Ferrian's Winter

Along The Line the news is spread

What is the Doom that lies ahead?

Night air smothered the street, hot and close, filling it with the overpowering smell of sweat and animals, leather and spices, dust and flowers, and wafts of ale from the taverns. People and their goods were packed in everywhere, crushed into a standstill. Many of them were yelling at each other. Agitation swept up and down the stalled Line in waves, fracturing tempers and sometimes erupting into small fights, especially outside the drinking-houses. Moths fluttered restlessly about lanterns hung on poles.

Looming above it all, two of the windmills turned half-heartedly.

Ill tidings floated through the night-darkened streets of Watchroads, carried from lips to ears to frightened eyes, gathering in the centre of the Outland town in a murmuring, despairing pool of impending doom.

Two travellers made their slow, winding way through the discontent, though most in the crowd took a single glance at them and hurriedly made way. One, a shadow detached from the night in the shape of a large black Centaur woman, a shining silvertine spear gripped in her hand.

And her companion: a red-haired woman riding a palomino horse, wearing leather armour and a crimson cloak.

Her grey eyes were fixed ahead of her like chips of frosted stone.

A long bundle wrapped in a blanket was strapped to her back.

The travellers stopped in front of the burning torches of the Guard House, an uninviting grey stone building hunkered on one side of the main square. People and wagons milled about in the space behind them, with Freeroamers standing in tense, watchful pairs on the corners, weapons drawn. The latter nodded and greeted Raemint as she passed, with undisguised relief on their faces, as though the mere presence of the Centaur was certain to restore some form of civility to the beleaguered town.

Carmine slid wearily from her saddle, tying her equally exhausted horse to a granite hitching post.

Raemint regarded her. "I am aware that this may be difficult for you," she said sympathetically. "You need not come inside, if you do not wish to. I will explain what has happened." She shook her head. "You are no longer our prisoner, Carmine; you are a free woman. I see no reason to detain you. But I must settle matters with the Freeroamers."

Carmine was silent, stroking the nose of her mount, staring out at the lamps blazing around the square, the unsettled crowd beneath them, the light glinting off tiny bells strung upon colourful merchant wagons, the moonlight glowing loftily above, turning the slate roofs to silver, the solemn dark shapes of chestnut trees, as watchful and brooding as the Freeroamers standing guard beneath them, waiting for something to happen. She felt the heat of the horse's breath against her body, and a faint, whispering breeze brush its fingers across the back of her exposed neck, where her long hair had once been.

She felt strangely detached from it all, as though she were a spectator watching a play, or a ghost, able to see and feel but not connected in any meaningful way to any of it.

Raemint's dark hand rested upon her shoulder. "Carmine?"

She blinked. "I… understand," she replied. She looked up, her throat tightening suddenly, anxiously, searching the Centaur's dark eyes for something real, something familiar, some reassurance that she was still… Carmine.

Raemint seemed to understand. She squeezed the red-haired woman's shoulder and gave her a gentle smile. "Come," she whispered. "All will be well."

She turned and went through the open door of the Guard House.

Carmine followed wordlessly.

A grey-bearded officer sat behind the desk in the cramped foyer. One hand was held to his head, the lines of his frowning face illuminated by an oil lamp beside him as he scribbled something on a piece of parchment with a quill pen. He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't immediately notice his visitors, even though Raemint filled most of the space. The Centaur cleared her throat pointedly.

The bearded man glanced up, then almost fell over his chair in his haste to rise. He put a fist to his chest and bowed hurriedly. "Lieutenant-Commander! I, er, we weren't expectin' you…!"

Raemint waved a hand dismissively. "Alon, Sergeant Wolfrun. Well met. I was not expecting to pass this way."

The Sergeant ran a hand through his silver hair, looking flustered. "Did Cairan send you?" He gestured at the desk. "I was just pennin' a letter to him…"

Raemint shook her head. "No. In fact, I am looking for Sergeant Flint. I have reason to believe that he came this way." Unhooking a small metallic object from her belt, she handed it to Wolfrun.

The Sergeant stared at the round polished badge in his hand, glinting in the lamplight. He took a deep breath, then let it out again in a rush. "By the Gods, Rae," he said, shaking his head. "He sure as hell did!"

Raemint frowned. "Wolf," she said. "What is going on?"

Tossing the badge onto the desk, Wolfrun ran his hands down his tired face. Then he leaned on the old wooden table with both hands, making it creak. "I'll tell yer what's goin' on," he growled. "Flint. Damned man's trailin' trouble behind him like a flamin' oil barrel, that's what!"

He went on to explain what had happened since Sergeant Flint and his companions had arrived in Watchroads about a week previously.

"… took out three damned Bladeshifters with her magic!" he remarked. "Had half the town riled up! Just got everythin' settled back down again, back to business as usual… then somethin' starts goin' on out in the Bone Sea. Got people chargin' back into town in a flurry, cryin' about Dragons out there, and wraiths and Lights and Gods know what!"

The Sergeant rummaged about on his desk, then held out a piece of paper with a seal of blue wax affixed to it. "And this just came in yesterday. Dunno what to make of it!"

Raemint took the paper and studied it for a long moment. "The Winter Sorcerer is wanted," she recited quietly. "As a matter of Great Urgency, by decree of their Graces the Twin Emperors of Siriaza. To an audience with General Corvus Pine of the Imperial Majestic Army, at Bridgetown with all haste. Upon successful resolution of the Matter, the Esteemed Sorcerer may name his Reward.

"The border crossing to the Empire is henceforth closed to all passage until this situation is Concluded. All travelling parties and Merchants are urged to stay away from Bridgetown by reason of Dire Peril."

The Centaur closed her eyes. "Ferrian," she whispered. "The Empire is in need of his help."

Wolfrun looked worried. "Don't like the sound of this 'Dire Peril', I gotta say. Flint headed out that way." He shook his head. "He was chasin' after some thief who had the balls to nick the Eliminator, can ya believe that!"

Carmine didn't like the way the Centaur's brow furrowed, or the glimmer of fear that passed through her eyes as she continued to stare at the letter.

Carmine stepped forward out of the shadows, up to the desk, and addressed Sergeant Wolfrun. "Did you see Hawk?" she pressed. "Was he with Flint?"

The Freeroamer turned to her as though he had only just noticed her presence. "Afraid not, lass," he replied. "Only sick person we took into our care was a woman named Everine. But Flint mentioned Hawk. He thought the thief might be interested in the man's armour, made of silvertine as it is. Fancy Angel-made stuff; worth a few bob…" his voice trailed off into a frown, then his bushy grey eyebrows shot up. He took a startled step back from his desk. "Gods alive. Are you…?!"

"Carmine." She held him in place with a piercing stare. "Carmine Vandaris."

"Captain Sirannor's daughter," Raemint explained. "And Sergeant Devandar Hawk's fiancé. We have been holding Carmine in protective custody at Forthwhite for four years, due to a trigonic infection. But she has been healed completely. You have my assurance that she is well."

Wolfrun looked stunned. "Healed? How the blazes…"

Carmine unbuckled the belts holding the long bundle to her back. Then she swung it around and dropped it onto the table. She unwrapped the blanket covering.

The three of them stared down at the gleaming object that lay revealed.

The Sword was beautiful. Six feet long and a century old, but utterly pristine. A pair of snakes – ebony and ivory – embraced the silver blade and each other in an eternal coil, their tails resting upon a smooth, elegant hilt. A cluster of six sapphires were embedded there, clear and deep as a summer sky, amongst a swirl of vine-like engravings,

Raemint reached out a hand, placing it gently, reverently upon the hilt. "The Sword of Healing," she whispered, closing her eyes. "The Sword that saved my life." Opening her eyes, she caught Carmine's gaze. "And yours as well, Carmine. And so shall it be for Hawk. And for Everine."

Carmine was silent. She knew nothing of this Sword's history, or how such an impossible thing existed at all. She knew only that she had woken up one day in a burnt-out infirmary in a town she didn't know, with this extraordinary blade impaled through her body – and she had been left unharmed.

Raemint had told her everything that had occurred since Mekka had brought her and Hawk back from the Middle Isle – Carmine in a deranged state, Hawk comatose and infected with some black, hideous thing called trigon – but Carmine remembered nothing. She had vague memories of travelling to Sunsee on some urgent mission, but could not remember what it was about. She had never heard of any kind of black armour, let alone supposedly stealing it from the Darorian Army barracks and putting it on, and definitely could not remember posing as a soldier and going to the Middle Isle.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

That the Aegis had failed and the Dragons escaped was shocking news to her.

Raemint had told her that she had gone to find Sirannor, who had been framed for murder and set up to be executed by a Dragon, but that he had been ultimately killed by General Dreikan.

Carmine recalled none of it.

She had listened in bloodless, stupefied silence, as though the Centaur was relating a horror story about someone else's life.

And worst of all… Carmine had been overcome by the black armour. She had turned into a terrifying, wraith-like monster and gone on a murderous rampage, causing many deaths. She had attacked a sorcerer, causing him to cast a fatal spell that had ended his life and destroyed a swath of forest in a vain attempt to bring Carmine down with him…

How could any of this possibly be true??

Except for the evidence of her own eyes and ears; the Sword, the burned clothes she was draped in, the deserted town of Meadrun, the rumours of catastrophe that had assaulted her along her journey to Watchroads with Raemint.

And the fact that everyone she knew or cared about was missing. Dead, half-dead or their fates unknown:

Hawk. Mekka. Sirannor. Everine…

And now, she was being asked to believe that she could save at least some of them, somehow, when she barely even understood how or why they were gone…

She touched the perfect silvertine blade with her fingertips.

Hawk.

The last time she had seen him, the last time she had talked to him, he had asked her to marry him.

She forced back tears.

Raemint removed her own hand from the Sword, turning to Wolfrun. "The noblewoman travelling with Flint, Lady Araynia. She is capable of using this Sword. She is the only person who can. It is imperative that we find her."

Wolf nodded. "Like I said, they were headin' towards Bridgetown, along with the thief. Might be some Bladeshifters decided to tag along too." He looked anxious. "Watch yerself out there, LC."

Raemint gave him a dark smile. "I have just come from a town infested with demon-wraiths," she replied. Picking up her spear, she gave it a twirl – it flashed and swooshed in the close confines of the foyer, just missing the ceiling beams – and planted it on the flagstone floor. "Bladeshifters shall certainly not get in my way. Nor thieves. Nor Dragons. Nor this… 'Dire Peril'."

Wolfrun laughed.

Raemint inclined her head. "If that letter is for Cairan, please tell him where I have gone."

The Sergeant nodded again. "Will do."

"You said that Everine is here," Carmine spoke suddenly. She had just finished wrapping the Sword back into a bundle and re-securing it to her back. She looked up at Wolf. "I want see her." She swallowed. "Please."

Wolf looked uncertain, but Raemint nodded assent, then nodded again at Carmine, in approval.

* * *

Mist stole through the trees, an ethereal assassin silently dispatching the forest until nothing was left except the pale limbs of the gum trees, standing out like exposed bones within their folds of shabby, peeling bark.

Araynia kept the campfire going, hot and lively, in an attempt to ward it off, alternating between throwing more branches on and huddling within her thin cloak. The flames sent shadows dancing across the rock ledge, while fog swirled the darkness in an unsettling manner along the fringes of the light.

A few feet away, Ben was trying to teach Li a game. A variety of sticks, gumnuts and pebbles were laid out on the rock between them. The murmur of the boy's voice was the only sound disturbing the oppressive gloom of the night. As though realising this, his words were low and hushed.

Li remained mute, staring absently down at the pieces. It was unclear whether she was even listening to him.

Somewhere out on the hill, the White Dragon had settled herself, a huge, majestic, watchful sentinel, invisible in the darkness. Nevertheless, her presence brought a great deal of comfort to them all – no one would slip by the Dragon's powerful vision, nothing would creep up on them through the mist-shrouded forest – but still, none of them could sleep. Araynia dared not close her eyes, though they were heavy with tiredness; she was afraid that if she did, the next time she awoke, Ferrian and Flint would have failed to return.

It was an unreasonable thought – whether the two men came back alive or not had nothing to do with whether she slept, but she couldn't bear the thought of losing herself to oblivion while they were in danger. She had spent far too much time already unconscious while important things were happening: an unfortunate side effect of using her magic.

She sighed. Worry for them both had settled into a cold, hard ball in her stomach, that the heat from the fire could not dislodge.

She had desperately wanted to go with them, even though she knew that her magic was of no use against a silvertine wraith, that any harm inflicted upon them could not be reversed without the Sword of Healing – and perhaps not even with it. Despite this, she had started to open her mouth to suggest it, but Ferrian had silenced her with a single, fierce look. He had known exactly what she was about to say, and it had made her blush with embarrassment.

So she had kept quiet, swallowed back her unhappiness, and watched his grey cloak disappear into the trees after Flint.

Ben had grumbled and sulked about being left behind, too, but of course he would. Tander knew better than to make any comment. Li remained subdued.

To her surprise, the Dragon had spoken to Araynia then, and to her alone, as though she, too, had overheard the noblewoman's personal thoughts:

I will watch him, she had said.

The Dragon's words should have been reassuring. And yet… a stubborn sense of unease remained.

So Araynia languished in a slowly-churning whirlpool of dark thoughts, regrets, worries and guilt, that went round and round and led nowhere.

I wish I had more time to talk to Ferrian, she thought. But every time I meet him, he runs off to save someone…

Immediately, she felt ashamed of the resentful thought. She was being selfish. Ferrian's loyalty to his friends was extraordinary, and she took strength from it. When someone he cared about was in trouble, he did not hesitate to go after them. He was willing to die for them, without a second thought.

The reunion with Requar in the Sword flowed back, inevitably, into her mind. It had made her unexpectedly emotional. She had not realised the depth of feeling that the two of them had for each other.

Araynia could not bring herself to hate the dead sorcerer, after that.

The fire crackled. The mist enshrouded their clearing, damp and chill. Ben yawned.

After awhile, finding her eyes closing of their own accord, Araynia forced herself awake by feeding the dwindling fire, and pushed herself stiffly to her feet. Rummaging about in their collective camping equipment, she found a pot and an enamel mug, and set about making tea with a handful of eucalyptus leaves that she picked from an overhanging branch.

She was not particularly thirsty, but it was something to do.

Once the tea had steeped, she took up the mug and carried it over to Ben, only to find that the boy had fallen asleep, lying on his back, snoring softly. Li stared up at her with wide, dark copper eyes.

Araynia took the tea over to the Angel girl instead. "Would you like some tea, Li?" she asked quietly.

Li nodded.

Araynia crouched in front of her, handing over the mug. "Be careful," she warned. "It is very hot."

The girl took it in both hands and held it on the ground before her.

Araynia hesitated, looking at her. "Are you feeling all right, Li?" she asked.

Li was silent for a very long moment, staring down at her tea. Then she nodded again.

Araynia's brow furrowed. "Would you tell me if you were not?"

This time, Li did not respond at all.

Taking a deep, slow breath and letting it out again, the noblewoman lowered herself to the ground beside the Angel girl, wrapping her cloak around herself. "Li," she said gently, after another long moment had passed, "do you remember the Black Pyramid, the one that Mekka arrived in?"

Li did not respond at once, then, reluctantly, she nodded.

"Do you remember if it spoke to you?"

Li nodded again.

"What did it say?"

Li was quiet for so long that Araynia was sure that she wasn't going to answer. Then:

"It told me it was a God."

Araynia looked at Li, stunned.

"It told me that I could come and live inside it forever," the girl went on. "That it would make my wings black and beautiful, like Mekka's. That Mekka would look after me! It showed me a city in the sky, all made of black metal and buildings shaped like flowers. It promised that we could go there!"

Araynia stared at her in wordless disbelief. "Li," she managed finally. "You should not believe what the Pyramid tells you!"

The girl looked up at her. "Why not?"

"Because it is not telling you the truth!"

Li blinked, giving the noblewoman an annoyed look, as though she were treating Li like an infant. "Yes it is."

An awful feeling crept over Araynia's skin, then. Oh, Gods, she thought. Could it be that the Pyramid was, in fact, telling Li the truth?

Was THAT the Watcher's true purpose? she realised, in horror. To make more black-winged Angels?!

Her breath was trapped in her throat. Mekka had misinterpreted the Watcher's intentions. It had not simply driven the Angels insane.

It was worse.

It had… attempted to convert them…?!

In a flash of insight, Araynia thought she understood. The Pyramid was made out of trigon; it was fuelled by negative energy. It fed on despair, grief and pain. The insanity was merely the catalyst to make the magic work, a trigger for the transformation. It had to make the Angels feel bad in order to use their own pain to shape them into something else…

She fought to keep the panic from her face, but Li was on her feet now, defensive. "You don't believe me, do you??"

"I… I believe you, Li," Araynia replied weakly. "But… your feathers are already beautiful! They are lovely. You do not need to be somebody else…"

"But I want to be somebody else!" the girl cried. "I want to be like Mekka!"

Araynia stared at her helplessly. Her heart and her thoughts were racing fast. She took a deep, steadying breath.

There is no need to panic, she told herself. The Black Pyramid is not here; Mekka has taken it away. All of the Angels should be safe as long as they stay away from it…

Her blood ran cold.

Reeves.

"Alright," she conceded, forcing calm into her voice, and her smile. "Mekka is quite handsome, isn't he?"

Li relaxed, the tension draining from her small shoulders, her wing feathers smoothing out. She fidgeted with the overlong cuffs of the white silken shirt she had pilfered from the desert. "Yes," she agreed, head lowering shyly.

Araynia leaned towards the girl. "Do you know who else is handsome?" she whispered, and pointed at the Angel Legionnaire seated at the far edge of the rocky shelf, staring out into the impenetrable darkness. "Lieutenant Tander. He cares about you very much, do you know that?"

Li nodded, face falling.

"Do you think he would be happy if you went and lived in a Pyramid?"

Li chewed her lip. "He could come too!"

Araynia shook her head. "The Pyramid made him sad, Li. It frightened Nix very badly and upset Reeves so much that he tore up his Book and ran away."

Li folded her arms, looking cross. "I don't care about Nix and Reeves! They're jerks!"

Araynia was inclined to agree, but that was beside the point. "You may not like them, Li, but they haven't done anything wrong. They don't deserve to be hurt, especially by something that they do not understand."

Li was silent.

Araynia sighed. "Tander looks very lonely, sitting all the way over there. Why don't you go and give him a hug? And a cup of tea?" She picked up the mug of forgotten, rapidly cooling tea.

The girl hesitated, looking uncertain. "Isn't he angry with me?"

Araynia looked up at her, perplexed "Angry with you? No, of course not! Why would Tander be angry with you?"

Li looked crestfallen. "I was supposed to stay behind with the Lady Centaur. I know that Reeves told him to, but… maybe he didn't want me to come with him…"

Araynia shook her head. "Li, Tander worries about you – we all do. We want you to be safe. But nobody is angry with you."

Li sniffed.

Putting the mug down, Araynia got up and hugged the Angel girl. "Li," she sighed. "Stay with us! Please! Don't go anywhere without telling anyone, all right?"

She felt the girl nod into her shoulder.

Araynia pulled back. She brushed the girl's fringe out of her eyes, and stroked one of her white, copper-speckled wings, admiring the bright orange tips. "Your wings are very pretty, Li," she repeated, "just as they are."

Li just stared up at her, looking sad.

Araynia gave her a final hug, then released her. Li looked over at Tander, then started across the rock towards him. Halfway there, she broke into a run and threw herself on him.

A startled exclamation came back across the clearing. But the Angel's face, when he caught sight of Li, lit up as though the dawn had suddenly arrived. Grabbing her, he scuffled her hair, messing it up until she squealed.

Araynia smiled at the sight of them, but could not banish the fear, which coiled itself deeper, ever more tightly around her gut.