| The eyes of the Feldenaim were glazed over white with old cataracts, their cold stares were without pupils. They rushed at Jenya as one, a wordless screech ringing through the too still air. The flesh of the assassins was paler than the corpse of a drowned man. They were clad in fitted white breeches, long white tunics and leather boots that came to the knee. Their hair, silvery white, was pulled into topknots. Their Greyblades were simple: long pieces of metal untainted by poisons and far from ornate. The only characteristic that made them unique was the way light folded, refusing to glint off of the unremarkable metal. Moving without thought, Jenya cursed Kelnai for taking his weapons away as he ducked and scrambled behind the soulless. The assassins turned slowly to face their target as if they had all the time in the world. The world became a blur and before Jenya understood what happened one of the Feldenaim was behind him, the other in front raising the Greyblade to take off his head. Again the Sun-Chylde ducked, thrusting both fists out to his sides to strike his attackers in their stomachs. They drew breath sharply, all three at once. As Jenya's fists sank into their targets a great shock of cold raced across his skin, settling in his chest and hindering his breath. The Feldenaim grinned icily as they drew the warmth from the Sun-Chylde's body, the grins turning to beams as Jenya began to scream in the grip of the Feldenaim. His vision was covered in white as he drowned in ice. His throat burned from the force of his cry and a single tear - clear, as very little in this world would make him shed gold-hued tears - leaked from his eye as the warmth was pulled from his veins. He fell to his knees, striking someone's severed limb hard. With snow in his eyes he felt as if his skin were frozen and was slowly flaking away. His muscles cramped and seized, he felt almost like he were being crucified. Jenya's face sank into something warm and wet, against his freezing skin it seemed like liquid flame. The world slipped away into the cold and Jenya felt himself slipping with it. From far away he heard the sound of icicles ripping frozen flesh - the cold, dead echo of the laughter of the Feldenaim. His scream reached a pitch he wouldn't have believed he could reach and in desperation he slowly formed words. The echoes of laughter faded as the Feldenaim backed away from Jenya, moving as one towards the descending stairs. Warmth returned painfully to Jenya's limbs as he screamed the words of fire and warmth, over and over. The world returned in a haze of red, he could not blink the blood out of his eyes. His ears picked up the sound of the assassins rushing at him again. Jenya commanded his body to move out of the way, to jump, to run - to do anything but lay there in that huge puddle of blood - but his limbs still felt frostbitten. Magi Song began to pour from his mouth, words he'd have never guessed he knew, and the Greyblades began to glow with a white-hot light. The Feldenaim hissed and tossed their blades to the ground, and Jenya found the will to force his iced muscles to contract, relax, contract - moving in a blur to the blades his attackers had held. In the dead whiteness of the eyes of the assassins, Jenya saw a link to all the hurts he had endured. He saw in the dull glaze a reflection of all of things that had gone wrong in his life since Kelnai had showed up... Kelnai... A Greyblade in each hand, he advanced on the Feldenaim, gripping the hilts angrily. Jenya slashed at the space in front of him without any actual target, knowing only that he was very cold and very tired and very pissed. The faces of the icemen were void of anything, except the need to make someone suffer. Their faces exhibited no fear or surprise, not even when they rested on the floor next to their arms, legs, and what was only barely discernible as a torso. "What ha..." Kelnai's voice trailed off as she gagged a little, staring at all of the bloody limbs that littered the hallway. Jenya turned to face his wife, his eyes still dulled slightly from the cold, his vision tinted red from the blood that covered his face, dripping into his eyes. "Your friends failed," Jenya spoke to Kelnai and Shorin, who had just stepped out from behind the ex-Mage, holding the tiny diamondine daggers covered in bubbling red. "What friends?" Kelnai shook her head, not understanding. Jenya moved away from the pile that had been the icemen, not taking his eyes away from his wife's face. "All they did was get rid of your menagerie. You people need to learn to stop trying to kill me. All of those missions against the 'evils from the Rift' couldn't do it. Acharya's Magi couldn't do it, those rank winged bastards couldn't do it, that blue-haired wench's pets couldn't do it... Why don't you and your dark master just give up already?!" "Jenya, you don't understand,"Kelnai was trying to talk over Jenya, to explain to him that they needed to get to Trinlayra before one of Torankhayel's goons began smashing the statues, but the Sun-Chylde was not listening. He was too tired to hear any of the words that poured out of the mouths of his wife and son, urgently trying to recount to him the words that the Sun-Chylde's father had choked on with his last breaths. "Just shut up. I don't give a damn about anything more you have to say. We are leaving, the three of us, now. We are going to Trinlayra to see Dharin's statue, and to decide what should be done with it. And if either of you get in my way, slow me down, or try to knock me unconscious on the way, I will take your head off without a second thought." Kelnai turned to Shorin. "Go ahead. Put those knives away," she whispered softly to the little boy. With a single motion Shorin let the weapons fade suddenly back into nonexistence. "Ehan tael'esdollaken ech..." Shorin murmured softly as he passed Kelnai, soft enough that Jenya would not hear. He has lost it... Kelnai murmured an assent. "Come on. I don't care about talking to Aendar, or hearing what my father had to say. I don't trust any of you, or the games you play. Let's just leave." Jenya held tightly to the Greyblades. He hadn't any idea where his weapons were since Kelnai took them away, and he wasn't sure if he ever expected to have them back from her. Besides which, the Greyblades were as light as a hair, as strong as diamonds, better than any weapon they'd found in Arsibaeth. The three of them descended the stairs, finding the common room and the entry way into the inn suspiciously spotless. No blood, no limbs, no people... until they reached the main desk. Aendar's eyes gazed at his own body dully on the floor. He had been shown no more mercy than Saerifahl, Sha'en and Lalreth had seen from the hands of the Feldenaim. So much for the hope in the old man's eyes. "Fortunate you didn't want to talk to him," Shorin smirked as he eyed the man's flattened throat, which had somehow found its way onto the ceiling. "Be quiet," Jenya snapped as he made for the stables. He didn't bother wondering where the wagon was. He wasn't going to stop long enough to need food, or something soft to sleep on. Daylight was well past gone by the time the three had gathered their mounts. The ride from Shivralliah into the woods south of Trinlayra, between Delkenar and the Bastion of Shanra, took the better part of four hours. When the horses could run no more, Jenya called for his wife and son to stop. Her mount looked as if it would soon drop dead from exhaustion. They had bought horses in excellent condition, used to long hauls but not marathons. At the leisurely canter to which most animals were accustomed the trip they had just made would have taken twice the time, at least. "We'll stop here long enough for the horses to catch their breath and graze a bit, then we're back on the road. I want to see Dharin's face before midday tomorrow." The soft golden whisper in Jenya's mind told him that his friend's dead, stony face would hold the answers he sought. He needed to get to Trinlayra. "Jenya," Kelnai whispered softly, glancing at her husband's son as the boy patted his mount's neck. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" "No, darling," he spoke bitingly. "I haven't the slightest idea. But I know that you want me to turn back and you are the last person in this plane I would listen to right now." The part of him that was in control now didn't care about the hurt in Kelnai's eyes, or the resignation to the hurt. The part of him that still cared went away the second the Greyblades first sank into the flesh of the icemen and if he got his way, would probably never come back. But with the part of him that cared, the part of him that questioned - that would have asked why she simply stood there unmoved against the barrage of accusations - had been stifled as well. "Have it your way, dear." Kelnai sighed heavily, reminding herself that this was all very necessary. If she was still the person she had been before Serfahlen had fallen into the ground, she would have never stood for the verbal abuse. "That's the plan." Jenya turned his back on the ruby-haired woman, moving over to where his horse stood, examining the animal and trying to judge how much more strain the creature could stand. At the same time he wondered the same thing about himself. How much more would it take before he completely snapped? Of course, that all depended on whether or not he had already lost it, and just didn't realize it... If he did lose his mind because of all this world had put him through, would he know it? "Change of plan," Jenya said. "Untie the horses, we'll continue on foot until they're ready to run again." "Why is this so important to you?" Shorin muttered. "You know he's dead, what more do you think you'll see?" "I don't know, and I don't care. But I have to do this, and you will stop questioning me before I knock the both of you out like you've done to me so many times." Jenya tugged on the reins of his horse, ignoring the feeling that Shorin was smiling inwardly. For as big as the party was - six strong counting the horses - they made almost no noise at all. The sounds of the thin forest echoed in the night air. Everything seemed so much colder now to Jenya and he wondered if the Feldenaim hadn't done irreparable damage to him. If so, it would just be one more thing to add to the count, the long list he kept in his mind of all the odds stacked against him. There was a slight wind whispering over the strained birdsong that echoed through the leaves of the dying trees. Everything in this world was dying lately, at least that seemed to be the case throughout the whole of Dorimseral. In Arsibaeth he'd heard reports of rivers drying up, entire households simply dropping dead from mysterious diseases. The simple people of this world had taken to saying that any person who died without discernible cause had died from a plague. Not the plague, that would imply that they were certain that it was only one thing causing the people's heart to stop midbeat. But it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered now, except that Jenya needed to see the statue that had been his best friend in the whole of Sharan'akar. "Why are you stopping?" It only just registered to Jenya that both his wife and son had ceased to move. Their horses had broken away from them, skittering off to the south, just as Jenya's own mount was trying to do. Tired of fighting the animal, Jenya let it go. He reasoned with himself that the horse would probably not have lasted another day of riding anyways. "Just leave them," Jenya sighed. The only thing he regretted about the animal's flight was the loss of his trophies - the eyes of the Feldenaim. He'd refused to let the Greyblades out of reach, stealing the sheaths each of the assassins had worn. "We keep walking." "Jenya," Kelnai started to pick up her pace so that she could walk next to her husband, to tell him that the sudden stillness unnerved her. Then she remembered that he wouldn't have cared. Not yet. "Hm?" Jenya grunted to Kelnai, who told him to forget it. They moved past brittle trunk after brittle trunk before sound returned. Kelnai would have breathed a sigh of relief, but the sound that came back didn't belong. A shrieking filled the air, combined with the sound of flesh and fur being ripped savagely. Kelnai darted ahead, startled and curious, but stopped dead once the source of the cacophony came into clear view. Blood and entrails were spread across a long stretch of barren ground. On the other end of the massive clearing, a patchwork Mage with obsidian hair and eyes of pure black was busying himself with shredding a stag. He turned his eyes to Kelnai, big dark pools of absolute nothing, and dropped what was left of his meal. "You," she gasped. Every Cleanser, each of the Taer'shal, and most of the regular people in the world knew about the patchwork Mage. They'd all heard of the hatred that radiated from him, the glee with which he'd used his Rites against the completely innocent. From the stories Kelnai had heard, the kindest of Sylvae's Rites made Kehredhanai - the Rite Seer had used to cover the Lariian Fields in blood and worse - look like a simple binding Song. Kelnai turned to run back to Jenya, to warn Shorin not to come near this man - what she had assumed was a man, simply gone as insane as the stories had made him out to be - but a breath from Sylvae stopped her. With just a whispered word, bands of black held her limbs still as death. He laughed raspily at the fear in his newest target's eyes. "Me. Just me. What harm could I possibly do? Well," he gestured to the ground and mentally recounted so many similar scenes. Had it really only been a couple of days? "I suppose I could do this to you. How loud would you scream?" Jenya, more than a little unnerved by the sudden silence, ran into the clearing followed closely by Shorin. Both made it only a foot into the clearing before their feet stopped from shock. For Jenya it was the sight of the patchwork Mage - but something was so much different now. The malice in his deep black eyes now ran bone-deep, where before Sylvae's cruelty mostly stemmed from a lack of anything better to do. What caused Shorin's eyes to widen was the sight of Kelnai, bound. Shorin had always felt the power rolling off of her in waves - she was probably one of the ten strongest Magi in the world by will alone. But more than that, the fear coming from her, the hate from the man - no, he was definitely not a man anymore - that had bound her. "Jenya," Kelnai breathed a small plea to her husband, her eyes impossibly wide with terror. "Sun-Chylde," Sylvae hissed, spitting blood as he spoke. "What draws you from hiding? Acharya wouldn't let me hunt you... A pity, too. I could have found you far more easily than those Elder Magi he puts so much faith in," Sylvae sneered. "No matter. I'll take your life yet... But I want hers first." And all it took was those four words, I want her first, to draw tears like liquid gold from Jenya's eyes. A ring of black flame blossomed around Kelnai, creeping up her legs and sending the smell of burnt soap-scented flesh racing thickly through the air. Jenya didn't realize he'd fallen for a long instant. Nothing he knew could save her, no Rite Seer had taught him or stroke of luck could stop the hateful black fire he knelt before. It took less than a minute for the Mage-fire to burn the life out of Kelnai, to pull the strength from her muscles and cause her to fall to the ground. Less than a minute, and everything Jenya had spent the last few days telling himself changed. The instant the flames faded he pushed a hand against the wet, sticky ground and stumbled over to his wife's body. "Ayem veldakar..." he breathed against her cheek, clutching her cold form against his. The word caught Shorin's ear, causing a stab of regret and sympathy for his father. Aside from the indication of possession, there was no direct translation for the words Jenya had spoken. More than perfect, and less all at the same time, veldakar was an idea that few people understood and even fewer spoke of. Flawed perfection, Kelnai had been the center of Jenya's world. She forgot things, but always remembered what was really important. She had little quirks, the tiny things that made her human, that made her beautiful, and the parts of her personality that she never let anyone else see. The bits of her past that almost no one else knew about, but that she shared willingly with Jenya just because he asked. She'd been strong when he couldn't be and on the long trips he'd made searching Sharan'akar for the truth, he could feel that strength. From a world away, he knew she still cared. All of this was veldakar. Jenya wasn't sure at all how he'd come to know the idea - a concept from the birth of Sharan'akar - nor did he really care. He knew that the word rolled off of his tongue, the same way his golden tears slid off of his cheeks, and it fit perfectly around the dead woman in his arms. Flawed and perfect, human and divine all at once, she had been everything he had ever needed in this world... and now she was dead. The world felt colder than the grip of the Feldenaim. |