7th of Yumtal

  The fifty or so steps up the spiral staircase seemed endless, each stretching as though conspiring to delay my arrival. Impatience burned within me as I finally burst into the spacious, oval room.

  The book I sought was secured in the small vault beneath my desk. With a sweaty hand, I unlocked the mechanisms and hauled open the heavy steel door. Lumin-crystals embedded in the vault’s walls flickered to life, casting a soft, cool glow over the meticulously organized contents. Documents, a casket of gold anarandi, another filled with precious gems, several priceless artifacts, and finally, the Vorat Family codebook.

  I reached for it but something else drew my attention: a small, pale leather pouch, its strings hanging loosely where they should have been securely tied. Through the opening, I caught a glimpse of the object within—a nearly transparent crystal orb, no larger than a hen’s egg. A faint scarlet glow pulsed at its core.

  My outstretched hand suddenly went numb.

  “By Kalit’s oblivion, she awakens!” I breathed, the ground seeming to vanish beneath my feet. I was forced to lean on the desk for support, my senses reeling.

  The nightmare that had jolted me awake now took on a far darker and more sinister meaning. Still, surely, I could delay this problem—just for a while? A foolish hope, I knew, yet one I could not resist.

  “Dan vis’d’amni ke’stetto visnu’vis (The d’amni, one by one),” I whispered to myself.

  With a swift motion, I tightened the pouch’s strings and reached for the codebook, intent on focusing on Arin’s letter. After a moment’s hesitation, I closed the vault door and finally settled at the desk, placing a solid barrier between myself and the orb.

  The embrace of my desk chair had never felt so comforting. For a fleeting moment, I was tempted to pour myself that coveted glass of di’erae but quickly dismissed the thought. I would need a clear mind to properly decode the message. Besides, even the mere five steps to the drinks cabinet felt too far just now.

  I thought, flipping to the correct page.

  Minutes stretched into segments, segments into partitions, until the Blood Dawn crept across the world, its concentrated light pouring through the tower’s windows, bathing the page in crimson. Even with the codebook’s guidance, deciphering the message was a deliberate, grueling process—just as it was meant to be.

  I stared at my fresh handwriting, the meaning of Arin’s words now clear.

  I read the letter once more, then used the fire prism on my desk to reduce both the original and my painstakingly decoded version to ashes. My fears were justified—Arin was in danger, and this time, it was grave. I knew my brother, and he would not exaggerate such peril. He possessed a keen sense for his limits and when to seek assistance. Yet I still grappled with his meaning, despite a general understanding of his latest research. What had he uncovered that he dared not write plainly, even in code?

  If Arin’s instincts were sound, I could ill afford further delay.

  A discreet knock at the study door shattered my concentration, drawing my gaze from the ashes that were once two documents.

  “Enter,” I called out, and moments later, Daaris, my s’uldin, stepped inside.

  “Lord Vorat, you are up early today,” he observed, forgoing formalities.

  “Nightmares, both in slumber and waking, Daaris,” I replied, my tone dry. “To what do I owe this visit?”

  He regarded me with genuine concern, though overt curiosity was not in his nature. Instead, he proceeded directly to the matter at hand:

  “A matter of concern, My Lord. One of the patrols due back last night has vanished, leaving no trace of the three guards. Their comm-disc has remained silent, and neither the city nor the castle has sighted them since their departure. The likelihood of their return is grim.” When our eyes met, undisguised worry lingered in his gaze. “This is the third such disappearance in the past two months.”

  “By Moritán’s ruin, of all times!” I exclaimed, glancing upward as the weight of mounting troubles settled over me. Misfortune rarely arrives unaccompanied. “What was their assigned route?”

  “The same as the last two, My Lord—along the Border with the Wastes.”

  The Wastes—a designation for the vast, desolate territories that lie between the Enlightened Realms and the Faithless Lands. These lands were remnants of the partial merging of Anarand’aris and Aartókh-Dággaras four millennia past, and even now, they remain uninhabited. The Wastes were strewn with ancient ruins, shattered cities, and long-forgotten relics of the once-great Lir’Anarand civilization. Roaming that desolation were often vicious Faithless bands in search of ancient loot, as well as a path to the prosperous lands of modern Anarand. This was one of the reasons for the constant vigilance along the Wastes Border.

  “And did none of the guards stationed there witness anything?” I pressed.

  Daaris tugged at the collar of his tunic with his fingertips, a habit he possessed when deeply troubled.

  “No, My Lord. Their final report came from Tower Two-Seventeen yesterday morning, precisely as scheduled. After that, they proceeded westward toward Mount Karaahar, and that is all I have been able to ascertain.”

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  The nightmare’s lingering grip, the awakened orb, the threat in Arin’s letter, and now this crisis—it all came crashing down on me like a battering ram.

  “Three well-trained guards do not simply vanish, may Moritán take it!” I slammed my fist on the desk, scattering ashes about the surface.

  The pen stand wobbled precariously, nearly toppling over the stack of documents awaiting my review.

  Daaris didn’t flinch at my uncharacteristic outburst. He knew me too well for such things to unsettle him—a quality I secretly admired. “This matter may not be connected to the previous two, My Lord,” he began thoughtfully. “The first patrol vanished to the north of Tower One-Nine, and the second, to the northeast of One-Twenty-One.”

  “Indeed. I must be a d’amnos, then!” My tone was sharper than intended, yet I could still not restrain myself.

  “My Lord, you should not jest about such matters,” Daaris said with a hint of disapproval, yet I waved his concern aside. “What I mean to convey is that Tower Two-Seventeen lies more than two hundred kilometers distant. If this is the work of the same Faithless band, their reach would be exceptionally vast… assuming, of course, that it is indeed the Faithless we are confronting,” he added cautiously.

  “By Moira’s serene grace, Daaris, must you truly indulge in such speculation?” I sighed, struggling to regain my composure.

  “I am not claiming the rumors of the common folk to be true, My Lord,” he replied, his tone calm and unwavering. “But you must concede, whoever is responsible for this is employing methods far from typical of the barbarians.”

  Inwardly, I had to acknowledge that Daaris had a point. The Faithless were known to leave gruesome and unmistakable signs of their atrocities in the Enlightened Realms—flayed corpses with skin stretched over bone frames; the heads of women and children impaled on stakes; villages reduced to ash and livestock senselessly slaughtered. No, isolated patrols vanishing without a trace near the Border was not a deed easily attributed to our bloodthirsty neighbors.

  The rumors spreading through the villages and D’al Vorat whispered of nameless, ancient horrors lurking in the night, feeding fear among my people. The fact that even Daaris had begun to heed them was troubling. It was imperative to address the matter, and swiftly.

  “Dispatch an elite squad of twenty,” I commanded. “Equip them with two comm-discs and ensure they report to their commander every partition. Should they fail to locate the missing men within ten days, see to it that their families receive due compensation.”

  “Of course, My Lord. And what measures do you wish to take in regard to this in the long term?”

  “For now, nothing drastic,” I replied after a moment’s consideration. “Once I have addressed the more pressing matters, I shall see to this personally. In the interim, augment the border patrols to five men and ensure they maintain vigilance at all times. From now hence, they are to report at every Tower along their route—I know this has been neglected of late. Regardless of the Faithless’ intent, we cannot afford to lose more men.”

  I did not believe the missing patrols were a harbinger of an impending invasion, yet even so, the Border Towers alone could halt, or at least delay, an army a thousand strong for days. Still, an added measure of caution was warranted.

  “Furthermore, ensure all Border Towers are at heightened battle readiness, maintaining constant vigilance.”

  “It will be done, My Lord.”

  For now, that would have to suffice until my return from Westgate. The sooner I extricated Arin from his troubles, the sooner I could address the Faithless—or whatever else lay behind the missing patrols. The Wastes and their inhabitants have always been treacherous, but if these rumors held any truth—if they were more than mere old legends spun into campfire tales—then it could herald grave troubles for the Realm in the times to come. And that was not a matter I could afford to ignore.

  With that, my decision was made.

  “Daaris, compile a list of all pressing matters that require my attention. I expect to see it within a half-partition.”

  “My Lord?” His voice carried a note of concern.

  “I must depart for Westgate, and soon,” I stated. Arin had warned me not to trust anyone, but if there was one person absolutely loyal to the Vorat Family, it was my s’uldin.

  “So sudden a departure?” Daaris’s expression soured.

  “Unfortunately, yes. I shall have a comm-disc with me in the event of any urgent matters. Westgate is near enough that I can return swiftly, should the need arise.” I emphasized my next words: “Ensure word of my departure does not spread, Daaris—at least not immediately.”

  “Am I to understand that you intend to travel without your usual retinue?” This was the prelude to a familiar, heated discourse I had no intention of engaging in at present.

  “Indeed,” I replied, raising my voice to forestall the protest forming on his lips. “And we shall not quarrel over this, Daaris!”

  He pressed his lips together, fixing me with a long, disapproving gaze. Fortunately, Daaris knew when to press a point and when it was wiser to retreat, even if only for the moment.

  “Sustaining such a deception for more than a day or two shall prove difficult, My Lord,” he said, clearly displeased. “If only you had informed me a day earlier—”

  I cut him off with a shake of my head.

  “Then devise a plausible pretext for my departure. A hunt in the northern Amalay outskirts, perhaps… or an inspection of the Border Towers after the recent incidents. Yes, that should suffice.”

  “As you command, My Lord.” My s’uldin offered a small bow, disapproval practically radiating from him. “If there is naught further, I shall begin preparing the list you requested.”

  I gave a nod, dismissing him, and waited until the door clicked shut before returning the codebook to the vault. Ra’maen’s orb awaited me there—an ordeal I could no longer postpone. The issue was, I had no idea how to face it.

  Suppressing a tempest of emotions I had no desire to name, I drew the leather pouch from the vault and emptied its contents into my palm. The spark at the orb’s core flared—an ominous flicker before it softened into a familiar, almost eager pulse. As if it recognized me. Its power was but a shadow of what I remembered, yet even this faint trace was enough to set my skin tingling. The or’dain’s awakening to this extent could mean only one thing.

  She, too, was beginning to stir.

  “Why now, of all times?” I murmured bitterly, not realizing I had spoken aloud. “Why not five decades or a century hence? Why can’t you leave me in peace, may Moritán take you! Why can’t you simply remain dead?”

  I nearly shouted the last words, my voice raw.

  The spark within the orb recoiled, shrinking as if chastised—like a loyal hound bewildered by its master’s sudden ire. The or’dain, of course, bore no fault in this. It was merely a severed fragment of Ra’maen’s soul, bound by magic, with no more awareness than that of a common guard dog.

  I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to think clearly.

  Releasing the orb, I allowed it to hover a few centimeters above the surface of my desk. Its faint glow flickered, but it remained weak. How much time remained? Six months, if I was fortunate. Less than a month, if my worst fears proved true. I could not be certain. Not without seeing the body.

  Running a weary hand over my face, I steeled myself. The confrontation I had spent a decade evading was now inevitable. And I knew all too well that the longer I delayed, the harder it would be to descend to that place. The crypt below the castle—her eternal prison—beckoned.

  With that, I seized the or’dain and rose from my chair, determined to settle the matter once and for all.

  Hey, thanks for reading this far!

  I hope you've enjoyed the story until this point and I'd like to hear your thoughts about it. Also, I am trying a new, more contemporary style in my English writing and I am curious to hear some feedback about it. So, let me know in the comments below!

  Boris Khan