to where the group had met to behold a demonstration of curious Influence. Rembbran generally had no patience for parlor tricks or children’s games, but High Duke Wellyn’s advisor had actually impressed him. He inspected the tree that had been the subject, a three-pronged leaf-bearing species the Arlethians called a Triarch. It appeared unaffected and full of life, quite the opposite of nine days ago. The tree’s bark was smooth as he ran his hand down its trunk. He recoiled suddenly.
“Fallen Ancients!” he swore. Inspecting his hand he found it to be normal in appearance: pale and inscribed with the runes all his kind bore across their bodies—illegible marrings that added to their villainous appearance.
It felt like acid
, he thought as he rubbed the tips of his fingers together.
“All Dark retreats from the Light, apostate.”
The voice startled Rembbran but he did not visibly react. Calmly, he turned about to see him who interrupted his investigation. He lowered his hood, exposing his glyphed, shorn head. The gills on his nose flared. He noted the man’s own small disfigurement on his left cheek.
“I did not sense your approach, old man.”
“No, you would not have. I do not allow my feelings to flow outward.”
As the chase-giver breathed in through his nose more deeply, flaring the horizontal gills across the bridge of his nose, he found that the visitor was utterly invisible to his sense of smell.
“Do not interfere where you are not welcome, old man,” he warned.
“Ah, the hollow threats begin. Come now, apostate, we both know you cannot harm me without a Dahlrak. Even then, I have my doubts.”
Rembbran sneered. “Mind your words, codger! You could easily become part of the Dahlrak by your hindrance!”
“Oh that’s right, the girl,” he said. “Well, you won’t find her here. Or anywhere, I’m sorry to report. Not for what will feel like ages to you in your torment, I’m sure. This level of defeat has never been known by your kind, I take it? It will be interesting to witness what becomes of you.”
Rembbran stood in shock, unable to answer.
He knows. Impossible!
“You were surprised, no doubt, to find this tree as it is,” the old man continued. “It was a weakened portion of Influence used, meant only for a temporary show, I surmise. The forest easily reversed it with little help from me, though its usage is disturbing.”
“And who, then, are you?”
“Not who, what.”
“I have no patience for these word games!” the Helsyan growled.
“That was always the way of it for your clan, even before the Turning Away.”
“What are you, then?”
“Let us say I am a Shepherd of Light, just as you are a Purveyor of Night, apostate.”
“Stop calling me that!” Rembbran growled. “I could draw and quarter you with my bare hands!”
“I thought we discussed hollow threats, no? But no matter, my time here is done. It is unlikely you will see me again.”
Without another word, the old man scaled the nearest tree with an agility that belied his elderly frame. In less than two blinks, Rembbran lost sight of him as he disappeared above the thick frondescent canopy.
Endless Night! Who was that?
Half a span and three days later the nearly incessant cold of the Northern Province embraced him like a cloak of daggers, welcoming him home. He desperately sought and needed the relief the Kail would offer in order to stem the madness he felt building within him.
As he entered Iskele, a stiff wind shot up from the chasm below the city, rustling the near barren trees growing out of the rocky cliff side. Two chilled rivers, diverted from their natural courses, ran through the city in open aquifers and poured down the chasm, two slender streams whose spray and mist obscured any from seeing them hit the bottom. Rembbran was surprised they hadn’t yet frozen, but would before many span more turn to stalactites of ice that would constantly change shape as the rivers’ runoff exited
“Fallen Ancients!” he swore. Inspecting his hand he found it to be normal in appearance: pale and inscribed with the runes all his kind bore across their bodies—illegible marrings that added to their villainous appearance.
It felt like acid
, he thought as he rubbed the tips of his fingers together.
“All Dark retreats from the Light, apostate.”
The voice startled Rembbran but he did not visibly react. Calmly, he turned about to see him who interrupted his investigation. He lowered his hood, exposing his glyphed, shorn head. The gills on his nose flared. He noted the man’s own small disfigurement on his left cheek.
“I did not sense your approach, old man.”
“No, you would not have. I do not allow my feelings to flow outward.”
As the chase-giver breathed in through his nose more deeply, flaring the horizontal gills across the bridge of his nose, he found that the visitor was utterly invisible to his sense of smell.
“Do not interfere where you are not welcome, old man,” he warned.
“Ah, the hollow threats begin. Come now, apostate, we both know you cannot harm me without a Dahlrak. Even then, I have my doubts.”
Rembbran sneered. “Mind your words, codger! You could easily become part of the Dahlrak by your hindrance!”
“Oh that’s right, the girl,” he said. “Well, you won’t find her here. Or anywhere, I’m sorry to report. Not for what will feel like ages to you in your torment, I’m sure. This level of defeat has never been known by your kind, I take it? It will be interesting to witness what becomes of you.”
Rembbran stood in shock, unable to answer.
He knows. Impossible!
“You were surprised, no doubt, to find this tree as it is,” the old man continued. “It was a weakened portion of Influence used, meant only for a temporary show, I surmise. The forest easily reversed it with little help from me, though its usage is disturbing.”
“And who, then, are you?”
“Not who, what.”
“I have no patience for these word games!” the Helsyan growled.
“That was always the way of it for your clan, even before the Turning Away.”
“What are you, then?”
“Let us say I am a Shepherd of Light, just as you are a Purveyor of Night, apostate.”
“Stop calling me that!” Rembbran growled. “I could draw and quarter you with my bare hands!”
“I thought we discussed hollow threats, no? But no matter, my time here is done. It is unlikely you will see me again.”
Without another word, the old man scaled the nearest tree with an agility that belied his elderly frame. In less than two blinks, Rembbran lost sight of him as he disappeared above the thick frondescent canopy.
Endless Night! Who was that?
Half a span and three days later the nearly incessant cold of the Northern Province embraced him like a cloak of daggers, welcoming him home. He desperately sought and needed the relief the Kail would offer in order to stem the madness he felt building within him.
As he entered Iskele, a stiff wind shot up from the chasm below the city, rustling the near barren trees growing out of the rocky cliff side. Two chilled rivers, diverted from their natural courses, ran through the city in open aquifers and poured down the chasm, two slender streams whose spray and mist obscured any from seeing them hit the bottom. Rembbran was surprised they hadn’t yet frozen, but would before many span more turn to stalactites of ice that would constantly change shape as the rivers’ runoff exited
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