Circle of Reign (33 page)

I will find her! It is inevitable
, he always told himself.
It must be! Ancients Come, I will tear her apart, limb from limb and savor her sweet
fear!
He began to salivate. Eventually he would triumph, but he did not know when
eventually
would be. Until that time, he would wallow in his pain with little succor.

Rembbran heard groans of complaint from his brethren within the Kail and looked up. Walking toward him was a short bald man in a dark gray robe with red trim.

“Tyjil,” Rembbran said. “You should not be here. None are permitted to enter save for Helsyans and the Urlenthi himself.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Tyjil replied. “After all, it was your beloved Urlenthi who has sent me to fetch you.”

“Truly? The High Duke wishes my presence?” The thought of being granted a
Dahlrak
gave Rembbran energy he had not felt in some time. The promise of some relief from a new Charge, even temporary, was irresistible.

“I presume he does have an assignment for you if you can show enough control,” Tyjil confirmed.

Rembbran stood up. He towered over Tyjil by more than two heads. “Where is he?”

“You know, Rembbran, you and I are not so different.”

The Helsyan huffed and turned away from the older man’s stare.

“It’s true. However, there is one small difference. Well, maybe it’s not so small, actually. See, while you are cursed by the Ancient Dark and serve it by compulsion, I embrace it and serve it willingly.”

“What do you speak of?”

“I can’t expect such a diminutive mind such as yours to grasp it fully, but just know we are on the same side of the war.”

Rembbran became angry at this comment. “The Borathein are not here yet and I’m not part of your little war! I could care less for the games your people play!”

“Ah, yes. But I do not speak of the Borathein, Helsyan. That is indeed a small squabble in the grand scheme of the world, yes? I speak of the war that brought the curse upon your people, when the land of Helsya was still known.”

Rembbran stared at Tyjil, a confused look frozen upon his face.

“But, of course, you’re right,” Tyjil relented. “Let us see about the smaller tasks that the High Duke would have you perform for now, yes? But, Rembbran, I see a future for you beyond the shackles of your precious Stone of Orlack, your Urlenthi.”

Emeron Wellyn, High Duke and Protector of the Realm, was visibly distraught. His stare seemed to be full of such heat that he might melt the Great Glaciers of Gonfrey if he turned to look upon them. The wind and snow whirled around him as he stood outside the closed doors of his Council Hall. The cold bit at him, crusting his lips with frost. He looked upon no one in particular, for no one attended him by his order; he simply stared in silence. In fact, Wellyn stood so still, with the elements gathering upon him, he could have easily been mistaken for a statue. Standing long enough without movement in the North during the Low Season could indeed turn a man to a statue of ice, freezing his blood where it flowed from vein to heart. The cold swell from the north had mercilessly shortened the already brief climate of the High Season. Wellyn thought it to be ironic knowing what would soon cross the glaciers and enter their land.

The pace now must quicken
, he thought.
We are not completely ready but control is still possible
.

When Tyjil finally returned with the crazed one in his tread, he had to look closely at the vertical mass that resembled a man. Ice and snow bonded to the man’s eyebrows and face, drowning out the color of natural flesh.

“Ah, it is you. I have brought Rembbran at my Liege’s request,” Tyjil reported. Rembbran seemed almost to fall into frenetic shaking, but not because of the cold. The thick hooded robe those of
his kind wore was not enough to mask the near lack of control Rembbran physically struggled with.

“Your Grace?” Tyjil came again.

It was the visible breath that emitted faint vapor from High Duke Wellyn’s nose that gave the only sign of life. Tyjil continued to wait. Rembbran screamed in frustration and fell to his knees. The snow was almost waist deep as he came to rest on his heels, his legs folded beneath him. He cradled his head between his hands.

“Josi’ah.” It was barely audible. A small word, but a name. Rembbran looked up.

“Josi’ah,” High Duke Wellyn spoke again. He still did not move.

“Say it,” Rembbran begged. “Say it, please!”

“I issue a
Dahlrak
upon Josi’ah and give him to you, Rembbran.”

He took in a deep inhale, the gills running up the bridge of his nose flaring wildly. Rembbran’s head snapped toward the palace with the look of a bloodhound.

Tyjil grinned wickedly as the Helsyan tore off at speed toward his prey.

Josi’ah hurriedly packed what little belongings he had in his quarters. Only a few minutes had passed since fleeing the council hall, but he feared even that was too long. Thor’ah, patriarch of his order, had issued a recall order to all Archivers serving in the Realm after the High Duke’s attack on Lord Banner Therrium. Mithi’ah had reported the events from Hold Therrium as soon as he connected with an elder through a Light Scry. From there, the urgent recall from Patriarch Thor’ah had been issued. Josi’ah had never felt such fear in his life. He kept an open connection with the Patriarch while gathering his things.

Traditionally, an Archiver attended the Lord of his assigned house, or in Josi’ah’s case, the High Duke himself, in all meetings and discussions in order to record as much of the Realm’s history
as possible. Such had always been their purpose, long before the Senthary had come to this land. There were hints that something was afoot, small things that seemed irrelevant at the time. Wellyn had taken several trips without his presence, allowing Josi’ah time for himself. More than once he had intuited there had been meetings he was not notified of by comments made, especially from Tyjil.

Of course
, Josi’ah berated himself.
You were a fool! You should have known something was happening!

He was ready. The palace would be easy to escape. He had free reign throughout the palace to go wherever he pleased in fulfillment of his duties. No one would think to stop him as he made his way quickly to an exit.

The door exploded inward as he reached to open it. He was knocked down from the force of it and fell hard on his backside. As he looked up, with shock across his face, he saw his end.

He thought of Vash’ah, his son serving as an acolyte in the Jarwyn Mountains. And then he thought no more.

He was fulfilled, if even just for the moment. It would fade, he knew, this temporary nepenthe. The old Charge’s incessant malady would return. But here and now, he gave himself in surrender to the total ecstasy of a fulfilled Charge. The surroundings of carnage fueled his revelry in the moment.

He had never before had the Charge of an Archiver. Had
any
chase-giver ever been Charged with an Archiver? It was…unique. Josi’ah’s surprise was nearly enough satisfaction in itself. Rembbran did not know why the Archiver was to die, nor did he care.

Let the Archivers inscribe this!
he thought as he stared on the blood on his hands. The elder connected to Josi’ah at the time of his demise no doubt got the shock of his life. The observations of these historians were engraved on large obsidian slabs taller
than most men stood. Rembbran gloried that his actions would be indelibly preserved in the Realm’s history.

In the palm of Rembbran’s hand was Josi’ah’s chin stud, stained with the blood of its previous owner. For all an Archiver’s strength in surviving the most hostile environment in the heights of the Jarwyn Mountains, Josi’ah didn’t seem to have any ability to defend himself against attack. He had heard the Archiver scurrying about in his room from the other side of the doors to his chambers. He waited for a specific scent to come forth, one that would tell him the time had come. Fear’s sweet odor was present among others, but as soon as he caught the scent of resolve, Rembbran unleashed his strength against the door, knocking it and Josi’ah back several feet. Once he had recovered from the initial surprise of Rembbran’s assault, Josi’ah seemed to gain a look of understanding and acceptance, though the intoxicating scent of fear had been strongly emitted. Rembbran relished in its lingering few ambrosial elements, like a wounded beast wrapped in the healing leaves of a Triarch tree.

His relief from the incessant presence of the unfulfilled Charge was short lived. The pain of six years’ worth of unfulfilled Charge built up could not be kept at bay long. Temporary relief was all that was granted as he completed other Charges assigned to him, and the relief that came had less depth and length each time.

Rembbran began to pace. As the pain thundered with crescendo inside his skull, an illusion radiated before him of the Archiver’s small quarters, now a scene of grotesque death, beginning to contract and trap him. His breathing became shallow, faster paced. The pain was as if a flail was lodged inside the center of his brain and slowly but constantly expanding. Every second became an eternity of shattering throbs. He raised his hands to his head, fingers stiff, pushing inward with his palms in reflex against the expanding pain. Rembbran battled for control, but his groans were escalating to screams, not able to be stifled.

He fled from the palace, running over a pair of servants on their way to the culinary wing.

“The Kail,” he moaned. “Must reach it.” The speed a chase-giver could attain while Charged was inhuman, strength exceeding that of many men. But when a Charge was unfulfilled for so long as Rembbran’s, this state of heightened sensory perception carried with it a feral, nearly uncontrollable reckless abandon.

He arrived at the Kail, retreated to his chambers, and seeking escape, collapsed to unconsciousness.