Ferrian's Winter

A baleful blade, once bound, now free

To leap into eternity.

Dawn arrived, a slow, regal brightening of the light. Birds found their voices again, and the entire forested ridge was filled with their song and chatter, interrupted now and then by the loud screeches of parrots. The mist flattened out into a thin gauze that lingered in the ferny hollows and slunk along the rocky, bark-strewn ground. The clouds overhead broke apart, revealing patches of pale blue. The tall eucalyptus trees stood stately and silent.

Lady Araynia had fallen deeply asleep, despite her best efforts. She awoke with a sudden jerk, sitting upright, heart racing, but it was not the symphony of birds that had stirred her.

Someone had called to her.

Still half-asleep, she looked around in momentary panic, not recognising where she was. Then the voice came again:

Lady Araynia, you must awaken. Your help is needed…

The words spoke within her head, but it was not a dream. It wasn't Lord Requar, either. It was a feminine voice, echoing and silvery.

"Dragon?" Pushing her blanket off, the noblewoman got to her feet.

The others were asleep, and the campfire had died down to a few glowing coals. Tander still sat upon the edge of the shelf, his head bowed, eyes closed. Li was curled up against him. Ben lay on his bedroll near the smouldering fire.

A sudden rush of wind swayed the treetops, scattering leaves across the clearing. Birds fled from the canopy in shrieking flocks. A huge, gleaming white shape passed swiftly overhead. Araynia watched as the White Dragon soared out over the plains, then turned in a wide circle and came sweeping back towards her.

"Tander!" she yelled.

The Angel Lieutenant woke with a start. Seeing the Dragon bearing down on them, he grabbed Li and threw them both to the side.

But the Dragon was too large to land on their ledge. She halted in the air just before it, her powerful wings beating the air, snapping branches off the overhanging trees. A glittering paw lowered and deposited something on the rock.

"Help him," she said aloud.

Then the Dragon rose and winged away, back to her clearing on the hilltop.

She had left behind…

With a gasp, Araynia rushed forward.

Everyone was awake and on their feet now. They all stood looking down at the stricken sorcerer in horror.

Araynia couldn't believe what she was seeing. "Oh, Gods…"

"That's…" Ben's face was pale. "That's the… the dagger. The trigonic dagger. How…" His voice trailed off. A shocked silence fell.

Li ran up to Ferrian, falling to her knees beside him. "Ferrian! No!"

Tander stepped forward quickly. "Li! Come away!"

The Angel girl shook her head.

Tander grabbed her and swung her forcibly away. "No!" Li squealed, squirming in his grip. "No, NO! Ferrian!!" She began to cry.

Li's distress jolted Araynia into action. She went to her knees at Ferrian's side, pulling her pendant from her neck and clutching it in her hands. Ferrian's eyes were open but lifeless, gleaming silver. His skin was pallid, his left arm soaked in blood. He appeared to be…

She couldn't finish the thought, reminding herself that Hawk had seemed the same way, and Everine…

She forced herself to look at the dagger.

It was dark and sleek, with jagged, curved edges and odd cut-out holes like gaping insect eyes. An oily sheen seemed to twist and curl subtly within the metal, mingling with Ferrian's blood, turning it black where it burrowed into his shoulder.

I can't, she thought, her own blood draining out of her, so that she thought she might faint.

This wasn't a normal wound. This was not the same as healing Flint, or Tander.

This was trigon.

The foul thing was leaching through Ferrian with every moment that passed, a ruinous poison, keeping his body functioning but devouring his mind, soul and magic, twisting them into something terrible.

Carmine turned into a near-unstoppable monster, she thought. What would Ferrian turn into??

And if Araynia tried to stop it, the trigon would strike out and twist, her, too.

You are not yet ready to take on something as powerful and horrific as trigon… I myself could not… until near the end of my life…

You must be stronger than I was…

Requar's warning came back to her, bringing tears to her eyes. She pushed them, and the dead sorcerer's words angrily aside. No, she thought. I CAN do this. I WILL do this!

I HAVE TO.

Taking deep breaths, she opened Ferrian's clothing, pushing it gingerly aside and placing the pendant as close to the wound as she dared, avoiding the dagger with extreme care.

With both hands cupped over the stone, she willed it to life.

At first, nothing happened. Then a wavering, uncertain trickle of magic leaked down her arms, which quickly drained away.

She tried again.

This time, the magic made it down into the stone, which bloomed with cerulean light.

Then it sputtered and went out.

She tried a third time, with the same result.

Araynia pulled back, gasping. "I… I need the Sword of Healing!" She let out a frustrated sob.

"The dagger must be removed from him," Tander declared, from where he stood looking over her shoulder. Then he turned and strode off into the bushes.

Araynia didn't know what to do. She sat staring helplessly down at Ferrian, tears finding their way down her cheeks. Should I summon Requar?

But she was afraid to do so. The thought of him seeing his son like this was awful. What would he say? What would it do to him, if he could not feel grief?

She swallowed back her horror, suddenly knowing exactly what Requar would do.

He would attempt to give up his remaining life force to save Ferrian…

Ben was attempting to comfort Li, who was still weeping, though the boy looked badly shaken himself.

"Stand aside, all of you!"

Tander's command was so authoritative that they did so without question. The Angel Lieutenant was wearing his armour again, and carrying his long spear. He watched them to see that they moved well back to the side of the clearing, then he took up a position a few feet from Ferrian.

He lowered his spear so that the tip rested upon the young man's blood-soaked shoulder, just beside the dagger.

"Tander!" Araynia said in alarm.

"I said stay back!"

His eyes were uncharacteristically hard. Araynia shrank fearfully behind a tree.

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"I hope he knows what he's doing," Ben muttered, holding Li where the two of them crouched in the ferns, looking equally scared.

Tander braced himself, his gauntleted hands tightening on his spear. The sun broke over the ridgetop, setting his armour and weapon alight, glowing through his wing feathers, throwing long tree-shadows across the rock shelf.

Araynia found that she was holding her breath.

Tander made a quick, sharp thrust with his spear. It was instantly repelled, but he rocked back only slightly, holding his ground. Steadying himself, he poised the spear and stabbed again, this time hard and definite, plunging it right into the wound.

There was a flash of light, an awful screech of metal, and the dagger leapt free, spinning away from Tander's spear, landing with a clatter on the rock several feet away. Black tentacles lashed out of it, wildly seeking something to grasp, spraying droplets of blood across the clearing, then retreated back into the blade.

The dagger lay still.

Carefully, the Angel removed his spear from Ferrian, then gestured at the noblewoman. "You may heal him now," he told her. "Close the wound."

Araynia did as she was told, rushing back to Ferrian's side, even though the thought of touching the wound made her sick. But blood was gushing from it now; if she did not close it quickly, the young sorcerer would bleed to death long before the trigon took him.

Placing her pendant on the wound, heedless of the blood running over her hands, she sent magic through it again.

The blue glow came sluggishly, in fits and starts, then began to stabilise. She needed only a little magic, just enough to stop the bleeding, not attempt to heal him fully. Too much, and she risked a hostile reaction from the trigon.

Or a reaction from Requar…

Tander walked around Ferrian's body and stood staring down at the dagger, where it lay, a malevolent black shard, on the rock. He called out to Ben.

The boy came running at once.

Tander handed Ben his spear. "Hold this for me," he said.

Ben took it, looking worried.

Araynia saw what was happening at the edge of her vision. She looked up.

The Angel looked at each of them in turn: Ben, Li, and finally Araynia. Then he stared down at the dagger.

"It needs to be disposed of," he told them quietly. "It is too dangerous to be left here. Someone else may pick it up."

Araynia momentarily forgot to concentrate on her magic. She stared at the Angel Lieutenant in desperate horror.

He held her gaze, giving her a rueful smile.

"What are you going to do?" Ben asked, eyes wide.

Tander did not reply. Instead, he took a deep breath. "I will be back in a little while," he said.

And with those words, he snatched up the dagger, raced across the rock ledge and launched himself into the morning sky.

Just like that, he was gone.

The others could do nothing but stare after him, stunned.

Beneath clouds that broke apart like golden wool, Lieutenant Tander raced over the forest, his wingbeats propelling him hard and fast. The ridgeline vanished behind him, and a crumbled rocky plateau spread out below.

Squinting against the piercing brilliance of the rising sun, he turned to the north.

Bridgetown swung away to his right.

The Unforgivable Chasm lay ahead.

He gripped the trigonic dagger in his right hand, trusting his silvertine gauntlet to protect him from contact with the black metal. He kept it held out and downwards from his body and wings as he flew, careful to allow no part of it to touch any exposed skin or feathers.

The wraithlight, he noted as he went, seemed to have disappeared – at least as far as he could tell in the morning glare – and the Winter had smothered Bridgetown and much of the surrounding plains in snow, which was melting in shimmering streams into the Chasm. Tander spared a fleeting, anxious thought for Sergeant Flint, wondering what had become of the man – and what terrible occurrence had resulted in Ferrian being stabbed with a trigonic dagger that should have been secure in his Sword…

But the answers to these questions were not, at the moment, his greatest priority.

He flew out over the Chasm, following the great cleft as it weaved its way north, like a giant scar.

He kept flying. He wanted to be well away from the city, out of sight and certainly out of reach of any kind of civilisation.

Gradually, the ridgelines to the east and west converged until they met the edges of the canyon, where they rose into sheer, impassable cliffs on both sides, turning the Chasm into a deeper, darker, narrower trench. The rugged, inhospitable peaks of the Red Ranges lay beyond, a jumbled mass of ochre-hued rock, home to the last of the Grik tribes, hidden away in their secluded cave-fortresses.

The Griks were barely considered a race, Tander thought sadly. Most people – Angels especially – thought of them as less intelligent than animals, mere walking rocks, a resource to be exploited for the precious gemstones and minerals that grew from their backs.

A famous Angel Commander of the original Sky Legion, two hundred years ago, by the name of Elle'Grace, had considered it fine sport to hunt the Griks. One day he had led an expedition into the Red Ranges to wipe them out and plunder their bodies for treasure. But the Grik tribes unexpectedly united, organised an ambush and slaughtered the Commander and all of his troops, deep within their warren of mountain tunnels, where the Angels were trapped and could not flee.

The Griks fashioned the Commander's golden feathers into a cloak, which they proudly displayed to those who came looking for the lost expedition.

Word quickly spread: one underestimated Griks to one's peril.

Tander was fairly sure that there was still a chieftain out there somewhere, wearing that cloak to this day.

The Griks had largely been left alone since then, if not outright feared. Sometimes they wandered out of the hills and found work as guards or labourers or thugs-for-hire.

How do the Griks factor into Reeves' grand plan to unite and lead the races? Tander couldn't help but wonder.

No Grik would ever bow to Reeves, or regard him with anything other than deeply ingrained mistrust.

Reeves cares nothing for history, Tander thought, but he must know this. He must know that he, an Angel, cannot possibly charm Griks, that it would be dangerous to try. Does he wish to be made into a beautiful white headpiece to go with Commander Ell's cloak? Does he wish to lead us all to our deaths alongside him?

Or perhaps, just like the ignorant Angels of old, Reeves simply thought of Griks as barely sentient rubble. If, indeed, he had ever thought about them at all.

Tander shook his head, troubled.

Worry for Reeves seeped its way through his mind, deeper with every wingbeat, mingled with dark thoughts over what it was his Commander was attempting to do. He had successfully dazzled Tander with talk of Excelsior, but Tander knew that his speech had been careful, deliberate, sleek as silk, just like the rest of him. But he was holding something back.

Why? It was a word that he had wilfully ignored at the time, but it had returned to hammer insistently, painfully, against the inside of his skull.

Reeves knew that Tander would not betray him.

Reeves knew…

The Watcher knew it, too. That Black Pyramid had prised Tander apart and plucked out his deepest feelings as though to examine a specimen, leaving him a weeping, shivering mess in the desert.

Tears hovered at the corners of his eyes but were snatched away by the air rushing past his face. No, I don't want to… He flailed with his free hand as though to physically shove the memory away.

It was that first day, in the library…

Tander had entered the room to be struck frozen by the sight of a stunning white-winged soldier in silver armour arguing with the librarian. His manner had not been kind; he was attempting to intimidate her into getting what he wanted.

It wasn't working, and he was clearly becoming irritated.

The librarian told him curtly that they didn't have what he was looking for, and that he should seek permission to enter Grath Ardan from Governor Merrill.

Then, realising that someone else was watching, the Angel soldier had looked up.

Tander had expected a look of derision, much like the one he was aiming at the Human librarian – perhaps even a scathing remark – but those exquisite blue-green eyes instead widened slightly in surprise, and then deepened to intense curiosity.

Feeling himself burning up under that striking gaze, Tander had nodded nervously in respect, then fled into the stacks.

The Angel soldier had left the library shortly after, but had paused with his gauntleted hand upon the arched doorway, half looking over his shoulder. Tander thought he glimpsed a fleeting smile. Then he turned and sauntered away down the hallway, his long white coat flaring out behind him, his snowy wings flexing then settling back into place.

Tander's heart felt as though it had been snared in a trap and was bleeding all over the floor. He couldn't concentrate on his studies. He forgot what it was he had come into the library for in the first place.

He had spent half the day working up the courage to ask the librarian who the soldier was.

Wing Commander Re'Vier, of the Sky Legion.

The librarian had not been impressed.

But Tander could not stop thinking about him.

And… that was that. The real reason he had begged to join the Sky Legion.

And, he suspected with wrenching despair, the reason that Reeves had allowed him to.

The Sky Legion Commander wanted not only unwavering, unquestioning loyalty from his men, but adoration.

He had captured Tander with ridiculous ease.

And Reeves knew it.

And Tander knew that he, himself, was worse than a fool. He was aware that he had tried to justify his feelings with excuses. He desperately wanted to believe in Reeves' grand plan, that it was, truly, a wondrous endeavour, for the betterment of Arvanor, for the salvation of all Angels…

He had to believe that Reeves was – or at least some part of him was – a good person.

Because if he wasn't…

He was shaking, now, his vision blurring. Slowing his flight, he came to a halt, wings beating the air, far above the Chasm yawning below him. The vastness of the red, rocky mountain wilderness spread out around him, carved with deep shadows to his right, golden fiery cliffs to his left as the morning sun spilled over them. Bridgetown was far out of sight, now, hidden behind several curves of the canyon, and there was no one else to be seen.

There was just him, and the sky, and the sun, and mountains, and his wretched, doomed foolishness.

And the dagger.

He had forgotten he was holding it, and realised with a sudden jolt what was happening.

He brought it around in front of him, clutching it with both hands, staring down at its wicked black curves.

It glinted at him, like an invitation.

He closed his eyes, catching his breath.

What a very simple solution, he thought suddenly, longingly, to all of my problems…

Then a shudder of horror passed through him, and he shook his head in denial. "NO!" he cried aloud, his voice echoing back at him off the canyon walls. "Aaaarrggh! Accursed thing!" He blinked away the furious tears that spilled from his eyes.

"May you rot at the bottom of the Unforgivable Chasm for a hundred million years!" Tander glared at the dagger. "May all of the poor, tormented lives that you have taken find some manner of peace and may you never be seen or touched by a living soul ever again!"

And with that he drew back his arms, turning his whole body with the motion, and flung the trigonic dagger away from him with all of his strength.

He watched it spin away through the morning light, a broken chip of the purest evil known to exist, quickly diminishing into a tiny, pitiful black speck that tumbled into the maw of the Chasm, vanishing forever into the fog rising from the unknown depths.

For long moments he hovered in place, collecting his broken thoughts and piecing them painfully back together. He looked down at his trembling hands, glittering in the sun.

The dagger had not breached his silvertine armour. It had not pierced his skin. It had brushed his mind, tried to use his own torment against him, but that was all. There was no infection.

He was free of it.

Ferrian was free of it.

The dagger was gone.

With a final, relieved breath, he turned and flew back toward the city.