Chapter 58 - Surging Currents

A huge explosion of scarlet flames erupted like a great geyser of magical might. Ripples of power tore the tent apart and sent flaming chunks of debris flying all over the air. They rained down on top of the dozen soldiers kneeling in a circle around the source of this magical outburst.

They were each elite operatives who had been through countless life or death missions. At the moment, not a single one of them were capable of lifting their terrified gazes from the ground. Their breathing came in harsh gasps as their bodies shook like leaves in a storm in the aftermath of the commander’s outburst.

“Lord Vissus, please calm yourself. After your fight against the foul Phoenix beast, all traces of their passage were wiped clean. However, they will never escape the Cursed La-” the leader of the operatives finally managed in between clenched teeth, but stopped in mid-sentence as he felt the gravity of Vissus’ gaze when the commander turned to look at him.

Commander Vissus Attolian stood within the center of a gushing fountain of magical energy. It fluctuated wildly as it spat forces that could burn any of the elites kneeling around him to cinders. These mere fireworks were nothing compared to the storm raging within his heart.

“Fools. They do not understand. How could they?” Vissus snarled within his heart. Although rage was still rattling the cage of his chest, deep weariness and regret crashed shortly thereafter. It left his emotions floundering under a vast deluge of black despair.

“Who’s the greater fool, letting the boy slip through my fingers just like that? Thirty four years in the Deathsworn, twelve of them leading as the Lord Commander, and I still can’t even get my priorities straight. I should have secured the boy first and foremost, no matter how unbelievable the circumstances. Let the rifts crash down. Let the whole world burn to ash if necessary! What of it, should the boy’s trail lead true?”

The arcane energies slowly died down as his anger was drowned out by his bitter disappointment.

“Lord Vissus, for our failure we humbly request we be allowed to fulfill the final oath,” the leader of the squad of men kneeling before him cried out loudly. His voice was resolute and firm, prepared to fulfill the final oath of every Deathsworn.

They were ready to spill their blood and give their life for the Crystal Throne.

Vissus shook his head. He knew this man - Lieutenant Farhad. He was solid, devoted to his duty and diligent with his skills. He had dedicated his life to fulfilling the will of the Crystal Throne, and would not let anything - family, love, morality, even death itself -stand in the way.

He was Deathsworn.

“My anger reflects upon my own shortcomings and failures, lieutenant. Stand down, it is not time for your final oath yet. Regroup your men and replenish your supplies. Your next mission has become all the more vital now. And summon the Grand Summoner at once.”

“By your command, Lord Vissus!” There was no relief in the voice at all. They would die today, tomorrow, or years after. It did not matter. They were ready to fulfill their final oath. It was simply a matter of time.

As the Deathsworn retreated, Vissus finally became aware of the throbbing dampness in his hand. Looking down, he slow unclenched his fingers and relaxed the grip on the dagger within his grasp. It was the blade he had snatched from the little boy's hands. The razor sharp edges had effortlessly cut through the hex enchanted metal plates of his gauntlets and sliced deep into his flesh.

"To think this small dagger could so easily shatter the resolve of Vissus Attolian, Lord Commander of the Deathsworn. Who would have thought?"

Crimson blood dripped unheeded to the ground. Vissus knew this was insignificant compared to the hemorrhage of his heart.

“How many lives could have been spared? The end of this entire accursed campaign? Overthrowing the hateful yoke of the Daemon spawn? The redemption of our entire world, fair Lyria?”

Vissus closed his eyes as he was forced to admit that all of the former considerations faded into insignificance in the face of one name.

“Lady Lyrianis, where are you in this, our hour of darkest need?”

An uncomfortable cough from behind his back interrupted his grieving lament.

“Commander Vissus, you summoned me?” came a low, raspy voice

His posture not shifting in the slightest, Vissus swallowed the sea of magma boiling in his heart and spoke with a calmness that belied the utter chaos churning within his mind. “Grand Summoner Narkosian, you are to divert all available resources from your current endeavors and devote them to locating the original landing coordinates of the collapsed riftgate at site 21 and opening a reverse rift as soon as possible.”

The wizened old man’s heart trembled as he stood staring at the commander with astonished eyes that only widened further with each word.

“Commander, the reclamation project in order to prepare for the Advent has been deemed our highest priority for the past ten years. We are close to reaching a landmark success. Given a few more-”

“Narkosian, I am not in the habit of repeating myself.” Vissus stated in a calm, gravely voice.

Narkosian flinched as though he had been struck by a physical blow. How could he not know of Vissus Attolian, Commander of the Deathsworn? Even before working for years under his command, the man’s reputation had preceded him. Cold, efficient, and ruthless, he was both grand judge and ultimate executioner answering solely to the Crystal Throne. No one was safe from the reach of his implacable will and unforgiving sword.

“Ah, L-Lord Commander Vissus, with all due respect my lord,” Narkosian began, and though his lips shook slightly at his own daring, when he thought of the Triumvirate’s orders and all the sacrifices made in their name for these past ten years, he could not help but speak out. “The recent incident to contain and seal the riftgate at site 21 has placed significant burdens upon the reclamation project. Twenty six summoners were wounded, three of them crippled beyond hope. Three hundred thirteen captive souls have been sacrificed. Already, the deadlines set by the exalted Triumvirs would have sorely tested our limits. I’m afraid that if we divert any resources at all, we may fail to meet the expectations of the Triumvirate.”

As intimidating as the Deathsworn’s Commander could be, Narkosian was simply terrified of the consequences of failing to fully comply with the Triumvirate’s express will. Surely, Commander Vissus would understand and accept the realities that faced them. It was the mighty Triumvirate, after all - the ruling council formed from the heads of the three Great Clans, ruling over the entire realm of Lyria at the behest of the Crystal Throne.

Before the absolute might of the Triumvirate, even titans such as the Deathsworn’s Commander Vissus could only bow their heads in obeisance.

“Then so be it,” came the cold, clipped words from Vissus.

“M-My lord?” Narkosian’s jaw hung open as he sputtered and stared, completely frozen in his tracks.

No answer was forthcoming. Instead, the Deathsworn Commander’s only reaction was a minute, almost imperceptible shift of his back. This slight shift of his weight, however, seemed to usher in a complete transformation in the man’s aura. Before, he had the air of a deeply conflicted man who was struggling with a sea of turbulent thoughts. Now, he stood up straight and tall like an unsheathed blade. The sharpness of his spirit seemed to cut the very air around him. This brought his transformation to even sharper relief, until he stood simmering with a quiet intensity that rattled the Grand Summoner’s bones to the marrow.

“I- I hear and obey, Lord Commander.” Narkosian’s lips shook as he stammered weakly, his knees almost giving way under him.

Vissus did not seem to hear him.

“Honor is a mountain when life is the prison.” Vissus chanted the familiar text from the Deathsworn’s Codex of Vows in his own mind. “Duty is but a feather when death is a release.”

“Lady Lyrianis, I shall find you even if I must tear this world and the next asunder.”

***

“Lord Inquisitor, urgent report. There’s been a rift incident!”

A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a deep crimson hood glowered with narrow eyes.

“Location, date and magnitude?”

The words were dry and emotionless, but the official struggled to keep his voice steady. He knew the fearsome reputation of the man standing before him. Worse still, he knew even better that the rumours paled in comparison to the truth. Inquisitor Seehurst was a model for all other Inquisitors to follow and emulate, after all.

When an Inquisitor came calling, blood would flow and heads would roll. Guilt or innocence was irrelevant, for the Divine Will’s judgment was unerring, and its ways mysterious. Even the most devout of followers of the Church might be hung from a stake at a public square and burned alive until his agonized death cries were scorched into the ears of every man, woman and child within five miles. The known gambler and drunkard living next door might live through the inquisition unscathed, left only with the stains of piss in his pants and the terror in his eyes to remember that he had survived what only a fortunate few could.

Such was the nature of the Divine Will.

These considerations ran through the official’s mind like lightning, but he was used to working under pressure. As such, his words were neither hurried nor inaccurate.

“Lord Inquisitor, Area D-14: the Forbidden Forest, near Glory Peak, Lacrima Province. Estimates place rift incident within the past 72 hours. Level two magnitude.”

After a short, considering pause, the same calm voice said a single word.

“Debrief.”

“By your order, Lord Inquisitor,” came the quick response. “The reports come from the Lacrima Province, within a forest at the outskirts of Glory Peak. The incident was reported two days ago, after the heir of Duke Draxas was reported missing after tangling with an assassination attempt and chasing the assassin into the forest. He went missing in those same woods and the garrison at Redemption Keep was immediately mobilized. Our local assets identified the magical traces as remnants of rift magic. The whereabouts of the victim, young Marquis Leon Draxas, are still unknown. Signs of a great struggle were visible near the same location. An area of hundreds of feet was devastated from a tremendous clash of magical powers. Traces were found that indicate a magical beast of at least category 4 or 5 was involved. The other party remains unknown, but speculations have been made that the beast may have been fighting against an invader from the rift. All theories are unsubstantiated as of this time, sir.”

A brief light seemed to enter the hooded man’s gaze, and the lines in his forehead twitched in a momentary frown. All this went unnoticed even by the observant eyes of the agent delivering his report, as the man was devoting all his attention into his delivery. In any case, the brief crack in the impassive mask was gone in an instant, vanishing as though it had never happened in the first place.

“Any ancillary notes?” The inquisitor prompted.

“Ah, yes sir.” The man stumbled in his speech for the first time, as in all his years it was the first time a superior of such elevated rank had asked for the supplementary notes of a report. However, he was a professional and quickly recovered. “The supplementary report notes two things. First, the mangled carcass of a troll was found near the presumed rift site. At the moment, its involvement with the rift incident - if any - is unknown. Second, that the son of a local elenium crystal farmer also went missing in the Forbidden Forest at about the same time, though his absence was never reported to the local authorities. He has since been found in good health and has returned to his- Ah, my lord?”

As professional as he was, the man could not have been prepared when he saw the Inquisitor’s face twist momentarily into a grimace. It was a fleeting sight, gone before he could make sure he had seen it. Almost, he could doubt himself and wonder if his eyes had deceived him. However, he knew better. Not even the most overworked mind could justify the shocking sight of an inquisitor displaying such raw emotion in front of a lowly subordinate such as himself as a mere flight of fancy.

“He did not even bat an eye when he heard about the rift incident or a category 4 or higher beast. Wait a moment, he only reacted when he heard about the boy..”

Such had been his surprise, that the poor man had stupidly stopped short in his report and called out to the inquisitor. It was an admission that he had seen the inquisitor’s slip up, and now he could not feign otherwise. Already, his trained eye could see the subtle shift in the inquisitor’s demeanor that confirmed his fears. Cold sweat suddenly beaded his forehead, and a chill surged down his back.

“Oh mercies, what have I done?”

“Ah, forgive me, sir. The report, my lord. The missing boy’s nam-” the man stammered, gasping for breath in between each sentence.

“That will do. You are to personally submit all materials related to this incident to my hands before the end of the day.” The official had been scared stiff when the inquisitor’s eyes had glinted with cold indifference before, but now he was absolutely quaking in his soul.

Those same amber eyes now burned with a fire that seared him to the depths of his heart.

“In person. Understood?”

“Y-Yes sir.”

“In addition, this incident shall henceforth be sealed under the flame. Need I remind you of the consequences of violating such a seal?”

“N-No, sir. Of course not.”

“Then be on your way. I expect full compliance by the end of the day. Dismissed.”

“My lord, by your leave.”

The cold voice could no longer hide the searing heat the official had felt under the burning eyes of the inquisitor. As he hastily retreated from the chamber, he finally dared to raise a trembling hand to wipe the sudden moisture that had beaded his entire face.

“Just who is this boy?” the man wondered, before gasping to himself and ruthlessly crushing any such line of inquiry.

He was a professional, after all. He had endured in his line of work for a long time. Where others had burned out, died or worse, gone missing, he had persevered and clawed his way to where he now stood - at the peak of the most secretive and elite organization in the whole Empire: Shadow. The superior he had just reported to was by far the highest ranking member of the organization he had ever served - an inquisitor of the Church, which was thought to be impossible to infiltrate. Even the man had been shocked when he found the true identity of this superior, and had felt all his years of dedication and service to Shadow were vindicated.

As for his rise in the ranks, he would like to think it was due to his dedication to his duty, or to his endless honing of the crafts of his trade. In the end, however, he knew it would be deceiving himself. There were dozens of agents of Shadow more skilled, crafty or dedicated than he was. He was well aware of the limits of his own ability.

No, the sole reason why he had managed to climb to his current status was because of one thing and one thing only.

He never asked questions he should not ask.

He was not about to start now.

Swallowing past a painfully dry throat, the official quickened his steps to comply with his newest orders - the reason be damned.

***

“Mistress, there has been a new shift. The darkness advances and the light recedes.”

“...”

“Mistress, I do not understand.”

“...”

“Then may Mistress forgive this servant’s candor. Surely, the darkness will eventually consume him utterly. What can one mortal do against his ordained fate?”

“...”

“Yet ultimately, the taint cannot be cleansed. But why offer such cruel hope, when the darkness within his soul is beyond redemption?”

“...”

“I dare not, mistress. I dare not. This humble servant lives only to carry out your will.”

“...”

“I did. But mistress, why allow a mere mortal to bear your token? How could he possibly be worthy of such grace?”

“...”

“Forgiveness, mistress. This lowly slave has grown senile in her old age.”

“...”

“That.. Ah, mistress. Please, anything but that.”

“...”

“I- I hear and obey.”

“...”

“If this unworthy one may suggest, how about-”

“...”

“A- At once! I shall not tarry, I shall not tarry!”

“...”

“Never! How would I dare show any discontent upon your manifest will? Mistress, may my soul be flayed for eternity for such a disgrace!”

“...”

“Yes, mistress.”

“...”

“No! These are tears of joy, mistress.”

“...”

“Yes, such unalloyed joy and boundless bliss.”

“...”

“...”

As the old servant left, a faint smile curled the corners of her mistress’ mouth. Skyle would have found that smile oddly familiar.

“I am with you now, and always.”

A faint sigh escaped her lips. It was filled with the bittersweet pangs of yearning and the singing notes of hope.

“I am waiting for you, Skyle.”