To Wander Infinity

Teldon scowled at the unfinished armoire sitting in the middle of his workshop, at the various tools scattered around—and even on top of—the work in progress. That apprentice of his would never learn. The boy simply didn’t have the makings of a carpenter in him. Perhaps Teldon should have let him join the army. The boy certainly showed a great deal more enthusiasm for the sword than the sawhorse, but Teldon had seen him waving sticks at imaginary foes when he should have been working; enthusiasm wouldn’t count for much on a real battlefield, and he had about as much skill at waving that stick around as he did flying. Teldon grimaced at a sanding block lying on the floor on the other side of the room from where it should have been shelved. Or carpentry.

Still, boys would be boys, and help was hard to come by these days. Teldon himself had been anything but diligent in his own youth. He had even left his own master’s workshop in a similar state of disarray to flirt with a fishmonger’s daughter he had thought himself in love with at the time. His reward had been such a violent dose of the strap that he still almost felt the welts, and the fishmonger’s daughter had laughingly told him she couldn’t be seen with someone who looked like a gnoll caught stealing.

Perhaps he should follow his old master’s lead and put a little fear into young Eyral, but he continued to hope a lighter hand would work with the boy. Teldon picked up a jar of wood polish and carried it across the workshop to its cabinet, but stopped himself from putting it down. Closing the cabinet door again, he placed the jar back on the floor where Eyral had left it. There was a difference between a light hand and coddling; the boy would have to find time to clean up his mess during the next day’s workload.

Teldon stepped into the display room of his little store, closing the workshop door behind him and locking it with a bronze key from his vest pocket. Retrieving his symbolic hammer and notched measuring rod from the room’s workbench and strapping them into his belt, he scanned the room to make certain all was as it should be. The furniture here wasn’t his best work, but every piece was adorned with intricate carvings and detailed, gilded scrollwork that caught the eyes of anyone passing by the shop’s large windows, which stretched across the better portion of the room’s outer wall. His best work rested in the small room above the shop: a sturdy bed, table and chair, all made of oak, without a single decorative scratch to mar their surface. These days the people who appreciated function over art were becoming more common, but they would never outnumber the customers who would buy a rickety dining set that had their family crest inlaid on every piece in silver.

Irritably, he took a rag from his belt and crossed the room to wipe at a smudge left on a table corner by a browser’s careless palm, and once again he considered hiring a window crafter to make glass casings for his display pieces. As usual, he dismissed the notion; all that glass would cost as much as more than half the furniture in the store, and he’d just end up cleaning the handprints from the windows instead of the wood.

After one last glance around the room, Teldon strode to the door in his outer wall to the streets of lower Tsurasabi, intending to take an evening stroll three streets over to his favorite tavern, but hesitated with his hand on the door handle. He thought he heard a noise, so quiet he almost shook it off as his imagination. Someone whispering? One more look couldn’t hurt. Cautiously, he walked up and down his store’s three aisles again, examining each shadow cast by a bookstand or bench. There were few places in the shop to hide, but it was getting dark, and the room was lit only by a single lantern above his workbench. If someone was lurking in the darkness, they had more stealth than he could give anyone credit.

Spurred on by a sudden suspicion, Teldon pulled his hammer from his belt and opened the doors of his two large closets, then laughed at himself when he found them empty. Just an old mind playing tricks. He closed the cabinets and turned back to the front door.

There it was again! A faint voice, as though someone were whispering to a secret conspirer from across the room. Teldon was not alone. His eyes went to the stairs that climbed along the shop’s side wall. He had just come from the workshop, and the display room was empty. That left but one place. The thief must have come through his bedroom window overlooking the street. Or thieves, rather, since they seemed to be whispering to each other. He swallowed, his grip tightening around the haft of his hammer. He was no hero of legend, and carpenters’ tools were no weapons of use against talented burglars, were they? It would be a much better idea to run and find a soldier or two, but by the time he managed that the thieves would likely be long gone with everything in the shop of any value. That wasn’t much, but more than Teldon cared to lose. Hardly daring to breathe, he raised his makeshift weapon to slay whatever villain approached and took a silent step toward the stairway, when he heard another faint whisper. This time, he could tell where the noise was coming from, though he knew he must be mistaken.

It was coming from...his hammer?

He held the hammer close to his face, squinting at it, but the whisper quickly faded away. He must have lost his senses. Too much time spent in a small room with an open jar of wood polish, that’s what it was. Still, he knew he had heard something. Slowly, he brought the hammer beside his ear and listened intently, but all was silent.

When the whisper came again, it was eerily melodious, the words in a language he had never heard and yet understood perfectly. "All the while they try to change grim destiny." Silence again. Teldon stared at the hammer, scratching his head, trying to puzzle out the strange words and how he knew what they meant, or how and why his hammer was singing to him in the first place. The language sounded familiar somehow. He held the tool beside his face again, so close the cold iron of the hammerhead brushed against his earlobe, waiting for it to speak again.

Abruptly the shop’s front door swung open, the sudden noise of the busy street outside announcing the entry of a well-dressed, portly man. Startled, Teldon spun to face him, hiding the hammer behind his back like a child caught with a pie from his mother’s window sill.

Good evening, Teldon. It was just Chaufel, an old friend of Teldon’s. Embarrassed, Teldon returned his hammer to its place on his belt as the squat fellow turned to close the door behind him. How’s business been treating you?

Chaufel, it’s been a long time. He strode toward his friend, holding his free hand out for him to shake. When’s the last time I saw you, three, four years ago? What have you been doing all this time? Keeping out of trouble, I hope.

Chaufel laughed, grabbing Teldon’s hand to pull him into a warm embrace. Trouble has been turning out to be very profitable, carpenter. No one goes looking for it, but when it turns up, a wise man will find a way to turn it into good fortune. He stepped back and looked Teldon up and down. You’ve been losing weight. The furniture trade can’t be that bad, can it?

I’ve never had any weight to lose, Chaufel, you know that. But if a man’s wealth can be measured by his girth, you must be doing even better than usual.

Chaufel crossed his arms across his broad chest in mock offense. Tongue’s still rougher than your sanding blocks, I see. Some things will never change.

Teldon smiled, putting the strange singing hammer issue out of his mind for the time being. So, what brings you all the way out here? You didn’t travel the length and breadth of Tsurasabi just to buy an old friend a drink, did you? Friend or no friend, Chaufel rarely did anything if he couldn’t make some coin from it.

Now what would be so odd about that? he said defensively, but let his arms drop to his sides as his expression turned serious. Actually, I’m here because earlier this evening I had an unexpected meeting with an acquaintance of yours. Young Eyral, no less.

Yes, visiting the upper districts with hopes of catching a glimpse of soldiers parading out of the city, I imagine. That boy is in great need of some discipline.

That’s just it, Teldon. I didn’t run across your apprentice near the upper districts. It was in the castle itself that I saw him.

Teldon’s eyebrows rose. The castle? What on Gotrala would he go there for?

He wouldn’t say when I asked him. Seemed to be in a dreadful hurry for some reason. Chaufel stared at him gravely. Toward the Legion’s barracks, if I’m not mistaken.

Teldon swallowed. It felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. The barracks were where the Legion interviewed hopeful recruits for their ranks. Thank you for letting me know, Chaufel. Without another word, he dashed out the little shop’s door into the busy street and began running toward Tsurasabi’s center, though he knew that he would have to stop and rest before getting anywhere near the castle. His shop bordered the city’s outer wall, nearly half a dozen miles from the fortress that sat in its middle. Nevertheless, he sprinted past parked wagons and peddlers’ booths as fast as his legs would carry him. Eyral’s mother would kill him if he let the boy join the Legion.

He had run no more than two and a half blocks before a brightly painted carriage pulled up beside him, the two gray horses leading it slowing from a gallop to a trot to match his pace. The carriage’s door opened, and Chaufel leaned out to offer him a hand. Teldon locked forearms with his friend and leapt into the carriage, landing on the floor with his legs still dangling over the side. Once he gathered himself and sat on the bench opposite Chaufel, the portly man addressed the driver with a voice raised above the clatter of hooves and iron wheels on the cobblestones. Back to the castle, Pellim, as quickly as we can without injuring the horses. He closed the carriage’s door, and Teldon nearly tumbled off the bench as the horses sped to a gallop again.

Thank you, he panted. Two blocks running, and he was dizzy from exertion. He’d have thought a carpenter’s work would keep him in better shape.

Think nothing of it. Chaufel watched him for a moment with an amused smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. You really care about this boy, don’t you?

Still catching his breath, Teldon nodded. Despite his carelessness, he’s been a great help around the shop. And he’s too young to go off to war, I’ve told him that a thousand times.

Tell a child something enough, and they sometimes get it in their heads that you’re just spouting wind. Chaufel raised an eyebrow. Besides that, I’m certain young Eyral is aware the Legion accepts recruits as young as twelve to help around the camps. As far as the army is concerned, he is more than old enough to bare arms against the rebels.

Which is why I have to stop him. He wouldn’t last a minute on a real battlefield.

Chaufel looked as though he wanted to say something else, but whatever it was, he kept it to himself. The carriage rocked as the horses swerved around a slower wagon, and they had to steady themselves with their arms to either wall.

You’re doing even better for yourself than I realized, it seems, Teldon said, wanting to get his mind off what he would do to Eyral when he caught him. He tapped the seat’s expensive darkened leather. If I had known shoes could bring such wealth, I’d be in a different trade. Chaufel was a simple cobbler, or at least had been the last time they’d seen each other, some years ago. They had kept in touch since by sending their apprentices back and forth with messages, which was how the cobbler had recognized Eyral. Chaufel had rarely sent the same apprentice twice, and his messages had been modest about his business; Teldon used to think his friend was having trouble holding onto help, but it now seemed much more likely that he simply had numerous employees.

Boots are as important to an army as food and water, maybe more important, he explained. Back when the latest batch of troops first set out, it came to my attention that the transport of boots and shoes to their camps would offer half again as much coin as only making them. And if I’m transporting their boots, I might as well be transporting their food and water as well, yes? With all that, why not weapons and armor to boot? Chaufel grinned. You are now in the carriage of the second largest supplier of the Tsuravi Legion. Somehow, he managed a flamboyant bow while sitting on his bench.

Teldon gaped at his friend. The cobbler had always had a mind for business, but his ambitions had apparently paid off more than Teldon had ever given him credit. I don’t suppose the Legion is in any great need of a few sturdy oak beds, is it?

Chaufel chortled. A bed would be a terrible burden to carry around with an army on the move. He tapped his chin, thinking it over. I imagine, though, that they would need tables for strategy meetings and such, and chairs. Of course, once in the field, most officers would probably settle for makeshift furniture from tree stumps, or just spread their maps on the ground. Still, I’ve heard that one or two generals are known for their extravagance. Maybe even a bed isn’t completely out of the question. If I’m ever given a request for something along those lines, you have my word you’ll be the first man I come to.

That’s as much as I could hope for. Teldon smiled, fully aware that his friend was only humoring him. The Legion might not be able to maintain its supply of food or shoes away from the city, but its camp followers would have an easy job of finding enough materials to furnish the officers’ camps to their hearts’ content. If I may ask, Chaufel...

Wait a moment, Chaufel cut him off, tilting his head as though listening to something. Do you hear that? An odd melody for street entertainers to be singing. A moment later, Teldon heard it, too. He could feel the blood drain from his face as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Concentrating on the song that was barely audible over the carriage’s clatter, Chaufel didn’t seem to notice his reaction. Strange lyrics, too. I swear I’ve never heard the language before, but I can understand the words.

...When the Deceiver sings, death claims ebony wings. In the end he will bring the end to everything...

...Innocent flesh and bones taken unwillingly. He strives to be alone, to cast out memory...

It was the same tune of the song Teldon’s hammer had whispered back in his shop, but the words were much more difficult to make out. Both were in the same melody, and it sounded like two verses were being sung simultaneously, but this time by more than one voice, stretched across two or three octaves. Whenever he concentrated too much on one of the voices, another one singing different words would distract him so that he couldn’t be certain exactly what each phrase said.

...Blades of the fallen rise, cut down his enemies, all the while they try to change grim destiny...

...The body’s rightful voice, constantly threatening till it is overcome by his ferocity...

Teldon thought he recognized a part of it from what he’d heard in his shop, but as soon as recognition sparked in his mind, the dual verses went on to repeat themselves, still almost too quiet to pick up.

A rather grim song, isn’t it? Chaufel commented, and a very poor choice of style; it’s giving me a terrible headache. Someone should really pull the performers off the street.

Chaufel, Teldon said slowly, both hands coming to cautiously rest on his tool belt, if it were a troupe of some sort, we’d have passed them and gone beyond earshot by now. It wasn’t just his hammer this time. Every object in the belt around his waist was vibrating with each syllable of the eerie song.

Well, what else could it be? Chaufel massaged his temple with two fingertips, still only irritated at the music.

Teldon pulled a small wrench out of his belt and handed it to the cobbler.

What...?

Hold it up to your ear, Teldon said, frowning grimly.

Chaufel gave him a confused look that doubted his sanity before doing as Teldon asked. After holding the wrench beside his head for a moment, his eyes bulged in shock, and he hastily opened one of the carriage’s side doors to throw the wrench out to the street. Teldon winced, but they sped away too quickly to see if the wrench had hit anybody. At least he hadn’t given Chaufel his hammer.

Teldon, what are you doing with a singing wrench? Chaufel asked, his eyes still wide as saucers.

Teldon unlatched his work belt and held it up for Chaufel to see. It wasn’t just my wrench.

"All of your tools are singing?"

I don’t think it’s only my tools, either. Look. Teldon pointed out the door, still swinging dangerously back and forth with the rocking of the carriage. Outside, nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first glance. They flew past hawkers and pedestrians by the dozen, but where people would usually be going about their daily business, maybe tossing a curse or two at the horses pulling a carriage through the street at such a reckless pace, the men and women they glimpsed as they sped by seemed muddled and confused. There were shouts, though only a few directed at the carriage, and those sounded halfhearted. Most shouts were from people trying to figure out what was going on. Some dogs were howling and barking raucously.

The music wasn’t only coming from inside the carriage.

Chaufel peered out at the city streets, trying to make sense of the scenes they passed in the blink of an eye. Still unsure what Teldon wanted him to see, he reached out to pull the door closed, then stared down at the door lever underneath his hand in consternation. He leaned close enough to put his ear next to it. Pellim, stop the horses! he shouted, jerking upright and releasing the lever as if it had burned him. We’re getting out!

Apparently the handle was singing as well.

I would if I could, Sir, Pellim’s voice called from the driver’s seat. I’ve been trying to slow ‘em down, but they won’t listen to reason. They’re acting like they’ve got wolves biting at their tails.

Chaufel spluttered a number of indignant responses, unable to choose which one to give the driver. "Well, stop trying, and make them stop," he finally yelled.

Yes, sir. Pellim’s answer was muffled, and difficult to hear over the wheels, but the curses and oaths that he soon began swearing were perfectly audible.

Apparently the horses want to keep going, Teldon muttered at the same time as Chaufel sat back and groaned, We have to get out of here.

Teldon watched his friend nervously wringing his hands. It’s only music, Chaufel. I don’t think it can hurt us. Besides, it seems to be happening outside as well.

Chaufel shook an admonishing finger at him. It’s unnatural, is what it is, and I want no part of it.

Neither do I, Teldon agreed. The music didn’t seem to have grown any louder, and was still repeating the same two simultaneous verses, but he wasn’t any more comfortable around such things than anyone else. Still, he was surprised at how calm he felt. He was uneasy, to be certain, but he had to focus on getting to Eyral before the boy enlisted. Whether the music was some strange form of attack or one of the Emperor’s wizards’ experiments gone awry, the war would still be going on tomorrow, and he had to keep Eyral out of it. Maybe we should give the horses free reign to get us away from this as quickly as possible.

Get away from it? Chaufel threw his hands into the air in flustered exasperation, then pointed at Teldon’s belt. We’re carrying whatever it is with us! Worked into a near frenzy, he pushed the door open again and leaned forward in his seat to stare down at the cobblestones flashing by beneath them.

When Teldon saw the man’s jaw clenched in grim determination, he quickly placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into his seat, then pulled the door shut once again. Giving yourself a broken leg or worse won’t do any good, he said in a no-nonsense voice he often used when Eyral was misbehaving.

So what do we do, just sit here listening to voices coming from nowhere?

Teldon nodded as though it were the most normal thing in the world. We sit here listening to voices coming from nowhere, he agreed. Inside, he was growing more anxious, but he tried to keep a calm appearance for his friend’s sake. He made a show of lounging comfortably on the soft cushion.

After staring at him for a few moments, Chaufel shook his head and snorted an incredulous laugh. So we do. He kicked his boots up to rest on the cushion opposite him beside Teldon and folded his arms behind his head, giving his friend a challenging look.

And so they rode along, pretending to relax as they listened to the ominous song, horse shoes and iron-rimmed wheels on cobblestones adding percussion to the music. Occasionally a shouted outburst from Pellim would interrupt the melody as he tried to gain control over the stampeding horses.

Teldon had trouble keeping himself from fidgeting nervously when he noticed the music, little by little, growing louder. He tried to ignore it, idly counting the verses’ repetitions so as not to listen to the disorienting words themselves.

His count had reached seven when a third verse chimed in along with the other two.

When the Deceiver sings, death claims ebony wings. In the end he will bring the end to everything. Blades of the fallen rise, cut down his enemies, all the while they try to change grim destiny.

Innocent flesh and bones taken unwillingly. He strives to be alone, to cast out memory. The body’s rightful voice, constantly threatening till it is overcome by his ferocity.

In a dark realm of sin, he finds what’s long been sought, succeeds in what the vilest minds could not achieve. Joins with the nemesis to do what he cannot. Brings a weapon to light only Hell could conceive.

Shouting in surprise, Chaufel was thrown forward against him as the carriage came to a sudden halt, sliding sideways and leaning onto one wheel briefly before stopping completely. As soon as it was sitting still the cobbler opened the door and peeked out. Pellim, we’re not a quarter mile from the castle. We may as well get Teldon the rest of the way there, yes? He had to raise his voice over the haunting music, which now sounded very loud without the carriage’s rattling to contend with.

Teldon heard the driver flick the reigns a few times before answering. Now the blasted animals have stopped, they don’t want to start up again, sir.

You’re the driver, Pellim, make them want to start up again.

Teldon put a hand on Chaufel’s shoulder. It’s okay. We’re close enough that I should be able to manage on foot. He rose from his seat and stepped down from the carriage onto the brickwork of a wide bridge, one of three that spanned the small lake that acted as the castle’s moat, connecting the streets of Tsurasabi to the island on which the castle sat. They weren’t far from the gates of the palace’s outer wall.

With a last, grateful nod over his shoulder to his friend, Teldon let his legs carry him toward the crowd gathered around the outer wall’s portcullis as quickly as they could. He was all too aware that the closer they’d come to the castle’s island, the louder the haunting music had grown, even though it seemed to be coming from everything around them. He thought he could feel the cobblestones beneath his boots vibrating with it. If he stood still, he imagined he’d be able to feel the boots themselves humming the strange melodies against his feet. That thought spurred him to quicken his pace.

As he reached the edge of the milling crowd in the broad courtyard between the bridge and the twenty-foot tall granite barrier, Teldon had to remind himself why he was there. No matter how much he worried about the spell that had apparently been cast over the entire city, he could do nothing about that. He was at the castle to keep his apprentice from making a terrible mistake.

He tried to weave his way to the front of the crowd, but time and again found his way blocked. Everyone else was trying to do the same. He knew he should turn around and make his way home—perhaps he could catch Chaufel and ask for a ride back to his shop before the cobbler’s driver calmed the horses; he’d have to pay for transportation otherwise. Shoving his way through the milling crowd certainly wasn’t accomplishing anything. Bodies jostled him from every side, and the only thing that kept him from returning the angry glares directed his way was the knowledge that the glares included everyone around the people giving them, not just him. He expected his own face was anything but jovial.

As I’ve told you all, we cannot say at this time what the cause behind this spell is, but I assure you that the Magi have everything well in hand, Teldon could hear the soldier tell his aggravated audience in a voice just loud enough to be heard above the incessant music and the crowd’s cacophony. For the time being no one is permitted to enter or leave the castle, so those of you with business here will have to return later under more usual circumstances. He pinched the bridge of his nose between a finger and thumb, clearly losing patience. Teldon thought the man looked very tired. No, madam, he said in response to a more vehement demand from someone at the front of the crowd, the castle is not accepting any deliveries until the event has run its course. Yes, I’m sure your pastries are delicious, but the castle will make do with what it has in its own pantries this evening.

Teldon squirmed as politely as he could between two men in brown aprons and found himself beside a sour looking old woman who glared at the soldier as if the man had just robbed her. No more bystanders stood between Teldon and the castle, but the guard and the lowered portcullis made his maneuvering through the crowd seem a futile accomplishment. Have you seen a boy named Eyral? he tried to ask, but the soldier’s attention was now on an angry looking group of men and women to Teldon’s left. All in the imperial red and gold finery, they were apparently castle staff who had been shut out while running errands in the city.

The spell will last until it stops, the guard told them simply. There is an inn two blocks past the bridge that you can stay at until then. Teldon tried to ask of Eyral’s whereabouts again, but the castle staff wasn’t so easily dissuaded. You can seek compensation for the inn’s fees from your superiors, the guard said irritably, or you can find cheaper accommodations, but my orders stand. No one is to enter or leave the castle.

Once more, Teldon asked the soldier if he’d seen Eyral and began to describe the boy’s appearance, but another soldier from beyond the portcullis stole the guard’s attention. They exchanged words briefly. When the other soldier hurried back toward the castle, the guard in front of the crowd shouted after him, What about our replacements? at the same time that one of the guards standing on the wall above them yelled, We’ve been here for nearly three shifts!

I could carry a message for you, Teldon told the guard before his mind finished processing the idea. He repeated the offer more loudly when another surge of complaints from the crowd drowned it out the first time.

The guard finally took notice of him. You know where the barracks are?

Yes. Teldon had never set foot inside the castle before. He had no idea where the barracks were.

The soldier closed his eyes and ran a gauntleted hand down his face wearily, ignoring the sudden protesting outcries from the crowd. After a deep breath, he gestured for Teldon to come closer. Go to the barracks and ask for Sharril Decellay. Tell him to report to the southern gate with his squadron immediately. If he’s not there, find Bannon Fessidy and tell him the same thing. If you can’t find either of them, give the message to Jassiler Scraw. Understand?

Teldon nodded. Sharril Decellay, Bannon Fessidy, Jassiler Scraw, southern gate, he repeated back swiftly.

The guard turned and took a key from his tunic to unlock a small door within the portcullis. He opened it for Teldon, a section of the iron grid work swinging inward. If they give you any trouble, just tell them ‘Bulern remembers the valley.’ They’ll know what it means.

Teldon was still nodding while trotting away from the outer wall and toward the inner one. He could hear the guard telling the crowd behind him to go to their homes, that no more exceptions would be made. The carpenter paid no attention to the meticulously manicured garden courtyard as he ran down its central walkway. He had to get through the inner wall before the guard changed his mind, or remembered that any member of the displaced palace staff would know better than Teldon how to find the barracks.

The inner wall was even higher than the outer, a man-made cliff of immense granite blocks. Two solid stone and ironwood doors filled the archway that led to the inner courtyard, one of which was open. A soldier stood to either side of the archway, and stopped Teldon when he approached.

I’m carrying a message from the southern gate, he explained hastily, but even though they had to have seen the guard let him through the portcullis, they didn’t budge from the doorway.

What’s the message, and where are you carrying it? one of the grim looking men demanded.

I was told to go to the barracks and find reinforcements.

What? Both soldiers half drew their swords from the sheaths at their hips, then hastily re-sheathed them and dropped the hilts as though they’d been burned when the swords immediately began singing the three ominous verses in eerie, metallic voices. Have the commoners gotten that out of control? one demanded. They had looked grim before; now they appeared ready to charge into armed combat, singing blades or no singing blades.

No! Teldon shouted when he realized his mistake. No, I meant replacements, not reinforcements. They need replacements. One guard heaved a relieved sigh while the other closed his eyes and placed the middle finger and thumb of one hand to his temples. He apparently had a headache. Could you point me in the direction of the barracks? Teldon asked while they recollected themselves. His voice was a little more timid than he’d care to admit.

The soldier with the headache glared at him. A slip of the tongue like that can cost lives. I’ll deliver the message myself; you can go home. We don’t need some flustered peasant getting confused and starting a civil war.

Teldon swallowed, fully chagrined, but he’d come too far to back down now. I was told to go to the barracks in person. He was very insistent that I make absolutely certain they send the replacements. Lying to the Legion twice in one day! He’d hang for sure. I wouldn’t want you to have to leave your posts on my account. Might as well put a few nails in his coffin while he was at it. Teldon needed a wall to bang his head against.

Sounds like Bulern, the other soldier muttered.

The first, the one with the headache, glared at Teldon for a long moment. Come on, then. I’ll show you to the barracks, then you can be on your way. The other guard looked surprised at his decision. No harm can come of it, the frowning soldier told the other. I’ll have my eye on him, and we’ll be back in five minutes. He gestured for Teldon to step through the broad doorway and followed swiftly behind the carpenter when he complied.

It didn’t take long to climb the steps of the small, terraced inner courtyard, and Teldon soon found himself hurrying down the long granite halls of the castle itself. Despite his urgent errand and the loud, ominous music, he couldn’t help but be distracted by the vast maze of corridors. Tapestries, statues, paintings, and elaborately decorative lighting fixtures covered the polished gray stone walls, interrupted by recesses in the granite that held dark mahogany stands with bright vases of flowers and, unbelievably, fruit. Every hall had its own color theme in its decorations; the castle seemed more a luxurious palace than the empire’s final bastion of defense should enemies attack the capital.

A luxurious palace, except that everyone inside its bright walls ran about the place in a near hysterical frenzy. It was no wonder the Legion didn’t want anyone from the city to see the disarray within the castle. Everyone seemed to have a task of paramount importance. Guards, servants, custodians, and nobles alike were all rushing in every direction, occasionally shouting questions or demands at each other over the ambient melody. The song was speeding up, Teldon noticed, while it grew louder.

So, messenger, why are you really here? his escort asked calmly, just loudly enough to be heard, after prodding the carpenter toward a green tapestried side hall.

Excuse me?

I assume you didn’t come to the castle just to do chores for us guards. So, what are you here for?

At first Teldon thought the soldier was trying to make small talk while they crossed the castle, but decided the man must just be doing his job. Maybe the guard could help him. I’m looking for my apprentice, Eyral. I think he may have tried to join the Legion today, before... He made an all-encompassing gesture at the noise around them. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?

The soldier just frowned and shook his head. We can see if he’s at the barracks once we get there, but if he’s been recruited, he’s likely running messages. Either way, after the barracks I’ll have to show you out. Teldon nodded as he was guided into another hallway, this one bronze themed with decorative suits of armor and paintings and tapestries of great battles, likely depicting the Legion’s many victories. Almost there now, his guide said, but then stopped in his tracks, staring wide eyed at a portrait of a scowling man in bright golden armor with a long, graying beard. Teldon followed the soldier’s stare to the painted general’s face. The painting’s lips were moving.

It was singing the eerie song.

When the Deceiver sings, death claims ebony wings. In the end he will bring the end to everything. Blades of the fallen rise, cut down his enemies, all the while they try to change grim destiny.

Innocent flesh and bones taken unwillingly. He strives to be alone, to cast out memory. The body’s rightful voice, constantly threatening till it is overcome by his ferocity.

In a dark realm of sin, he finds what’s long been sought, succeeds in what the vilest minds could not achieve, joins with the nemesis to do what he cannot, brings a weapon to light only Hell could conceive.

Sought by an army of millions and only one, armed beyond defense with gossamer wings unfurled. In luminescent shadow his task is begun. For boundless power the Wanderer kills the world.

It was the newest verse that the portrait’s lips were following, and the sound of all four being sung simultaneously was deafening. Teldon shouted in pain and surprise, throwing his hands over his ears. It didn’t help; he could hear the verses resonating out of his palms’ skin.

Teldon’s escort was yelling something at him, but he couldn’t make out a word of it. The man pushed him in the direction they’d been walking and pointed down the hall. Barely understanding, Teldon started trotting down the hallway with the guard right beside him. His thoughts felt like they were bubbling to his consciousness’s surface through a thick sludge. His addled mind could barely grasp anything beyond the painful song. He looked around as they hurried toward the barracks. Every face in painting, tapestry, or statue was singing one of the verses, artificial lips coming to life to emanate words from canvas, cloth, and stone. People were still bustling to and fro, more panicked now than before, but some stood transfixed in the middle of a corridor or near a wall or tapestry, swaying on their feet in whatever spot they’d been in when their senses left them. They were singing, too, as they stared blankly at nothing.

Finally, they reached a pair of tall brass doors with emblematic shields covering their panels. One opened just as the guard reached for its heavy handle. A young soldier in an oversized chain mail tunic dashed out of it with a small envelope in his hand and sprinted down the hallway without so much as glancing at the two of them, but Teldon had seen his face.

It was Eyral.

Teldon had passed two intersections in the bronze hall before he realized that he was chasing his apprentice. He ran as quickly as his feet would carry him, weaving between other rushing people and the increasing number of castle staff that had become motionless singing pillars in his path, but the distance between himself and Eyral only grew larger. The boy ran as though pursued by demons. Teldon shouted his name at the top of his lungs, but even he couldn’t hear what he’d said. Somewhere between leaving his mouth and finding his ears, Eyral’s name had transformed into the spell’s roaring lyrics.

The carpenter pushed himself harder, his breaths burning in his chest. Each time he rounded the corner he’d seen his apprentice disappear behind, the boy was darting out of sight down another hallway farther ahead. Then, without warning, Teldon made a turn and was blinded by bright sunlight. After a few long moments of squinting, he was able to make out the brickwork of an empty stone courtyard. Across the expanse of gray tile, Eyral was climbing a narrow stairway up the side of the tall inner wall. Teldon jogged after him, his legs feeling like rubber.

One long flight of stairs later, he found himself on top of the inner wall, surrounded by several dozen uneasy Legionnaires. He spotted Eyral, the only soldier whose armor didn’t fit perfectly, trading envelopes with a large, frowning man. The boy was squinting, trying to read the commander’s lips to figure out his orders. Without thinking, Teldon shoved his way past incredulously startled soldiers and grabbed his apprentice by the shoulder, spinning the boy to face him. Though he could hear nothing except the song’s loud drone, he saw his name on Eyral’s surprised lips. The boy looked dismayed, as though he’d just been caught feeding Teldon’s dinner to a stray dog.

Just as roughly as Teldon had stolen Eyral’s attention, the commander wrenched the carpenter around so that they stood glaring at each other. The Legionnaire was shouting something furiously, but he couldn’t hear a word of it.

He’s my apprentice! Teldon yelled back with a finger jabbing Eyral in the chest, hoping the commander was a better lip reader than he was. He joined the Legion without consulting me, and he’s too young to be a Legionnaire besides. The first part of his argument would hold no weight with the Legion, and the rest of it wasn’t even true as far as the empire was concerned, but it was clear that the commander couldn’t understand him anyway. At his curt gesture, two soldiers took Teldon by the arms and began leading him across the wall to the narrow set of stairs he’d just climbed. He didn’t bother resisting, but shouted wordlessly in frustration. At least, the shout left his lips wordless, but he could hear his own voice calling out "...nemesis to do what he cannot..." His jaws snapped shut, eyes wide in shock, but if anyone else noticed one more voice added to the spell song, they took it in stride.

At the top of the stairs, Teldon, the two guards at his sides, and the entire force on top of the wall staggered under the lash of a sudden, concussive noise. For the first time since it had begun, the song changed keys, higher now in pitch while a low roar shook the stone beneath their feet and rattled their bones. The lower tones were words as well, foreign like the other four verses, but these words coursed through them as a deep, slow chant, one syllable for every three of the other verses’, and Teldon couldn’t understand them the same way as he did the rest of the music. Teldon felt like his muscles were ripping apart, like his organs were all rupturing. He was on his hands and knees, struggling to bring his head up, to find someone who was affected little enough that they could either help him or bludgeon him into unconsciousness, but the Legionnaires were in no better state than he was. Some had lost control of their bladders. Crimson blood flowed from others’ noses, ears, and eyes. The soldier to his left pulled his sword free from its sheath to fight off some invisible enemy, but its pommel vibrated so violently that his hand twitched open. The sword fell to the granite wall and bounced along the quaking stone until it toppled over the far edge.

Teldon fought to stay conscious despite how welcome oblivion would be and crawled on his knees and elbows back toward where he’d left Eyral. He had to get the boy away from here. He’d managed to turn around and move forward a foot or two before the spell’s agony became too overwhelming to bear. It was all he could do to crouch on hands and knees.

A network of thin lines were zigzagging across the wall as if it were a frozen river holding too much weight. A crack underneath Teldon’s palm was growing wider, smaller lines branching away from it in every direction. He knew that he and Eyral had to get off the wall, now, but the song was completely engulfing his senses. He opened his mouth to cry out in pain.

Instead, he sang.

"When the Deceiver sings, death claims ebony wings.

In the end he will bring the end to everything.

Blades of the fallen rise, cut down his enemies,

All the while they try to change grim destiny.

"Innocent flesh and bones taken unwillingly.

He strives to be alone, to cast out memory.

The body’s rightful voice, constantly threatening

Till it is overcome by his ferocity.

"In a dark realm of sin, he finds what’s long been sought,

Succeeds in what the vilest minds could not achieve,

Joins with the nemesis to do what he cannot,

Brings a weapon to light only Hell could conceive.

"Sought by an army of millions and only one,

Armed beyond defense with gossamer wings unfurled.

In luminescent shadow his task is begun.

For boundless power the Wanderer kills the world."

A part of his mind was confused when the soldiers around him suddenly vanished from his peripheral vision. A part of his mind was frightened when he could no longer feel quaking stone beneath his hands. A part of Teldon’s mind screamed in terror during the sudden moment of weightless vertigo. But the rest of his mind sang, even as the world around him fell into darkness.

***

It was the way of things. Beginnings and ends, lives and deaths, creation and destruction, all of existence went through the same eternal cycle with never a pause to gather one’s bearings. What was created was destroyed, only to be built anew. What lived, died, but souls were immortal and, one way or another, found life again. To end one thing was to begin another, and the other way around. Planets lived and died to this rule, galaxies began and ended, and without fail, entire universes were created and destroyed. As long as time flowed, it was the way of things.

Knowing this, the watcher stirred, as he had not in ages.

He had but one purpose, this watcher, though that purpose required thousands of duties, large and small, to be fulfilled. Largest of those duties was to live. To exist and continue watching, waiting for the time to come when other duties must pull his attention away from the burden of living, the struggle to survive. For even though all things that died were born again, the time in which his spirit was without a host would be opening enough for disaster to consume existence.

Time enough for time to end.

Now the Watcher stirred, other duties rising in importance to equal that of survival. Ants had moved specks of dust eons ago that would soon result in earthquakes; sparrows had long ago flapped their wings to create the hurricanes of tomorrow. Events had transpired to bring the watcher’s charge to its most critical moment, and as innocent sand shifted, as helpless snow fell, the volcanoes and blizzards waiting over dawn’s horizon could well bring the downfall of all that was. Centuries ago, prophecy had foretold the events that induced the watcher to wake. If he succeeded, history would recall them.

Two sister worlds would soon reunite, and only one would survive. Duty pulled at the watcher, vibrated with increasing urgency. As quickly as duty had made itself known, he may already have been too late.

Swiftly, the watcher began his search for Earth’s hero.

One: Tree Climbers

Taking a deep breath of the warm evening air, Tolinom gazed between the thick branches and leaves of a sturdy oak at the brightly lit countryside. Endless miles of tall grass waved in a gentle breeze broken only by a few scattered stands of trees like the one in which his oak sat. It would make a good place to sleep, and he had little desire to travel any more that day. He wasn’t quite sore yet, but there was no reason to make the trip uncomfortable. He wanted to see the world, not have it pass him by in a blur of exhaustion.

A thick branch rustled above him, and he rolled his eyes as his traveling companion swung to hang upside down beside him, legs wrapped around the tree limb. I don’t know why the scenery fascinates you so much, Dola said. Her head was almost level with his own, but she was facing out toward the plains and slightly farther from the oak’s trunk than him, so he couldn’t read her expression. He knew she was only being playful, though. This all looks exactly the same as the last hundred miles we’ve crossed. Grass, grass, and more grass. Where are the vast cities you promised me, the palaces as tall as mountains where if you climb the highest tower, all you can see are human buildings spreading to every horizon? She held her hands wide as if seeing such a city before her, the motion making her sway a little under her perch.

Tolinom poked the back of her head. Don’t put words in my mouth. Eyrasabi is big, but it’s no fairy tale.

Who said anything about Eyrasabi? I was describing Boendal; Eyrasabi is a hundred times the size, and its houses built of solid silver, streets lined with emeralds, and every human there a knight of the royal court. Her arms folded in front of her in the familiar way that meant she was bored. At least it had better be, to be worth you hauling me out of Bandarethe to go traipsing across the whole blasted continent. Bored. Or hungry, or tired, or angry, or teasing, or most often, stubborn.

I think blood must be rushing to your head. I don’t remember having to haul you anywhere. You were all too ready to escape your chores.

Dola hefted herself back on top of the branch above Tolinom with ease, barely rustling the leaves in the tree. All I mean is that you’re staring very wistfully at the same monotonous fields we’ve been seeing for the last two days. You’re lost in thought again. What’s on your mind?

Tolinom grimaced. What had been on his mind on this lovely afternoon haven from the mundane, was exactly what he was trying to avoid. Responsibility. Duty. Ironically enough, I was thinking about Eyrasabi, he lied. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it; I was a child then. I wonder if anything’s changed.

If Dola recognized the evasion, she let it pass. Oh, so you’re not a child any more?

I can’t afford to be a child much longer, he murmured, betraying what he had actually been dwelling on.

She made an exasperated noise. I don’t see what has to change.

He was about to tell her exactly what was going to have to change, but she shushed him before he even opened his mouth. A moment later he heard it, too: the low, quiet rumble of a wagon in the distance. Dola’s ears had always been sharper than his own. The noise was coming from the west, the same direction they had come from, so it had to be farmers or peddlers from the small village he and Dola had passed that morning, the only human settlement they had come across since leaving Bandarethe. Turning around and straddling his branch, Tolinom peered around the oak’s broad trunk and spotted a cloud of dust beyond a hill’s green slope a mile or so to the west.

They won’t be within earshot for half an hour at least, he said, but quietly.

If we can hear them, then— Dola protested, but he cut her off.

Human ears aren’t Oncan. Besides, they’re upwind from us. Near that wagon they probably can’t hear anything father than a few feet away.

The branch above him rustled as she turned to watch the distant wagon. Should we move on?

Tolinom shook his head. There’s nothing to fear from traders. Of course, the wagon might be carrying someone other than tradesmen. What sort of trouble would travel with a wagon, though? They’ll pass us by anyway. There’s enough light to cover a few more miles today, even for them. They won’t stop until the sun’s set.

You’re sure?

No. Of course. Traders are always in a hurry.

A black foot kicked the side of his head gently. And how would you know?

He batted Dola’s foot away and watched the wagon top the hill’s crest. More than one wagon, he saw, as a second canvas-topped contraption clambered after the first, both pulled behind a pair of sturdy looking oxen. We’re far enough from the road that they won’t even notice us, you’ll see, he insisted distractedly. The dirt road wound around the base of their hill. It wasn’t really that far away, but with them hidden safely in the oak’s branches, they’d be hard to spot even if they made a commotion.

And if they think this is as nice a place to spend the night as you do? she pressed.

Then we share the tree, if they can climb it. They both laughed at that. Tolinom couldn’t quite imagine what a human would look like trying to climb a tree. Maybe they’ll have some food, he said, his stomach complaining. The two of them had plenty to eat in the leather shoulder packs slung on the branches beside them, but it was all hard, tasteless trail bread and bland dried fruit. If the traders had some fresh meat they’d share, he’d carry them up the oak on his back. They watched quietly while the two wagons made their way down the grassy hillside. It was an easy journey; so far Tolinom and Dola had seen nothing but the nearly flat grasslands since leaving Bandarethe, nothing like the steep, rocky Jade Hills he remembered from his childhood. Those were still a few days away, he supposed.

Some humans can be dangerous, Dola whispered, the wagons now less than half a mile away.

You’re getting nervous now? What do you plan on doing when we’re in those cities that stretch from horizon to horizon and are full of humans?

She just used her foot to answer him. He swatted it away again and shushed her. The wagons were close enough now that they might see movement in the oak’s branches if they weren’t careful. Tolinom could make out the occupants, a brown bearded man sitting in the first wagon with the oxen’s reigns in his hands and a child sitting beside him whose gender Tolinom couldn’t determine. The wagons were far enough apart that he caught glimpses of another man in the second one sitting beside a woman with a very young child lying in her lap. They weren’t any danger, then, just a family of peddlers like he’d first guessed.

As they drew closer, he was able to snatch bits and pieces of their conversations, but he couldn’t make any sense of the few stray words he could hear over the wagon wheels’ rumbling. The peddlers reached the bend in the road where it began circling the hill where he and Dola hid, but instead of turning to follow the beaten dirt path, the oxen pulled the wagons straight forward over the hill’s long, waving grass. They were headed straight toward the oak at the top of the hill.

Tolinom hissed a near-silent curse. So did Dola, but where his was a general, targetless oath, hers was an insult aimed at him, and her foot followed it. She kicked at his head as swiftly as she could without shaking her branch, and they were both covering their mouths to bite back hysterical laughter by the time the lead wagon pulled to a stop under the oak’s lowest branches. If Tolinom had a mind to, he could jump straight down and land on the curved canvas tarp.

There now, said a deep, gravelly voice below him, heavy with a rustic Eyralian accent. Told you this grove had a good view, didn’t I, girl? Tolinom blinked. Now that the family was so close, he would have sworn that the child next to the bearded man was a boy. Human girls were supposed to wear dresses to avoid such confusion.

The child in question just shrugged, not even looking at the endless fields around them, apparently absorbed in setting the wagon’s brake beside the bench on which she sat. Sure did, Da, was her only response. She was a girl, after all, then. Humans might look nothing like Oncans, but they sounded more or less the same, and few males of either race had a voice that naturally high pitched.

The girl’s father watched until she had worked on the brake for a few moments before hefting the reigns. Welp, we’ve seen it. Best we get a move on, eh?

Hey! The girl hastened to undo whatever she’d accomplished with the brake before the oxen tried to pull the wagon, but the animals never lifted their heads from where they cropped at the grove’s long grass.

The father laughed, a deep rumble that somehow blurred with the noise from the wagon drawing to a halt behind the first. Score one for Da, eh? You’ve some catching up to do, Mati.

Tolinom didn’t know how many times his heart could skip beats in a single minute.

The man in the second wagon had hopped off its bench as soon as it ground to a stop and was circling the second pair of oxen to set its brake while the woman hummed and gently rocked the infant in her lap. Tolinom wondered why they had brought her with them. Surely the mother would be better off caring for her baby in a comfortable house than traveling between villages with her family. For that matter, he didn’t know why the child in the first wagon was present, either. Maybe she was in apprenticeship under her father.

The girl brightened once she’d finished setting the front wagon’s brake. You only think that because you don’t know about all the points I’ve been getting without you noticing, she told her father with a crooked grin. Apparently they were playing a game of tricking each other. They might not be as harmless as Tolinom assumed. He suddenly wanted very much to know what was hidden under the large wagon covers. Would a family of thieves really be that unusual?

The Oncan forced himself to let out the breath he’d been holding. He was letting his imagination get ahead of him, he knew, feeding off of a childhood’s worth of exaggerated stories about humans’ affinity for corruption. Very few Oncans actually believed those tales, and after having visited the human country so many years ago, he wasn’t one of the believers, but that didn’t keep his mind from wandering through the worst possibilities he could dream up.

The man from the second wagon made short work of setting its brake before trotting toward where the father and daughter were climbing down to the ground. You sure we shouldn’t keep going a little ways, Da? he said in a much younger voice than Tolinom had expected. We could make Pedrel by midday if we don’t stop till night. Tolinom’s breath caught in his throat. Beyond the humans possibly moving on, he had to choke down the delighted laugh that tried to bubble from him at hearing how close they were to Pedrel. From what he and Dola had been told, they’d expected to be on the road for another day at least before reaching the trading outpost.

A little longer than that, I think, but I’d rather not risk the animals at dusk. The bearded man walked around the front wagon, looking