A Crossroad

The cell resembled the Void in many ways, but Efstany was glad that he was still able to retain his sense of individuality. No matter how much the ceiling dripped, or the mold stank, or the rats skittered, he would always be Efstany.

But, then, who was Efstany?

The memories had started to return in the darkness, flashes of perception appearing in the lack of light. They showed him scenes of a young man’s life, scenes that Efstany somehow recognized but did not truly understand. A boy, of many ages, was the only thing that spanned between all of them. Who was the boy? Efstany did not know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He had long since made his peace with his life and his calling, and the inkling of suspicion he had about these memories terrified him.

And yet, he could not help but focus on them.

“Oh, my son.” A familiar voice sighed,  and Efstany’s clenched muscles suddenly relaxed. He knew that voice.

“My lord.” Efstany intoned, bowing his head and kneeling on the cold, wet ground. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“One of my favored sons is incarcerated.” Aia said with a smile that Efstany could sense through the darkness. “Do you think I would abandon him?” Only, there was no darkness any more. A glow was emanating softly from a robust figure in the center of Efstany’s cell, blinding to Efstany’s light-deprived eyes. It might as well have been the sun. He held his arm over his eyes to shield them from the rays.

“My lord,” Efstany began, gratitude filling his heart. Knowing his God had not abandoned him gave him something he hadn’t known he needed. Hope. “Surely there are other duties you should be attending to? I am strong, my lord. I am able to deal with this.” His were slowly adjusting, and he was able to put his arm down to his side.

“That may be, Efstany.” Aia nodded. “But, though I may be a harsh father, I look out for my children.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Efstany said. And he meant it.

“Although,” Aia said slowly, walking forward and grasping Efstany’s arm before pulling him to his feet. “There is something I need you to do.” His touch was much more gentle than Efstany had expected. His last few encounters had made him think of his father as a harsh taskmaster who ruled with an iron fist. This Aia was different: more benevolent, kind. “Fatherly” would be the best word to describe the god that stood before Efstany.

Strange.

“Anything, my lord.” Efstany said, bowing his head. Perhaps Aia was simply waiting for him to make a mistake so that he could punish him? Yes, that must be it. Respect would be the wisest choice in this moment.

Aia stared at him, his gaze piercing. “Why do you fear, my son? Why such obeisance when none is required?”

“None is required?” Efstany said, taken aback. The Aia he knew always required obeisance, from the moment he appeared to the moment he left.

This man was not Aia.

“Oio.” Efstany said, involuntarily backing away from the god of the Jods. So this was the enemy of Aia and the Flens. What kind of being would appear so kind, and yet commit so many horrible things? Efstany had been warned of the Jods in his first days as a Flen.  He had been told of the horrible abominations they created in the halls of their mountain fortress.

The man in white smiled. “I had forgotten the stubbornness of my brother’s teachings.” He took a step forward. “Surely you do not fear this aspect so much that you would flee?”

He speaks the truth. A gruff voice said in Efstany’s head, and he flinched. This, this was the voice of his god. But why would Aia have him trust the enemy?

Are you sure, my lord? Efstany replied, scared that he would say no and terrified that he would say yes.

Why do you ask such inane things, Efstany? Aia barked. You have never questioned me before. Why now? And Efstany felt the presence of his god leave.

“I see that my brother has quelled your fears for the moment.” The man in white said with a nod. ‘That is good. Your fear would have been an obstacle in the task I have for you.”

“What task could the evil god of the Jods have for me?” Efstany spat out, a kind of bitterness in his words that he hadn’t thought existed.

“Judge not, little one.” Oio replied, that same kind smile still on his face. It only served to anger Efstany more. “The task I have is a simple one.” He pointed to the barred door of the cell. “When you find some method of escaping this cell, find the king whom you have served. And when you find him, ask him about the shadow he sees in the mirror.”

“The shadow…” Efstany murmured angrily. “Can you only speak in riddles?”

“Only the riddles that you can understand.” Oio smiled even broader. Suddenly, Efstany reeled as the light disappeared and he was left standing in the darkness. He stumbled over to the stone slab that served as his bed, contemplating the words Oio had spoken. The shadow Gestarin saw in the mirror.

Could it be?

Efstany had heard whispers, rumors among the other Flens, that the world was soon going to change. That they would be free once more to go about their way. And many of the rumors said it would begin with a shadow in the mirror.

As Efstany thought, the memories came crashing back, silencing all thought for the moment.

* * *

No matter how much time would pass, Kiinrin doubted that he would ever become annoyed with flying. The sheer exhilaration of seeing himself flying above the ubiquitous earth made him shiver, nearly interrupting the delicate balance between wind and wing. Learning how to fly had been difficult, and he desperately wanted to demonstrate to Vilkanai how well he could grasp the arduous skill.

“Flying to some is an impossibility that defies what humans should be able to do.” Vilkanai had told the initiates the day they began their training, pacing between the nervous students. “Only the dreamers, the Weavers, and the religious know that Aia causes all to be possible. And so, like worship or Worldweaving, flying is an art that is hardly teachable in the time I have been allotted to train all of you.” He ceased his motion, standing solidly in front of the throng with his hands  behind his back. “And yet, here I am, about to bring you to a new view of the world we live in.”

Suddenly, the white wings he bore exploded from his back, and Vilkanai thrust himself into the air. The students watched in awe as he zoomed this way and that, soaring between like the wind currents like a fish in the sea. Every movement was natural, flowing, perfect. Kiinrin’s breath caught in his throat as he watched his master at work.

“Flying is not something you can do with your head!” Vilkanai shouted as he ceased his acrobatics and stood, wings flapping, above their heads. “The heart is what governs this motion, so I want all of you to stop thinking.” The students twittered, confused as to what Vilkanai was asking.

“But, sir!” Quinlix shouted back, gesturing to his fellow classmates. “How are we supposed to do something without thinking?”

Before Vilkanai was able to answer, Kiinrin decided he was going to attempt it. Flexing new muscles that he had previously never known, he unfolded his wings and mimicked Vilkanai’s motion, launching himself into the cold air of the mountains. He found himself floundering as the strength of his legs and wings combined pushed him much further than he had intended, and he began to do somersaults in the air. Desperately he tried to flap his wings, but that was as useless as a newborn child trying to run. His body was unfamiliar with these new motions, and no matter how hard he tried he could not get himself to respond.

A firm hand grabbed his arm, wrenching him upright with an iron grip. Kiinrin stopped tumbling and could focus enough to flap his wings, keeping him mostly in the same place.

“That was spectacular!” Vilkanai shouted, a large grin on his face. “No one has ever been able to learn it that fast.”

“What are you talking about?” Kiinrin said, puzzled. “I nearly killed myself trying that!”

“But see where you are, Kiinrin!” Vilkanai laughed. “Gravity, the force that has kept humans in the dust since the beginning of time, has no hold on you any longer!” Kiinrin looked dumbly down at his feet, and he yelped as his eyes recognized where they were.

In the brief moments they had been speaking, Vilkanai had quickly lifted Kiinrin higher than the mountaintop, to the point that his other classmates looked like ants scurrying about their hill. The clouds were so close to their heads, Kiinrin was sorely tempted to brush the bottom of one with a shaking hand; however, he resisted. One of the shapes of the students was growing larger and larger with every passing second. In only a moment, a breathless Jiriinii floated alongside the pair.

“That was incredible!” She laughed, nearly pinwheeling in the air before Vilkanai grabbed her arm to steady her. “I’ve never felt anything like it!” Kiinrin smiled, some of his fear disappearing as he allowed his heart to feel some of the excitement it had felt while on his first journey to Valanal.

That exhilaration never truly went away as the next few weeks of training went on, though it dissipated somewhat. The skills they all had to learn were exhausting, a consequence of their unaccustomed muscles. Many of the children turned to tears during some of the sessions, their fatigue wearing down their emotions and mental capacity. The criers were taken kindly by Vilvaga and sent to their rooms. They slept for at least a day.

Kiinrin and Jiriinii, however, were an exception. They both took to their training with the vigor that no one, not even Ventoros himself, had ever seen. The endless days of exercising their wings, practicing different movements, had little to no effect on their enthusiasm; indeed, some even said that they grew more driven, more ardent as time wore on. There was some correlation between enthusiasm and comprehension, as they learned much faster than the other struggling students.

It was for that reason Ventoros had deemed them worthy enough to accompany Vilkanai to investigate an erroneous Harvest.

“I don’t understand this whole situation.” Jiriinii sighed as she maneuvered herself on the opposite side of Kiinrin and Vilkanai, their wings all flapping in unison. “None of it makes any sense.”

“I agree.” Kiinrin said, looking intently at Vilkanai. “Something wasn’t right about that encounter.”

“None of that was right.” Vilkanai snarled, and Kiinrin flinched. He had never seen the kindly Jod this angry. “That Harvest should never have happened.”

“Wait.” Jiriinii and Kiinrin both said at the same time. Jiriinii continued with the thoughts they both were thinking. “How is that possible? Oio dictates who the Flens Harvest. How could he make a mistake?”

“Because Cixusa was not responsible for the deaths of those men.” Vilkanai said with a sigh. “Someone drove him to it, and he was unable to fight against it.”

“What?” Kiinrin gasped, nearly losing his aerial balance once more. “How is that possible?”

Vilkanai was silent for a moment. “I suppose that since Valanal has permitted you two to accompany me, you have a right to know.” He looked over at the young Jods with stormy grey eyes. “But you cannot let the knowledge cloud your judgement. What we are doing is more important than any one man’s life. So, no matter how you may feel because of this, you cannot make any rash decisions. Understood?” Kiinrin and Jiriinii both nodded. Vilkanai sighed and rubbed his temples before beginning again.

“There is a flower.” He began. “A very rare flower that grows in the middle of the Western Wastes, known as “Xeletan Giiracu” in Quasexan. This flower is one of the most powerful drugs known to humankind, and it is special in the fact that it gives divine hallucinations.”

“Divine hallucinations?” Kiinrin interrupted, confused. “What do you mean?”

“The illusions the victim sees always manifest in the form of some godly visitation.” Vilkanai clarified. “Usually in dreams, though sometimes while awake. The person who is drugged will always believe they have been visited by god.”

“So when Cixusa claimed he had been commanded to do those horrible things in a dream…” Jiriinii breathed, trailing off as comprehension flooded her brain.

“Correct.” Vilkanai nodded. “Jods stationed in the Wastes tracked a sale of the drug to Quasexa, but they were too late to stop its administration to the Harvester King. He believed that what he was doing was commanded of Aia.”

“Who would drug the Harvester King?” Kiinrin spluttered. “I see no point to it. The man would inevitably be Harvested, turning his rule into a black spot on history.”

“And no one would speak of it.” Vilkanai pointed out. “No one would acknowledge the strangeness of his death. He would be quietly mourned, but quietly forgotten. And a new Harvester King would take his place.”

Something tickled the back of Kiinrin’s brain, some piece of information he was sure he was forgetting. “Who is the heir to the Harvester throne? Which priest will inherit the crown?”

“I believe your sister knows of him.” Vilkanai said gravely. “A man named Yrit Yvilirin is set to inherit the throne of Xexera.”

* * *

“Here you are, Flen.” A gruff voice said outside Efstany’s cell. “Suppertime.”

Lucidity came to Efstany like the tide edges onto the beach. The memories and whisperings receded slowly, the darkness becoming less like true blackness. How long had it been? Efstany had no idea. Without light, there was no time.

“Hey.” The guard’s voice repeated, a tinge of anger piercing the hoarseness of his timbre. “If you don’t want it again, you don’t have to get it. It’s only through the goodness of our emperor that we care for you.”

“Wait.” Efstany said, sitting up on the floor despite the pounding that began in his head. “I will have it.”

“Thought so.” The guard chuckled, sliding the food through the slit in the bottom of the cell door. He opened the window in the door and peered through it, light flooding into the dank cell. “Three days without any food or water is a bit much for anyone.” He smiled as Efstany scrambled to grab the tray of food before the guard decided to leave him in the darkness. “Even for a Flen.” Efstany grabbed a cold chicken leg and began to gnaw on it, his ferocious hunger having taken control of his thoughts. Somewhere, though, in the back of his mind, he wondered how the memories had plagued him for three days. If each spell tore him apart for that amount of time, how long had he been festering in this cell? How long had it been since he had been free?

“What’s it like?” The guard said after a long moment of silence. His voice was no longer gruff, but sensitive-- tender even.

“What is what like?” Efstany replied, wiping grease from his lips with the back of his hand. His hand almost involuntarily grabbed for the piece of stale bread that remained on his plate and began shoveling it into his mouth.

“The Void.” The guard replied almost reverently, his eyes straying to the dark walls. “What’s it like to be in it?”

Efstany stopped eating, his appetite suddenly and inexplicably gone. He sat back against the wall of the cell, emotions both fond and abhorrent coursing through his mind. “What do you mean, what is the Void like?”

“I mean,” The guard stuttered, scratching his head, “You’ve been in it. You’re part of it, even. What is it like to live that way?”

Efstany rubbed his temples. “I thought that the Diradis didn’t believe in the Flens. Isn’t it against your religion to be asking about this?”

“Not really.” The guard shrugged. “Only the nobility claim to follow the Diradis, and they only do that so they can keep their Bloodblades. A guard like me? I could be a follower of the Wastecult for all the world cares.” He smiled. “And the world doesn’t.”

Efstany thought for a moment, allowing all the tangled threads of his understanding about the Void combine to form some sort of a picture he could draw from. “The Void is… complicated. Nothing about it’s inner workings would make sense to a human.”

“I have time.” The guard said eagerly. “Try. I’m smarter than I look, I swear.”

Efstany sighed. “Very well.” He stood up slowly and walked toward the cell door, positioning himself until he was only a foot away from the guard’s face. “Do you have any understanding about bees?” He asked.

The guard blinked. “Bees?” He looked down as he thought about it. “Somewhat. My uncle kept a few apiaries. Why?”

“Because the Void and its Flens are almost exactly the same.” Efstany said with a nod. “When we are in the Void, we are like the drones that serve the queen. We have no minds of our own, no individual thoughts. We are as one, each following the orders of Aia.”

“You mean Oio.” The guard scoffed. “The Flens all follow Oio. Everyone knows that.”

“Come now, sir.” Efstany said, barely stifling a chuckle. “I thought you weren’t a Diradis. Would you rather trust the words of the corrupt priesthood, or the words of a genuine denizen of the Void itself?”

The guard’s smile drooped, and he looked thoughtful for a moment. “Go on.”

“Aia commands, and we obey.” Efstany said. “There is nothing beside that. No light, no thought, no substance. There are only the words and thoughts of Aia in the Void. Suffocating is a word I would use to describe it.” He raised an eyebrow at the guard. “How would it feel if your home was filled to the brim with the words of god?”

“I…” The guard stammered. “I’m not sure. Wouldn’t it be wonderful though? The benevolence of Aia is said to be without end. Surely it wouldn’t be as terrible as you make it sound?”

“Who ever said that Aia was benevolent?” Efstany replied bluntly. “Because he is not, not in the slightest. The god that I serve is filled with contempt, disappointment. He rules with absolute justice. We seek to please him in every way, hoping against all odds that we may find favor with him. For the ones that do not, well…” He made a cutting gesture. “We’ll just say that it is not pleasant.”

“How did you leave, then?” The guard asked, confused. “If you had no thought for yourself, how could you have left?” His eyes narrowed. “For that matter, how is it possible that you are an individual now?”

“One of the disadvantages of working outside the Void.” Efstany replied with a wry smile. “To allow us to do his bidding, Aia must give us free will and the bodies necessary to carry out his orders. And each time he sends us out, our will grows stronger.”

“Stronger?” The guard’s eyes widened. “How is that possible?”

“Our individuality compounds upon itself.” Efstany said, struggling for the words. “It’s as if… any will we gain outside the Void remains in our bodies whenever we leave. Our memories of our previous Harvests stay with us each time we gain a body. And eventually, we gain enough will to question what we are doing.”

“Which is why you left that night.” The guard nodded. “After the assassin went to the palace.”

“Correct.” Efstany said. “I didn’t believe that there was any purpose to what Aia was having us do. It all seemed to be pointless, to never have any cause.” He was about to continue, when something tickled the back of his thoughts, something wrong. “Wait.” His eyes narrowed. “How did you know when I left?”

* * *

Radiran cursed himself silently as he desperately tried to come up with some excuse that Efstany would accept, but nothing came to him. He could only stammer as Efstany’s eyes narrowed and he backed away from the window.

“Which one are you?” He demanded, his face growing fierce and his hand inching toward one of the hilts on his wrist. “Diksala? Triinor? Who?” He lunged forward and grabbed Radiran’s collar through the window. “Which Flen has Aia sent to kill me?”

“Aia has sent none!” Radiran spluttered, wrenching himself out of Efstany’s grip. “I am Radiran Yrinsson, and I come of my own free will!” Efstany’s eyes widened, and he began to shake his head fervently.

“Don’t you understand?” Efstany growled. “Aia will destroy you when he finds you! He might have let me return if I had decided to, but you...” He shook his head again. “My disappearance will have angered him beyond belief. He will destroy you if you do not return with all haste.”

“I don’t care.” Radiran insisted. “I have to know why you left.”

Efstany was silent for a moment. “Why? Why do you have to know?”

“Because I do not understand what my life is!” Radiran screamed, slamming his fist against the hard iron of the door. “I Harvested a sadistic man last night on Aia’s specific orders, but now I do not know if even the word of god is correct!” Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks as the full force of his confusion exploded out of him in this one, intense moment. “I need to know why you left, so that I may know if it is the correct path for me to follow.”

“What has caused you to doubt the words of Aia?” Efstany said, avoiding the question for the moment. “I never have, even in my rebellion. Tell me, what happened?”

“I…” Radiran stuttered, running his fingers over his bald scalp in a very human manner. “I don’t even know for sure.” He began to pace the hallway around Efstany’s cell. Efstany pressed himself up against the small window, curiosity taking hold of his body far more than fear or hunger had.

“Who were you sent to Harvest?” Efstany backpedaled, trying to find a point that Radiran was comfortable talking about. At this question, Radiran looked down at the ground and put his hands behind his back.

“Cixusa Xeneral.” He whispered, so quiet that Efstany hoped desperately that he had heard wrong. His hopes were dashed, however, when Radiran added, “The Harvester King.”

“Aia’s Blood…” Efstany swore under his breath, and Radiran almost smiled. The same question had run through his own head while he had been travelling to Xexera: what kind of act had the head of the Church committed to bring the wrath of god upon him? “What was the reason?”

“Cannibalism and the creation of Sickles.” Radiran said simply, as if he were talking about the weather. “But that wasn’t the reason that it seemed so strange. It was something the King had said before I Harvested him, something about how Aia actually sanctioned his actions. Told him it was a boon.” Radiran snorted. “When would Aia ever condone such works?”

“Did he mention anything about witnesses?” Efstany asked, his voice betraying the shock he felt. “Anything about someone agreeing with his twisted madness?”

A thought occurred to Radiran like a candle being lit in his head. “Yes, actually. He said something about a man named Highlord Yrit witnessing such revelation.” He cocked his head. “But why would that be important?”

* * *

There weren’t many names that could render Efstany, Flen of Aia and denizen of the Void, speechless. Several could furrow his brow in anger, even fewer could make him grind his teeth in anger. However, the name of Yrit Yvilirin might have been the single name in all of creation that could have struck him completely dumb.

“Yrit?” He whispered, the only words his mouth could manage to make.  The name pounded in his head like the fanfare of a thousand trumpets, deafening and smothering.

“Yes.” Radiran nodded, seemingly unaware of Efstany’s internal struggle. “He said that Highlord Yrit witnessed his actions.”

“What did you do?” Efstany said slowly, pulling the thought out like a leaf out of a swamp. “After he said it, I mean.”

“What I was supposed to do.” Radiran shrugged. “I killed his guards and Harvested him.”

“Nothing more?” Efstany prodded, sensing the man was leaving something out. “A simple Harvest with strange words spoken?”

Radiran’s face paled before he spoke again. “Then Jods arrived.”

“Jods?” Efstany was startled enough to unintentionally hit his head against the rim of the window. “How in Aia’s name are you still alive? Did you fight them?” His eyes widened. “Did you win?”

“No, none of that.” Radiran shook his head vigorously. “They weren’t aggressive at all, didn’t spout any of the nonsense they normally do at encounters such as that. They simply told me that the Harvest had been a mistake.”

“Impossible.” Efstany said with a wave of his hand. “Aia does not make mistakes.” He did not believe his own words.

“That was exactly what I said.” Radiran nodded in agreement. “But then they told me that I had been tricked, and that this man had not been acting of his own free will.” Efstany looked down for a long moment, and when he looked up again his eyes were fearful.

“They may have been right.” Efstany said, his mind moving faster than his body ever had. Pieces of an enormous puzzle were falling into place by the dozen, one right after the other. And the picture they made was unpleasant at best, catastrophic at the worst.

“What?” Radiran looked up, fear shining in his face.

“There is no time for questions.” Efstany said fiercely, a plan forming in his head. “I need you to find the party of King Gestarin of Glausiania. In it there is a man named Vixin Xiviir. I need you to tell him everything you have told me, as fast as you can.”

“But why?” Radiran interrupted, shaking his head. “What good will it do?”

“It will save many lives.” Efstany replied emphatically. “It will save kingdoms, prevent wars, make it so men can go home to their wives and children at the end of the day.”

“I…” Radiran stammered, tears welling up in his eyes. “I do not think I can, Efstany.” He rubbed his temples and let out a ragged breath. “I scarcely know how to save myself. I cannot think of others at this moment.” He turned and began walking away, but stopped after a moment. “Speak to the Emperor. Yrit Yvilirin has formed an alliance with him, and something tells me that it isn’t to help the people of either country.”

“Radiran!” Efstany shouted, but it was no use. The Flen walked until he reached a side corridor and then disappeared out of sight.

Efstany breathed heavily, unable to pull his mind away from the horrible picture of the world that would come about because of Yrit Yvilirin. For the first time he could remember, he sought to do something that helped other people, not just himself. He couldn’t think of a better quest to be on. But he was still stuck in this cell. He slammed the his fists against the door in anger.

To his great surprise, it opened. Radiran couldn’t help the people, but he had made it so that someone could.

Efstany stepped slowly over the threshold, the light of a few oily torches hurting his eyes slightly. How long had he been in darkness? No. He couldn’t focus on that. He was no longer in it, and therefore he could put it to the back of his mind.

The dungeon hallway stretched in two directions. Efstany knew that down one lay the southern gates of the palace, the fastest exit he could take to get back to Vixin. Down the other, however, he could find the north wing of the palace. The Imperial wing.

The question Efstany now faced was thus: to kill a king, or to save a people.

Perhaps he could do both.

Grim with resolve, he started quickly down the north corridor.

* * *

“Do not draw your Blades.” Gestarin hissed as their group made their way to the palace, each man walking as naturally as they could. “We do not wish to draw attention, nor do we want to give the impression that we may become violent. We only wish to speak with the Emperor.”

“Speak for yourself.” Vixin growled, his fingers itching to draw his Wolfsbane. “I personally want to gut the Emperor and that b*****d Yrit and hang their entrails where even the vultures can’t get to them.”

Gestarin whirled on the Viceroy, his face becoming a mask of anger. “You will follow my orders, or so help me, Vixin, I will kill you myself and throw you into the Void.”

“Why are you so intent on peace?” Vixin growled, pulling the King behind a group of statues where they could go relatively unnoticed. “We have iron proof that the Emperor of Junar tried to kill you! Surely justice-”

“Vengeance is far from justice, Vixin.” Gestarin said with an icy coldness that Vixin had never seen in the king. “You would do well to remember that.” He turned away and began walking down the path toward the underground palace. “We may have proof, but we have no motive for what Kiijal has done. Until we know that, we will draw no Blades.”

Vixin ground his teeth, but he walked on behind his king. As much as he hated to admit it, Gestarin was right. Vixin, of all people, should know the consequences of thoughtless vengeance. Hadn’t that gotten him in this whole mess in the first place? His thoughts for vengeance had killed Xaxin. His desire for blood had almost destroyed his hard-earned life. Could he ever learn his lesson?

Vixin looked over at Lord Jikosa, the strangely quiet Junarian Nobleman. Aia’s Blood, that man needed to be consistent. One minute he’s screaming that Gestarin is trying to destroy his country, and the next he’s quieter than a dead man. What was going on in his head?

Gestarin held up his hand and the party stopped. Vixin sniffed the air and began to cough, the smell of smoke strange among the normally clean air of the Inner Shell. If he listened closely, he could hear the shouts of men and the ring of steel.

“Alright.” Gestarin said, reaching over to his left wrist. “Now we may draw Blades.” Vixin nodded, ripping the bone spike out of his arm with a fluid motion. The sounds of battle sharpened in his enhanced ears, and he could almost tell what direction they were coming from.

“The battle is coming from the North Wing.” Jikosa said promptly, his eyes closed. He appeared to be sniffing the air. “The Emperor’s chambers.” He opened his eyes. “Someone had the same idea we did.” Vixin was almost surprised to find the man holding a Viperbite: it didn’t seem to fit him.

“Very well.” Gestarin said with a nod, running down the stairs with Vixin and Jikosa close behind. “Stay close, and do not engage unless absolutely necessary.”

They began to jog at a brisk pace, passing through the golden throne room to the torchlit hallways that led to the inner chambers of the palace. They found it strange that there were no men occupied anywhere in the chambers. Vixin assumed that they were fighting whatever intruder had penetrated the palace.

“Hold.” Jikosa said, and the party stopped. “There is a wounded man around the next corner. I can smell the blood.” Gestarin nodded and crept around the corner, Falconeyes at the ready.

A palace guard lay gasping against the wall, holding his hands against his bloody midriff. His eyes brightened when he saw Gestarin. “Water.” He croaked.

“Im sorry, sir knight.” Gestarin said gravely, kneeling down beside the man. “I have none.”

“Ah well.” The guard sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I suppose it was too much to hope.”

“Tell me, sir,” Gestarin said gently. “What has happened?”

“Flens, your majesty.” The guard whispered, and Gestarin bristled. “A Flen attacked the Emperor’s chambers.”

“A Flen?” Vixin said almost reverently, hoping it wasn’t true. “How?

“No one knows.” The guard replied with a grunt. “He came out of nowhere, attacking with the fury of ten men. None of us could stand in his way.” He pointed with a bloody hand toward the Emperor’s chambers. “I suspect he’s in there, doing his bloody work.”

Gestarin nodded, placing a gentle hand on the guard’s shoulder. “Thank you, good sir. You have saved your Emperor’s life.” Gestarin looked at Vixin and jerked his head toward the chambers. Vixin nodded and advanced slowly toward the door.

Be careful, Vixin. He thought to himself as he went through the door. Don’t let your guard down.

It was unfortunate, really, that he did just that once he saw who was in the room.

“Efstany?”

The Flen, covered in blood and naked to the waist, stood with Eliran’s Sickle in his hand above the cowering Emperor of Junar. His eyes were aflame with what seemed to Vixin to be righteous fury. He looked at Vixin with a sort of grim satisfaction.

“Viceroy.” He tilted his head in deference. “I’m glad you could see this.”

“What in the name of Aia are you doing?” Vixin hissed, walking gingerly toward the Flen. Emperor Kiijal whimpered, all of his royal dignity gone as he huddled against the ground in his nightgown.

“I am fixing a problem.” Efstany said grimly, stomping his foot on Kiijal’s clothing to keep him from crawling away. “The Emperor needed ‘taking care of’, as you would say, and I am here to do just that.”

“Put that away before Gestarin sees!” Vixin growled. “He’s right behind me!” As he said that, Vixin heard the clomp of Glausianian boots on the stone behind him.

Aia’s Blood. He swore to himself.

“What is this?” Gestarin whispered, seemingly at a loss for words. “Efstany?”

“Welcome, my lord.” Efstany said with a raised eyebrow. “I’m glad you could see this.”

“What in the name of Aia are you doing?” Gestarin said, his voice filled with confusion.

“Humans.” Efstany laughed ruefully and shook his head. “All the same. Can never see what is right in front of their faces.” Gestarin looked taken aback, until he looked at the four other spikes that pierced Efstany’s arms. He made no reaction except paling a single shade lighter.

“You’re a Flen.” He said simply, all emotion gone from his voice.

“Correct” Efstany nodded. “Although, no matter what you may think, I do not wish to harm you. In fact,” He gestured to the Emperor. “I am here to help.”

“Helping?” Gestarin laughed a frightened, astonished laugh. “How in the world is this helping?”

Efstany looked at the fallen Emperor. “Tell him what you have told me, Kiijal. Perhaps then I will end this quickly.” He gestured with his Sickle, and the Emperor flinched.

“I…” Kiijal stammered, his eyes flitting between the King and the Flen. “I don’t… I’m not…

“Speak, Kiijal.” Gestarin said with a raised eyebrow. “I greatly wish to hear it.”

“I…” The Emperor took a single, ragged breath. “I hired the assassin to kill you, Lord Gestarin, but it was not my idea. Somebody influenced me greatly with promises of power and lands.”

“Who, Kiijal?” Gestarin growled. “Who does the Emperor of Junar keep in such high regard he would risk war for him?”

“You do not understand!” Kiijal screeched, and he looked to be on the verge of tears. “His words are like poison in your ears, whispering, maddening! I couldn’t help but listen!”

“Who?” Gestarin roared, striding forward with all the menacing glory he could muster.

“Yrit Yvilirin!” Kiijal screamed. “The Harvester Lord of your own lands!”

Gestarin stopped walking, all the blood draining from his face. His knees began to shake, and he felt as though he might fall over. As it was, he sat down on the royal bed to keep himself from fainting.

Vixin himself stood dumbfounded, his face betraying none of the fear he felt. He should have killed the conniving little snake when he had the opportunity. His grubby hands seemed to be dipped into every sweet jar in Oaiao, his silver tongue whispering in the ears of every man with any influence at all.

“Now you understand.” Efstany said with a nod. “You understand, my lord, why this man must die. Anyone under control of Yrit Yvilirin must die. We must cut off the limbs of the tree before we can burn the trunk.”

“None of you understand!” Kiijal shouted, slamming his hands against the ground. He rose shakily. “None of you know a damn thing about what’s going on, do you?”

“What more do you have to say?” Gestarin hissed, looking at the Emperor with a fury that burned hotter than an inferno. “What could you possibly have to say that will redeem you?”

“The Void is expanding, you idiots!” Kiijal yelled. He gestured to a number of maps on the wall. “Every minute that we sit here, it grows another foot! Don’t you understand?” He ripped handfuls of hair out of his head. “We’re all dead anyway! None of us can escape this!”

Quickly and quietly, with the grace of a leopard, Efstany walked up behind the raving madman and cut off his head.

“That,” He said, as the head of the Emperor of Junar rolled onto the ground, “was much more than I had expected him to tell you.”

“I’ll say.” An unfamiliar voice said from the doorway. Vixin turned and saw three enormous armored Jods standing at the entrance to the room, grim expressions etched onto their perfect faces. “Only Vilkanai knew what he was talking about.”

Vixin was shocked at the appearance of the Jods, but he was even more shocked at his king’s reaction. Gestarin stood up shakily, his face utterly white. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks as he pointed a shaking finger at the Jods. Two of them stepped forward, equally emotional. One of them was a stoic young man, the other a beautiful young woman.

“Yes, father.” The young man said with a wry smile. “It’s us.”

Vixin’s eyes widened as he realize who stood before him: Kiinrin and Jiriinii Galarin, Crown Prince and Princess of Glausiania.

The King’s children had returned.

* * *

Far off in Matrikai, in a nobleman’s mansion, Harvester Lord Yrit Yvilirin awoke from a fitful sleep. The anticipation of the day ahead had kept him awake like an anxious child, tossing and turning all night. But, why shouldn’t it? After all, a coronation wasn’t something you attended every day, let alone be the guest of honor at. He was allowed to have a bit of anxiety and excitement. He hummed an old Quasexan drinking song as he threw off the covers of his bed.

Today was going to be a good day.