Book 5: Chapter 45 - Appointments

“When the heart stirs with questions, Heaven opens a gate; when the heart lies idle, even the widest road is barred.”

- Master Zhao Wushen of the Bloody Tower.

Along with Larynda, I was attended to by several men, who I had been told, had drawn lots for the honor of assisting me into my heavy armor. Wrapped tight in heavy metal skin of black and gold, I was anointed with sacred oils as the soldiers invoked blessings of protection, beseeching the Divines to watch over me. Little did they know, I knew full well what such attention from those high above would bring and seldom welcomed it.

Larynda placed Seals on the inside of my armor, and when asked why, she told me that they would act as temporary wards against magical trickery. When pressed further, she could not explain fully, spouting off some esoteric mumbo jumbo, but I still trusted her more than I trusted the worthless blessings of uncaring gods.

I looked in a way like a walking armoury. Strapped across my back was Bellringer, my Lucerne hammer. Forged from rare Shocksteel, its surface was unusually dark today—almost oily, as if the metal itself had been roused to hunger. Bellringer was a comforting weight—familiar, balanced, and deadly. And next to Bellringer was a half-quiver full of fine arrows and my deadly Adamantine bow. They were proven battlefield weapons.

At my hip were two swords in matching scabbards of lacquered dark Ironwood, polished to a soft gleam and banded with subtle rings of spelled bronze and iron near the throat and chape. The blades themselves were similar in form to a degree to katanas—slender, single-edged, and slightly curved—but the points were narrower, more elongated, designed not just for slicing but for clean thrusts that could pierce joints and gaps in armor.

The first was forged of Saint’s Silver, the magical blade that once belonged to elf Caselel, a blade that shimmered faintly in low light and whispered with magic every time it was drawn. The second had been Canis’ sword, once wielded by the late Guildmaster with deadly grace. Cutting Leaf and Song, they were called. Both blades shared a lean elegance, their steel patterned with faint waves. The hilts were wrapped in tight black leather, and the slightly oval guards were small, offering minimal protection to the hands. Not that I needed hand protection, as my hands were gauntleted in Adamantine alloy.

Song was the shorter of the two, between the length of a short and longsword. It was short enough to pair with Cutting Leaf if necessary. I knew how to fight with two weapons, but I much preferred to fight with a large shield. The Mimic’s eye more than made up for the disadvantages of employing such a shield. Still, the pair were a good addition to my arsenal as both weapons had the magical ability to bypass, at least to some degree, the protection heavy armor afforded. They rested in scabbards nearly as magical as the swords themselves, for to contain their menace was no easy thing. Runes lined the insides of scabbards, allowing Cutting Leaf and Song to sleep.

I did this because the Swordmasters of old, or at least that was what my traitorous master Fen said, wore two blades in mimicry of the Mantis whose mark they wore. A fancy of mine, a small detail that the men would remark upon when I finished this next chapter in my saga.

But the power of my swords paled beside my true ace: the dagger that never truly slept—Zariyah the Dancing Blade. My once‑lover’s soul was bound within that long dagger, a Vessel weapon that was an embodiment of the madness of the storm itself. The Dancing Blade needed no hand to wield it; it fought of its own accord.

Flanked by my men, I descended the tower stairs toward the courtyard where Al‑Lazar’s fate awaited.

Three score soldiers, or six “scales” in Mercenaries’ Guild parlance, stood ready. It was just enough force to show resolve without suggesting we meant to restart the war. Every man wore heavy armor, and a squad of six-legged reptilian cavalry would ride ahead as vanguard and scouts. Many of the men sported newly looted Mithril or Coralith, trophies of fresh victory. These were veterans from the fighting outside the walls.

No Mercenaries marched with us; their contracts ended at the city walls, and no coin could lure them farther. Fair enough—silver is useless to a corpse. Damien de Savant, the Aranthian, was absent as well. A pity; he was a deft swordsman and would have made a fine second.

Despite the formidable escort, unease prickled my spine.

I turned to the blond half‑elf. “Stay here, Larynda. Things could turn ugly. Use the time to find Elwin.”

“I can handle myself!” she shot back, rebellious as ever. “And Uncle Elwin—what do you mean?” Her green eyes shimmered, on the brink of tears.

“The old Rogue needs warning. My bones say the wind is shifting.”

“Gil… Elwin is dead. Don’t you remember?”

“Ha! I’ll believe that when I see his body—and even then I’d expect him to wriggle free from Death’s noose.”

“He’s dead, Gil, and you have already forgotten.” Shock hollowed her voice; there was no lie in it.

My lips formed a silent denial. How had Elwin met his end? I truly couldn’t recall.

“No. It can’t be,” I whispered. “It can’t be.”

“First Tamkar, we must leave if we’re to arrive on time,” a young lieutenant said, as politely as possible. “Your Ruar is ready.”

“A moment, soldier! The knife‑ears can wait,” I snapped. He bowed and withdrew a few paces.

“When?” I asked Larynda, madness flickering in my tone.

“When you fought the adven—”

“No, no, no! I don’t want to know.” I shook my head. “I’ll mourn Elwin later. I can’t carry another weight into this fight. Even I can only carry so much.” It seemed I was already burdened with the world on my shoulders.

The short, blonde girl frowned, voice softening. “Are you sure you’re all right, Gil?”

“I will be. This war has cut deeper than I guessed, but I’ll recover. I’ll recover. Forgive me for forgetting—yet let me forget a little longer.” I steeled myself; this was no time for weakness.

And like that, I forced the knowledge down, like unwanted supper into the pit of my stomach. The voices sang their soothing song.

“You will stay here,” I ordered, leaning close enough that she could feel the heat of my breath. “And you will find us a way out of this city. We are heading north, no matter how the cards may fall. Secure my belongings—but above all else, guard the crystallized Dust.”

My fingers tightened around Larynda’s shoulders. Her green eyes widened for a heartbeat, then steadied. At last, she nodded; she had learned when questions were a luxury we could not afford. Maturity, it seemed, was finally catching up with her.

“Take care, old man,” she said, giving her head one last rueful shake before turning on her heel.

Business concluded, I swung myself onto the Xaruar’s swaying palanquin. The beast’s long, rolling stride did little to settle the knot of unease twisting in my gut, but it was motion—and motion, at least, felt like progress.

***

Despite all our efforts to arrive on time, the elves were late—terribly so. It was well into the late afternoon even though we had agreed to cross blades before high noon. The sun had risen high and hot, and though it occasionally slipped behind thin clouds, the afternoon offered little respite from its relentless gaze. With every passing hour, my irritation deepened, and a slow-burning resentment took root in my soul.

With the luxury, and curse, of too many idle hours, I ordered the men to rig some canvas into pockets of wavering shade. Beneath those makeshift shelters in the ruins of a city long dead, the heat still pooled like bathwater, but the measure dulled the sun’s bite enough. I chose a perch on the crumbled dais of what must once have been a grand hall—a cathedral or temple to some unknown god, perhaps. From there, I brooded, turning the same thought like a knife in my palm: was this the elves’ true snare, to lull Al‑Lazar’s soldiers into torpor and doubt? Boredom could make even the best of men commit unforced errors.

A soldier with a plumed helm, a lieutenant if I was not mistaken, broke the silence, playing with the strap of his gorget. “Perhaps the elves are frightened, First Tamkar,” he quipped, though the half‑smile never reached his eyes. The place reeked of rotting sea‑life—fish bellies split in the sun, a sour brine that clung to the throat. Trust the blasted “First Children” to choose a dueling ground that offended every sense.

“Perhaps,” I allowed, my gaze sweeping the few coral growths bedecking the flagstones of the square before us.“Your name, soldier?”

“Nabi, if it pleases you, First Tamkar,” he answered with a salute.

“Tell me, Lieutenant Nabi, are the men watered and ready?”

“Yes, milord. We scoured every arch and alley as you ordered. Nothing but a few obstinate crabs, stubborn eels, and worms. No elves hiding under stones. Still…” He hesitated. “I must report that the men grow restless.”

“As do I,” I murmured, letting the sentence hang. “Tell me, Lieutenant Nabi, this foreboding I feel—this is not mere battle‑shivers. Something is wrong.”

“Battle jitters, samasa? I thought the Black Demon felt none.” He removed his helm; sweat pasted his dark hair to his brow.

“I’m mortal, same as you,” I said with a crooked grin. “Is that truly my title now?”

He colored. “No insult intended. Some claim you’re a jinn, others a shaitan wearing human skin, sent to drag the City of Dust from the brink. Every man here has seen you call down miracles. We believe the Divines favor you. And I’ve watched you survive blows that would have ended any other. Some say you are Godspawn.”

I laughed—dry, hollow. “Favor? More likely a curse. Yet if my reputation steadies hands and hearts, I’ll play the part. The difference between you and I is by no quirk of my blood, but as you say, I have drawn attention from those who dwell above. It is dangerous to beckon the gaze of the heavens—those who dwell below are fragile things. But cursed or not, our cause is just.”

Nabi shifted uncomfortably. “May I ask, First Tamkar?”

“The elves have seemingly granted us an eternity of spare moments; ask away.”

“Are all men from your homeland as strong as you?”

I searched his face for mockery; there was none. My mood was dark enough that a hint of insolence might have earned him a broken jaw simply to pass the time. “No. I was once as frail as any. My strength was taken, not inherited. Where I come from, our craft, culture, and learning outstrip yours by millennia—that, perhaps, is the root of my power. That and the fact for all of our faults, we aspire to a higher ideal.”

A blocky soldier—shoulders squared like a carved cube—trudged up, wiping sweat from narrow piggish eyes. “Beg pardon, First Tamkar.”

I gestured. “Speak.”

He flicked a glance at Nabi. “Movement on the south-eastern approach. A column of invaders, heading straight for us.”

I scanned the blistering sky. “No war‑eagles?”

“None, samasa. They march.”

“Interesting.” I rose, dust cascading from my cloak. “I expected a grand aerial entrance. Perhaps they fear we have a surprise for their birds. A strategem or two. Caution suits them ill. I wanted them arrogant and cocksure.”

“I cannot fathom the minds of knife‑ears, samasa,” Nabi commented.

“Nor can I. But pain translates well between tongues. They may live centuries, yet they die easy enough to bludgeon or blade.” I cracked my neck. “They owe us an explanation for their tardiness. Courtesy seems in short supply.”

“Orders, First Tamkar?” Nabi asked, snapping to attention.

“A lion shows strength in unhurried calm. Have the men ready their armor and gear, and have their weapons close to hand. But defensive formations. Let them think we scarcely noticed the half‑day they stole from us. Two can play these games of the mind.”

“Your will, First Tamkar,” they both echoed, hurrying to rouse the ranks.

Remaining on the dais, I pictured in my mind the heat‑shimmer on the horizon solidifying into distant figures. I stoked anger in my heart, feeding it my dissatisfaction. Soon enough, the First Children would arrive, and the long afternoon of waiting would be paid for—in blood, steel, and the satisfaction of shattered elven pride.