The Fifth Star - Chapter 4 (1/2) - Over Aethribane

The moment Darius emerged from the dark confines of the castle's prison, he severed the connection to his aethris that had been fuelling the illusions over himself and Karne, sagging against the wall with weariness. Though the effort had not exhausted him to the point where he could not continue, it had been a steady drain for several hours; more than enough to tire him. Already he could feel a slight chill settling into his bones and he craved the reprieve of sleep.

Karne had exited the dungeon at the same time as Darius, and he looked at him now with a deep frown. “You did not need to hold our disguises so long,” he admonished. “You would have been fine to release them the moment her hands were tied.”

Darius would have let the statement hang where it did, but Karne stared expectantly at him, clearly desiring an explanation. “Call it what you will,” Darius said with a sigh, “but I did not feel it necessary to shock the girl further. Too much at once, and her struggle could have been far worse.”

“Paranoia, that's what I call it. Truly, you Illusionist types are all the same; you get so accustomed to having any face you could desire at your disposal, and suddenly you worry far too much about who sees your real one,” Karne snorted derisively.

Not bothering to argue the point, Darius only closed his eyes and tilted his head backwards to rest against the cool stone. “Then I'm paranoid,” he agreed, “regardless, I'd prefer if you kept the secret of my identity, if you come to call upon her again.”

“All right,” Karne said with a shrug that spoke volumes; he couldn't have cared less. “Are you capable of continuing onward? We must go to see Harlemont.”

“At this hour of the night?” Darius chuckled, but there was no humour in it. “On your head be it.  Watch for swinging blades.” He tapped the scar on his face as a grim reminder of the price one could pay for inadvertently angering their master.

“I should hope that will not be a problem, considering he ordered me quite directly: 'Come and see me when she resides in a cell. The time matters not.' Even now I can feel the compulsion pulling at me,” he stated with a worried frown. “Still, though there is naught to be done if he does act in such a manner, I would prefer to have your accompaniment.”

“If you can resist the spell for just a minute longer, sure,” he answered with a deep, relaxing breath. Truth be told, he didn't truly require the break – his aethris would be fine until he could retire properly for the night – but he was trying to recover from Sparrow's presence. Besides the fact that she had been even more stunningly beautiful than he'd expected up close, a fact he didn't think was possible, he'd had to fight a spell the whole while that had been reminiscent of compulsion but not entirely the same. It was a spell that pleaded with him to help her, but rather than compulsion magic's 'obey me or suffer' insistence, it had been more gentle, a 'please do this, but I won't force you' pull that had niggled at his brain the entire time his eyes had been upon her.

Initially he'd wondered if it was just a peculiarity with her specific talent; sometimes they did not manifest entirely as expected and varied from mage to mage. However even after she had consumed the aethribane tea which should have rendered her magic unusable, the bizarre sensation had continued. It should not have been possible, but the spell was unaffected, causing Darius to have to fight the powerful urge to help her even as he restrained her. Now he wondered if somehow she was immune to the effects of aethribane. He would need to remember to test that theory if they managed to escape together.

Only once his partner's foot began to tap in irritation against the floor did Darius push himself away from the wall. “I'm ready,” he stated, and Karne was immediately prepared to go, placing his right foot on the first stair before Darius had even shut his mouth.

The two of them traversed the hallways and stairwells in silence until they came to the guarded door behind which laid Harlemont's expansive suites. The guards there blocked their path only until they drew close enough to be recognized, at which point they practically tripped over themselves in their haste to permit them access. Neither of them met their eyes as they passed over the threshold, and Darius had a fleeting moment of sadness. I wonder if such pervasive fear of magi existed in the years before Emperor Tibori claimed the College… but history was written by the powerful, and if there existed records of the time before, Darius had never been able to find them. The rebels alone probably possessed that knowledge now.

Once inside, they passed through the sitting room as quietly as ghosts and eased the door to Harlemont's enormous bedchamber open. An imposing four-postered bed with dark drapes the colour of blood dominated the space, a gentle snore emanating from within its confines. Darius and Karne looked to each other, deciding without words which of them would perform the unrelished task of rousing Lothan's ruler. Karne made no move to do so, and Darius took it upon himself, crossing the space on silent feet to draw back the thick curtain which separated the sleeping space from the rest of the room.

Not daring to lay a hand on the man, he half-whispered, “Lord Harlemont,” but the only response that incurred was another well-timed, trumpetous snore. He tried again, more insistently this time. “My lord!”

Harlemont's eyes fluttered softly for a moment before opening. “Mmm…” he groaned, sitting upright and rubbing at tired eyes, “what is it?”

“Seer Karne wishes to speak with you, my lord,” Darius informed him as he spread the curtain a little further, enough for the other mage to be visible.

The upswing in his mood was immediate. “Yes? How did you fare?”

Karne stepped closer to the lord's bed, his head lowered slightly in deference. “Quite well, my lord. The fugitive Sparrow has been arrested. Due to Darius's assistance, it was much smoother than it would have gone otherwise, I am sure.”

“Good,” Harlemont sighed as he laid back on the veritable mountain of pillows that adorned his bed. His lids relaxed into a half-close. “So tell me, Karne. What are her talents?”

Darius perked up, figuring this part of the investigation would have only been discussed once he had taken his leave. That it hadn't would provide him priceless information to use for her future training.

Karne cleared his throat. “Well, my lord. She has only the one active talent, as far as I can See. That very well could change however, once the magi at the College begin their training.”

“Only one, hmm? And what would that be?”

“Compulsion, my lord. But it is… very strong. Had we not drugged her with aethribane, I think her capture would have been impossible.”

One eye opened, and it was not impressed. “Come now, one untrained mage could have stopped you? How strong can the girl be?”

“I would not presume to undermine our glorious Emperor's power but, Lord Harlemont, his is the only gift I have seen which compares,” Karne swallowed hard, quite visibly uncomfortable with this admission, “Her's is weaker, yes…”

“Speak plainly, Karne.”

A bare moment of pause. “I would implore you not to keep her about for questioning, or… other pursuits. Send her to the College as soon as it can be done. Every hour she spends here is a catastrophe merely waiting to occur.”

Harlemont's voice was sharp. “Your objection is noted. You may go.”

Only too eager to comply, Karne backed away from the bed nearly doubled over in a bow. When he had gone and the door was shut behind him, Harlemont let out a tired breath and rolled to his side, facing away from Darius as he spoke. “The girl is not going anywhere tonight, and I've a busy day planned for the morrow. Karne likely exaggerates this girl's strength, however, I shall leave you personally in charge of her care until I procure transport to the College. Keep aethribane in her until she goes. If your supply runs low, Healer Silda will restock you from the castle's stores.”

Without bothering to give his assassin a proper dismissal, Harlemont drifted away to sleep in what must have been less than a minute. Only once the silent was broken by yet another of his lord's mighty snores did he tiptoe out of the chamber and make his weary way to his own.

As he stripped from the clothing he'd worn to abduct her, Darius thought on his plans for their escape. He wanted to leave tonight, before Harlemont ever laid his cruel eyes upon her, but he reluctantly had to admit to himself that such a thing would not be possible. His aethris had taken a significant blow from the illusions he'd maintained and would need time and rest to recover, leaving him in less than ideal condition. Besides that, the hour drew close now to midnight, and as the guards changed over to fresher ones the difficulty of an escape would only escalate.

No, it would need to wait at least until the next night. With luck Lothan's business would keep its ruler too busy until then to pay their special prisoner a visit. In that time frame, he would have to speak with her more than once, as aethribane's effects only lasted about four hours for the typical mage. What would he say to her? What could he tell her that would plant a seed of trust in her mind for him? He had no idea, but at least he had time enough for a short rest before the first visit. He laid down on his bed, atop the covers clad in only his underclothes, and forced himself to relax into sleep. With his aethris partially drained it came much easier than usual, enveloping him in darkness in short order.

 

**********

 

A world bathed in fire, war consuming all the realm. Two figures battle, silhouetted in light as they exchange blows. A few moments pass with a flurry of blades, almost too fast to see, then a sudden pain blooms in his abdomen. He looks down… a blade protrudes, buried deep in his flesh, his own hands wrapped around the hilt. Blood begins to ooze and flow around it, bright drops splashing onto black marble as he watches in fixated horror…

Darius awoke with a scream, his heart hammering in his chest. With the unreasoned panic of someone emerging from a nightmare, his hands flew to his stomach, seeking out the weapon that had pierced him – but before he'd even had time to register it had been nothing but a dream, his chamber door shook chaotically on its hinges. Someone from without was trying in vain to open it. His eyes immediately scanned the room, looking for a weapon to use against this potential intruder.

“Darius! Mage Darius!” a voice called through the wood as its owner pounded on its ancient surface.

Realizing it was merely a guard, Darius drew a breath and attempted to respond to his cry, but no sound emerged, the clinging terror the nightmare had prompted causing the words to catch in his now-scorched throat. A tremendous thud, then another followed his lack of reply and he realized the guard intended to break down his door. He stood on quivering legs, the grogginess of sleep rapidly dissipating.

“I'm alright!” he tried to respond, his voice weaker than usual but functioning now, but it was too slow. The great oaken door came crashing down, loosed from its hinges to land partially across his bed. The guard followed closely, flying into the room with his sword unsheathed and his eyes darting frantically about in search of the unknown threat.

“There's no one here,” Darius told him before the man decided it would be prudent to search the place. “I apologise for the false alarm.”

The guard looked at him suspiciously. “What was all the yellin' for then?”

Darius pushed his sweat-drenched hair away from his forehead with plain embarrassment. “Just… a dream. My thanks for your expedient reaction, however.”

The guard looked as if Darius's thanks meant nothing but he bowed deeply regardless. “I'll have someone come mend the door,” he said neutrally as he stepped over it and back out into the hall.

Darius recalled he had to get moving before Sparrow's aethribane wore off, which would give the guard some time to fix the door he'd knocked down. Figuring he should appear in proper mage's robes, he crossed the room and removed the cumbersome layered garment from within his wardrobe. He very seldom wore the thing, the blindingly bright white colour that served to mark his status as an Illusionist was not at all suitable for his work. Blood never comes out of white, not to mention the irritating restriction it placed on his movements by not being in proper leggings. He pulled the robe on, purposely neglecting the dainty slippers that were part of the ensemble and instead donning his black leather boots. The robe was so long it nearly covered them anyway, not to mention that the slippers would give him little reliable traction on the treacherous floors of the dungeon.

Upon his arrival in that most depressing of places, he entered the castle's prison after the barest of conversations with its jailor, who dutifully locked the door after his passage as before. Darius declined the man's offer to show him to her cell, walking past the guard with an air of falsified disdain and heading straight for where he already knew she was contained.

In the near blackness of her cell, his eyes adjusted slowly and it took him a moment to find her – a darker silhouette than the shadows, curled around her knees in the furthest corner from the door. It was impossible to tell by the even rhythm of her breathing if she slept or not.

“Sparrow?” he voiced tentatively.

Her head shot up instantly, squinting against his backing light to attempt to make out his features. “Another one, come to gawk at the disgraced whore?” she commented bitterly, “Go away. Leave me what little peace I have.”

He kept his tone gentle, not wishing her to immediately shut him out. “I am sorry, but I cannot. Duty requires my attendance.”

She stood slowly, walked with sure steps across the filthy cell to wrap her hands about the bars which contained her. Darius nearly had to stifle a gasp as the torchlight caught her eyes and glimmered. “And what does your duty require of me? Nothing pleasant, I assume.” Her mouth was a thin, hard line he so dearly wanted to push up into a smile.

He shook his head. “It need not be unpleasant. I do not wish to hurt you, in any manner of the word.”

“So what, then?”

“Simple,” he said as he drew the fresh aethribane he'd brought from within one of the robe's many pockets, holding it out to her, “I need you to eat these.”

One curious eyebrow elevated as she reached out and plucked one of the leaves from his open palm. “Ah, these again,” she noted as she examined it in what feeble light they had. “The magi who came for me, they made me drink a tea brewed of these same leaves. Tell me, what is it?”

Darius knew he would not lie to her. The outcome would be the same either way. “It's an herb, called aethribane. It has absolutely no effect on non-magic folk, but when a mage consumes it, their magic becomes unusable for a time.”

“But I possess no magic,” she stated plainly, and it was obvious she believed this was true.

“Then it would mean nothing for you to do as I ask, would it?” he challenged.

“No…” she mused as she twirled the blue-veined leaf in her fingers, “no, I suppose not.” Her hand darted out, quick as a snake and snatched the remaining leaves from his hand without ever touching his skin. All at once she deposited them into her mouth and chewed, staring unblinking into his eyes as she did.

Darius sighed with apparent relief. “Thank you for not forcing my hand. My master is not known for possessing the traits of forgiveness and compromise.”

“And would you have?” she asked, those green irises piercing him. “Forced my hand, that is.”

Despite his own interests, he found himself answering with honesty yet again, though it had the potential to make his next visit more difficult. “I would not have wanted to, but a man's desires mean little here. I… am not certain if I would have or not.”

“Would it not be treason to act against your lord's wishes in such a manner?”

Darius lowered his voice to a whisper, seeing his opportunity to hint to her that he was trustworthy where the others were not. “Most assuredly. Not even possible for many, due to the Empire's magic that controls them. But… I am not most men.” He winked at her, hoping she was astute enough to understand the implication.

He could practically see wheels in her head turning as she studied him, trying to read there what had not been explicitly stated. Before she could ask him any more questions and draw the attention of the jailor, he again whispered at her, “My apologies for this next bit.”

“Prisoner!” he barked, his sudden change in tone causing her to jump. “Step back from the bars!”