on me as a child.”

Jon chuckled. Aldrick was glad the mood was light. It was what
they needed. Beyond tonight there was no knowing when they would next have time
to unwind and enjoy each other’s company. Moments such as this affirmed to him
that they were doing the right thing. It was not reckless going after Malath, nor
was it heroic. It was simply just.

At a late hour, after they had filled their stomachs to excess,
they found themselves collapsed on and around the seating area, with the flames
of the fire ever faithfully providing warmth and soothing light. The food
seemed to have dulled the effects the wine had on Jon and he now rekindled talk
of the journey ahead.

“We will follow the valley path as far north as convenient then
make way across the Lonely Province,” he said. “When we reach Old Capital Road
I will follow it to Galdrem. You four will continue on into the Blackbed Plains.
The fort won’t be difficult to find. It burrows into a solitary mountain in the
north.”

“So, first the Lonely Province and then the Blackbed Plains? Both
those places sound awfully cheery,” Aldrick remarked.

“The Lonely Province inherited its name after Prithe fell. Since
then it has been all but deserted. It is a land of forgotten beauty. Blackbed, on
the other hand… you will know that place when you see it, Aldrick.”

Sinin yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Right now I wish only to know
the comfort of a soft surface beneath me.”

Jon rose. “Yes, it is indeed time for us to rest.” He bid them
goodnight and made his way upstairs to bed.

Sinin and Aru claimed the area by the fire. They had brought their
own sleeping gear. While they settled down, Télia beckoned Aldrick to her room.
He went gladly.

“Sleep on the floor in here,” she said, handing him her spare
pillow.

“All right,” he said, hiding his disappointment. Spending another
night in the same bed as her was perhaps a little too much to ask.

Télia glanced into the living room then spoke in a whisper. “It
may seem silly to you but I was taught never to trust one whom I don’t know or
know of. I won’t have you sleeping in the same room as Aru.”

He was puzzled by this. Wasn’t Aru also an aera, entrusted to
protect him? She might not be the most polite person in the world, but was
there really any reason to distrust her? He let it go. He was happy to once
more spend a night in Télia’s close company, hopefully not to be interrupted by
any visitors of ill-will this time.

They spoke no more. As they lay in silence there was much on their
minds. Their fates were uncertain. Come the morning light, they would set out
toward dark and dreadful things.

8

DARK
AND DREADFUL THINGS

Flame was absent from the many candles that lined the walls.
Malath preferred it this way. He felt a resonant sense of seclusion within the
shadows. Behind him the statue of Akimr, The First Wielder, stood, headless and
scorched by the heat of stormfire. It was a befitting state. Akimr had once
made a deplorable choice—to embrace a life amongst the putrid and stifling
human race. They were empty vessels, all of them. They possessed no storm, no
higher purpose and no desire for one. It was he, Malath, the almighty one, who
had come to his senses and seen that the only way toward an enlightened world
was to first see humankind extinguished from it. The long years he had spent
cursed to be as one of them had not swayed him from his will to turn old
desires into reality. The time was growing near when he would have unspeakable
power and the ability to make them so. Galdrem quivered at his feet. The
remnants of the Synod were trapped, cowering in a corner behind a feeble
warding enchantment. He could crush the life from them if he did so desire, yet
he retained hope that they would see the light and join him, that they would
stand with him when the time of the cleansing came. The very thought of the
cleansing made him shudder with anticipation and pleasure.

He rose and took a long, deep breath of the stagnant air. The
smells of fire and blood lingered. He closed his eyes and summoned two souls
from the somnolent world of the Life Afterwards to his presence. Slowly, they
appeared like twilight mist—pallid reflections of their demised physical
counterparts. One was a vast figure that engulfed much of the hall and, without
confinement, disappeared beyond the stone walls. It was curled up in a slumber—a
colossal mound of ridged stone, a dormant volcano. The other levitated before
him, staring at him through dark, sinister eyes—a simple, stout figure, just as
Malath remembered him.

“My lord?” The figure spoke in a distant, echoing voice. “My lord,
it is my honour to be summoned before you.”

Malath placed a hand over his heart. He was humbled by those
words. “Dron, your allegiance never fades, not even in death. Soon, though, you
will be back at my side. At this very moment my servants seek out your burial
chamber. I shall bind you to your bones and you will walk in this world once
more.”

Dron rubbed his hands together. “I yearn for that day, my lord,
and I lust for vengeance on those who took my life.”

“You will have it, Dron, as I shall see my own endeavour
complete.” He gestured to the massive soul beyond him. “That is Aashkara, a
dragon of old. I shall resurrect her also. She is to help me gain access to the
Shard of Heart’s Storm. No enchantment will withstand her fury.”

Dron gaped at the dragon’s soul.

“A fearsome beast to behold!” he exclaimed. “With her allegiance
victory is all but fated.”

“Oh yes, none now stand in my way. There were murmurings of some
bastard offspring of my defiler, but my sweet sister sent servants to end him.”

“Good. Very good.”

A deep, menacing grumble began that echoed around the hall and
sent tremors through the floor. Aashkara opened her lizard eyes and raised her
head. “Storm wielder, my longing to fly with air beneath my wings grows
difficult to bear.” Her cavernous tones exuded might and ferocity.

Malath stood his ground. He needed to appear steady in the wake of
such immense power. “You shall be able to very soon, Aashkara. I swear it to
you.”

“Yes, I shall.” She closed her eyes again and rested her head. “I
await my resurrection. Do not prolong it or else when I awaken you will find my
temper… unruly.”

“Very well.” Malath released Aashkara’s soul back to the Life
Afterwards. Her ghostly form dissipated into the shadows like thinning smoke.

“Do you trust the dragon?” Dron asked. “She is a force not to be
reckoned with.”

“Oh, she will do exactly as I say,” Malath said confidently. “We
have already reached an agreement. One she will not retreat from.”

“Why is that?”

“She believes in forgotten myths. She believes that if she
destroys Darkna her kin will be freed from eternal damnation.”

Dron nodded. “Ah, I see. Very cunning. You are very much your old
self, my lord.”

“As you shall be your old self soon, Storm Brother.”

Dron bowed his head low. At a wave of Malath’s hand, he faded
away.

Alone again, Malath began to laugh. His dream was soon to be
fulfilled. He would have lordship over these lands, and perhaps one day those
beyond the horizon too!

He heard footsteps and spun around. A silhouette appeared at the
far end of the hall which sparked anger in him. “Sister, why have you not left
from this place? Did I not request you to oversee preparations for the
resurrection?”

Selayna approached him with a lofty step. Candles sprung to life
around her, illuminating her figure. Her drathen-blue dress flowed like a flame
in a breeze. “Dear Brother, the task you set me upon was indeed important, but
it needed not my personal attention. I sent some faithful in my stead. I
remained here, to have a little fun.” She took a carving knife from her belt
and brandished it before her. It was stained with blood.

Malath’s frown lingered for a moment longer before he relaxed.
“Well then, I see you have done no wrong.” He seated himself. “Now tell me, Sister,
just what wickedness have you been up to? Why do you bear such an obsolete
weapon?”

Selayna twisted her face into a cheeky sneer. “I’ve been using this
knife of late for I have realised humans simply cannot comprehend my powers.
They know not what our storm can do to them, Brother. But this little knife—they
know exactly what it can do and when they feel it sever their flesh, the pain
they feel… it is more real to them. That makes inflicting it all the more
enjoyable. They writhe and squeal like little piglets.”

Malath chuckled. “Your macabre tendencies worry me. I fear your
mind hangs from but a thread.”

“Nonsense!” she snapped. “My mind is well intact. I but bleed
animals, soon to go to the slaughter anyway, and that will be your doing, not
mine.”

“Indeed it will.” He stood up. “Have you pictured it, Sister?
Thousands of Sanswords arisen, my word their will. Cities will fall at their
feet. The people will decay to bones, and we… we will stand and watch it
befall.” He grasped his sister’s hand and stared into her widened eyes. “We
will stand as the gods of this world.”

She gasped. “We will, won’t we?” Her eyes welled with tears. “Oh Brother,
words still fail me. You are my saviour. All those years in death, my soul was
tortured with the deepest despair. All I wanted was to be back at your side.
You granted me that wish and brought me back, and now, now you offer up the
world. I thought that dream long lost.” She buried her head in his robes and
sobbed uncontrollably.

Malath held her close to him. “Sister, do not fret. Nothing is
lost. I know with absolute certainty that I shall never lose you again, for the
day I die we shall go forth into the Life Afterwards, together.” He kissed her
softly on the forehead. She raised her head and stared up at him through wisps
of damp hair. He felt warmth in his heart. He loved her dearly. It had nearly
destroyed him when she was killed. Seeking revenge had offered little solace.
That he might one day be able to return her to this world was the hope that had
seen him through these past decades. The cleansing would be unfulfilling
without her close, irreplaceable comfort.

He guided Selayna to her feet and took her hands in his own. “Go
now and see yourself well attended. Mingle with our kinfolk. Spend no more time
with those who are damned.”

She wiped tears from her eyes and smiled weakly.

“As you wish,” she stammered, then hurried from the hall.

It was silent once more. Malath stood, now not quite knowing what
to do with himself. He was comfortable within the confines of his own mind,
though. In past years he had grown partial to it. Much of his time he had spent
in solitude, wandering the weathered wilds. Everything was soon to change,
however. Soon he would be lord of these lands and his kind would look to him
for guidance. They would honour him.

He made to exit the hall. As he walked, the statue of Akimr crumbled
to the floor behind him, obliterated by the mere desire for it in his mind. It
was soon to be replaced with a statue of his own figure; of one worthy to stand
above all others.