Path of the Warrior (30 page)

Nurianda and Euraithin were more hesitant, sharing excitement and fear in equal measure, as it should be. Lokhirith was afraid. He was fearful of his own power, afraid to embrace his war-mask, holding back on the tide of emotions that needed to be given freedom before they could be controlled. Morlaniath decided he would pair Lokhirith with Milathradil for a while; they were in an odd balance together and would bring each other closer to internal harmony.

When the warriors were full-clad, Morlaniath began the rituals again. He moved without thought, called out the names of the poses. With that part of his mind not occupied by the training, he wondered which of his followers had shadow-foes and which did not. They moved with poise and precision, but it was not their technique that Morlaniath examined as he called out Rising Sting from Darkness. He was connected; connected to the shrine and through it to the Striking Scorpions, those in front of him now and all of those that had come before.

He read the micro-expressions in their faces and sensed their emotions. Euraithin was too focussed on his body, tightly controlling every motion. He needed to allow his instinct to prevail so that his attention to his environment was not lacking. Nurianda, she was a study of balance, at once a whirling maelstrom and a tranquil lake. Milathradil was distracted, too intent upon the creation of his shadow-foe. Morlaniath could read the fierce visualisation in his gestures, in the determination of his thoughts and the slightly curtailed, clipped nature of his technique. Lokhirith was still uncertain, second-guessing his body, his eyes straying to Morlaniath or his companions, seeing too much of the real world to lose himself entirely in the battle.

Progress had been made, but there was still a long way to go.

Morlaniath communed, resting his body in his armour while his spirits digested the events of the cycle. There came a sudden interruption to their deliberations.
One Is Coming.

Morlaniath sensed a presence at the borders of his domain, at the main portal to his desert dome. It was not an aspirant, though he felt a great deal of tension from his visitor. It was not an exarch: he would recognise his kin instantly. There was something familiar in the presence; a similarity to someone locked away within his memories, but dissimilar enough that he could not locate it. The person approached and then went away, and then approached again. There was hesitancy, a mixture of fear and doubt.

He opened his eyes, feeling change afoot.

Still armoured, Morlaniath took a skyrunner from the shrine’s depths and sped across the desert leaving a plume of sand in his wake. He flew directly to the main portal, the nagging sense of recognition tantalising in its closeness but still eluding him. Dismounting, he opened the wide gateway with a thought command.

A farseer turned quickly, taken aback by his arrival. She was dressed in a long robe of pure black, embroidered sigils of silver and white decorating the hem and cuffs of her gown. She fidgeted with a pouch at her waist, while her eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and disgust.

He recognised those eyes. It was Thirianna.

Oh, It’s Her. Troublemaker, That One.

“It that you, Korlandril?” she asked.

“I am not Korlandril, though he is part of me, I am Morlaniath.”

You Should Say “We”. It Is Very Rude To Ignore The Rest Of Us.

We Are One. “I” Is Correct.

Ignore Them Both. This Argument Never Ends.

Thirianna took a step away, shoulders hunching.

What Does She Want?

She Doesn’t Belong Here. Send Her Away!

Look How Scared She Is Of Us.

“Why do you disturb us, coming here unbidden, breaking the gold stillness?”

She took a few steps further back, shaking her head.

“This was a mistake. I should not have come. You cannot help me.”

Good Riddance.

She Has Already Roused Us. We Have Nothing To Lose By Letting Her Speak.

We Have Wasted Enough Time. Let Her Go.

She might return and disturb us again.

“Now that you have come here, seeking guidance and truth, speak your mind with freedom. If I can assist you, if you have hard questions, perhaps I can answer.”

Thirianna approached and stared past Morlaniath, taking in the wide vista of the desert. Her gaze turned to the exarch.

“Is there somewhere else we can speak?”

Always The Same. Farseers Want To Know Everything. Do Not Let Her In. She Is Not Welcome.

The Shrine Is Soaked In The Memories Of Blood. She Cannot Go There.

“The shrine would not be fit, farseers enter with risk, and I am loathe to leave.”

“Can we perhaps walk awhile? I do not feel comfortable discussing matters on your doorstep.”

Morlaniath turned away, assuming she would follow. The sands shifted under his booted feet but he walked with purpose and balance, heading towards a shallow oasis gently fed by irrigation webs beneath the sands. Clusters of red-leaved bushes hid the water’s edge, bright white stars of blossom poking from the foliage.

The water was still. Sometimes he came here to contemplate without his companions. This was the first time he had come here in the full presence of the others. Memory came without asking, swamping him for a moment with recollections of this place as each spirit clasped to some distant event, seeking to relive them. He pushed them away and gestured for Thirianna to seat herself beside the still pool.

“This is… pleasant.” She looked at her surrounds and sat down, gathering her robes to one side, her black hair tossed over her shoulder, head tilted away from Morlaniath.

“It is the birth in death, the hope in hopelessness, life amongst the barren.” She did not look at him when he spoke. She gazed thoughtfully into the waters. Insects skimmed the surface, sustained by its tension.

“I have foreseen troubling times for Alaitoc, perhaps something worse.”

A Farseer Foresees Trouble? That Is The Nature Of Things.

Listen To What She Has To Say. This Is A Waste Of Our Time. We Should Wake The Warriors And Begin Their Training In The Dark Stalking.

“You are now a farseer. Such things will be your life, why do you come to me?”

“I am told that I am in error. The farseers, the council of Alaitoc, do not think my scrying will come to pass. They say I am inexperienced, seeing dangers that do not exist.”

They Are Right.

Pompous And Conceited, All Of Them. She Thinks She Sees Something They Cannot. They Cannot Conceive Of Being Blind To Anything.

Not all of them.

Yes, All Of Them.

“Likely they are correct, your powers are still weak, this path is new to you. I do not see my role; I am the exarch here, not one of the council.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You offer me no proof, and there is none to give, belief alone is dust.”

Thirianna stood and walked to the pool’s edge. She dipped her booted toe into the waters, sending a ripple across the surface. The ripple disturbed Morlaniath. This was a place of calm and Thirianna had brought disquiet. He said nothing and watched as she allowed the droplets to fall from her boot, moving her foot so that they dribbled a swirl in the sand.

“I followed the fate of Aradryan.” Morlaniath spent a moment recalling the name. One who had been friend to Korlandril, unknown to not-Korlandril. He had started Korlandril on his path to this place. Thirianna continued without pause. “Our three destinies are interwoven. More than we have seen already. Yours is not ended, but will soon; his is distant and confused. Mine… Mine is to be here, to tell you these things to set in motion future events.”

Fanciful And Untrue. All Destinies Are Interwoven.

“What is it you have seen, what visions bring such woe, what do they mean for us?”

“Aradryan dwells in darkness, but there is also light for him. But his darkness is not confined to him. It spreads into our lives, and it engulfs Alaitoc. I do not know the details; my rune-casting is very crude at the moment. I feel he has done something gravely wrong and endangered all of us.”

“Your warnings are too vague, they contain no substance, we have no course of action.”

Thirianna snorted, a sound of bitter resentment and dark humour.

“That is what the council says. ‘How can we prepare against something so amorphous?’ they asked. I told them that more experienced seers should follow the thread of Aradryan. They refused, claiming it was an irrelevance. Aradryan is gone from Alaitoc, they told me, and he is no longer their concern.”

Who Are We To Argue?

This Is Not Our Concern. We Are Warriors, Not Philosophers.

Morlaniath listened to this, perplexed. The council were correct. They could no more act on such a vision as they could an unfounded rumour. Other memories came to mind, rebuilding his picture of Thirianna. She was always seeking attention, always looking to be the centre of things. It was no surprise that she had not yet removed this flaw from her character, and now sought to garner an audience by claiming some personal insight into Alaitoc’s doom.

“Continue your studies, delve further into this, to seek your own answers.”

“I fear there is no time. This is imminent. I lack the strength and the training to see far ahead.”

She Is So Weak, How Have Others Not Seen This Disaster?

That Is A Good Point. Her Story Is Incomplete. Send Her Away!

“Others have not seen it, your fresh cataclysm, who are stronger than you. I must concur with them, who have trodden the Path, who see further than you.”

“It is such a small thing, whatever it is that Aradryan does.” She stooped and took a pinch of sand, rubbing her fingers to spill it to the ground until she held a single grain. She flicked it into the waters of the pool. “Such a tiny ripple, we can barely see it, but a ripple nonetheless. The anarchy of history tells us that momentous events can start from the most humble, the most mundane of beginnings.”

“I have no aid for you, no council influence, and I agree with them. Go back to your studies, forget this distraction, I will not assist you.”

She looked at him for the first time, eyes misted, lips trembling.

“I feared the worst, and you have proven me true. Korlandril is not dead, but he has gone.”

“Which you once predicted, that both of us would change, for better or for worse. I am Morlaniath, you are Thirianna, Korlandril is no more. Seek contentment from this, do not chase the shadows, only darkness awaits.”

“Do you not remember what we once shared?”

“I remember it well, we shared nothing at all, I have nothing for you.”

Thirianna straightened and wiped a gloved finger across her cheek, a tear soaking into the soft fabric.

“You are right. I will leave and think of you no more.”

She bunched up her robe and strode up the encircling dune, heading towards the main portal. Morlaniath followed a short way behind and stopped on the dune’s crest to watch her retreating back. She reached the gateway and Morlaniath willed it open. Then she was gone and with a thought he closed the gate behind her.

The
Teeth of Dissonance
thrummed in Morlaniath’s hands, carving the air with beautiful sweeps. All in the shrine was quiet save for the sound of the blade and the tread of the exarch’s booted feet on the stone. His followers were all asleep, exhausted by the day’s training. Only their dreams broke the stillness, edged with blood, tinged with death. Morlaniath smiled.

He finished his practice and returned the blade to its rightful place. Taking up the stance of repose, he thought about Thirianna’s visit.

Were we too dismissive?

You Gave Her Full Chance To Speak Her Case. We Are Unconvinced.

We Have Other Concerns. It Is Not Our Place To Debate With Farseers. Let The Autarchs Do That.

She came to us as a friend.

We Are Exarch. We Have No Friends. She Came To Us In Desperation When All Others Had Turned Her Away. It Is Shameful.

Then I ask not for her sake, but for Alaitoc. If what she says is true, it bodes ill for us.

What She Says Is Fantasy. Do Not Give It Further Consideration.

If There Is To Be War, We Will Fight. We Train Our Warriors For Battle. There Is No More That We Can Do. That Is What It Is To Be Exarch.

There It Is Again: “I”. This Individuality Is Unbecoming.

I am still myself, Morlaniath and not-Korlandril both. I will make my own decision.

To Be Exarch Is To Know Sacrifice. Not For Us The Twilight Of The Infinity Circuit. Darkness Is Our Domain. If It Comes To Pass That This Body Dies, We Will Endure. That Is The Reward For Our Sacrifice.

Do Not Meddle In The Affairs Of Others. It Is Not Welcome And It Is Not Our Duty.

We Do Not Understand Her Motives. If What She Says Proves True, We Will Be Informed. If It Is Untrue Our Interference Risks Bringing Disharmony.

I am unsettled by this. If my fate and Aradryan’s is still entwined in ways not yet revealed, it would be wise to heed her warning.

Farseers Always Speak Of Fate. It Is Their Reason For Everything. Sometimes Things Happen Without Purpose. All Warriors Know This. We Train, Perfecting Our Art, But It Is In The Nature Of War That The Random And The Uncontrollable Appear.

It was Thirianna and Aradryan that set me on this course, to our rebirth, to the return of the Hidden Death. I conceive that it is possible my future and theirs are not wholly separate.

Then What Will Happen, Will Happen. Let The Farseers Chase The Possibilities, We Will Deal With The Consequences.

Now it is you that is willing to surrender to fate.

This Debate Is Inappropriate. She Is A Distraction. Ignore Her.

I Concur. Concentrate On The Training Of Your Warriors.

Morlaniath stripped off his armour, unable to shake the disquiet, annoyed by the conflict of thoughts raised by Thirianna. While the direct thoughts of Morlaniath faded into memory, their effect lingered on, confusing him. The question of faith vexed him the most. He had seen her conviction, but had ignored it. Whatever the reality,
she
certainly believed something terrible was going to happen.