The Aether of Night Read online

  “No!” Raeth yelled as more warriors filled the gap, cutting off Raeth’s view of his father. Raeth sliced at the first warrior, beheading it completely. The creature continued to stumble, a torrent of black smoke hissing from its neck, its body slowly deflating. There were plenty more creatures to take its place, however.

  Suddenly, the platform shook beneath him with a powerful impact. Then another. And another, and Raeth heard a bellow of anger from behind him.

  Darro swung a massive Amberite warhammer, wide as a man’s chest, at the wall of black creatures. The weapon took one of the dark warriors square in the stomach and hurled it off the platform into the air. Building a suit like Darro’s took time, but when he was finished, there was little that could stop him.

  “Darro!” Raeth yelled. “They’ve got father!”

  “I saw,” Darro said, his voice muffled by the armor. He swung his enormous weapon again, smashing through three dark warriors at once, ignoring the others who attacked his armor with their puny swords. “Move!” Darro said.

  Raeth nodded, ducking forward and jumping off the platform. Darro followed him, making a far less dexterous jump, something more akin to a controlled fall. The ground shook when he hit, his Amberite feet shattering the ancient cobblestones beneath.

  Darro continued to swing in wide sweeps, clearing a path. The dark warriors shied back from him, and through the mess of bodies Raeth caught a glimpse of red. Amberite. Somehow Vaetayn had freed himself from his captors, and fought a desperate, lonely battle. His armor wasn’t massive like Darro’s, it was more like a set of translucent plate mail. It was scarred in numerous places, however, and he was bleeding.

  Amberite? Raeth thought with surprise. Cut? It’s stronger than steel! There was no time to ponder the irregularity. Raeth dashed forward, trying to reach his father’s side. Even as Raeth moved, however, a dark warrior’s blade sliced forward, piercing Vaetayn’s Amberite breastplate in a place where it was already scarred. The weapon sank through the Amberite into Vaetayn’s chest, and the emperor grunted, stumbling.

  “Father!” Raeth yelled.

  Vaetayn looked up once, his eyes visible through the Amberite faceplate. He met Raeth’s gaze. Then six dark figures grabbed the wounded emperor and toppled him backward. Toward the pool.

  Raeth screamed, dashing forward, across the broken cobbles and shattered pillars. Vaetayn struggled even as he fell, his arms flailing, his jaw set, but it was no use. He hit the surface of the pool with a yell of defiance, his body spasming, one arm sweeping to the side and throwing up a wave of dark droplets.

  Raeth stood, stunned, as his father disappeared beneath the black surface. Only then did he notice the droplets of darkness soaring in the air. Right toward him.

  Raeth yelped, ducking to the side. However, he moved too slowly, and one of the drops slapped against his cheek.

  A sudden burning seared through his face, and he screamed in agony. He dropped his blade, which shattered against the ground below, and fell to his knees. The darkness seemed to crawl through his face, bringing pain in its wake. He felt himself fall backward, collapsing against the hard stone as his head continued to flare. A few seconds later, the heat traveled down his neck and began to disperse through his body, growing more dilute as it did so. Even still, the agony was horrendous, and Raeth’s vision grew black.

  The pain stopped. Raeth blinked, frowning and trying to reorient himself. Only then did he realize that he was staring up at a warrior made of pure blackness. Its weapon was raised to strike him.

  Suddenly, the dark warrior grew stiff, a hissing sound exploding from its back. A hand shoved it out of the way, and Raeth was confronted by a second black face. Raeth started, summoning another sword, before he realized that this one wasn’t composed of the pool’s blackness. It was a man with dark, bruise-like skin.

  The Shentis man, Shateen, reached a hand toward Raeth. “You Aedin throw quite the party,” he noted. “Next time, kindly lose my invitation.”

  Raeth paused, then accepted the hand and let Shateen pull him to his feet. The courtyard had grown surprisingly empty. The people had fled, and many of the dark warriors had apparently gone after them, leaving behind only corpses. Raeth reached up toward his cheek, remembering the pain he had felt. His face wasn’t scarred or even burned, however, despite the heat he had felt.

  Raeth shook his head, recovering from his shock. Another batch of the dark men was rising from the pool, and a large group was still battling with Darro a short distance away.

  Father! Raeth thought with alarm, turning eyes toward the pool. There was no sign of him. Vaetayn, twenty-fifth Emperor of the Aedinor Imperium, was dead.

  Chapter Four

  D’Naa was no longer nervous. Nor, surprisingly, was she embarrassed. Now she was just furious.

  We’re supposed to want to marry that man? She thought to herself, not for the first time, as she sat on his cushion in the waiting tent. As if it were a privilege?

  His words continued to ring through her mind. He thought her boyish, did he? Unattractive? Just because her chest didn’t threaten to burst the seams of her bodice, or just because she didn’t reveal herself like the Mahallen woman?

  You don’t know what an enemy you’ve made this day, Prince Hern. Kavir seems gentle, but you’ve left us without defense too long. We’ve had to fight of the Harrmen on our own, while you Aedin send only bureaucrats and promises. You tell everyone that only the Aedin can Bond Aethers. What will you do when we attack you with your own weapons?

  D’Naa smiled quietly to herself, imagining the day when Kavir soldiers overthrew the Aedin government. She was going too far, of course. Her people didn’t want to rebel—not really. They just wanted the protection the Aedin kept promising. Over the last fifty years, Harrmen raids had been getting steadily worse, but the Aedin had barely increased Kavir’s garrison. Her people were frustrated and defensive. That was why they’d begun experimenting with the Aethers.

  Her own Aether sensed her restlessness, and began to wiggle slightly on her wrist. Verdant. Even after living Bonded to it for most of her life, D’Naa still didn’t understand what it was. She doubted even the Aedin knew.

  D’Naa looked up, studying the other women. Unlike the other tent, where attendants had been allowed, only the potential brides were allowed in the Contemplation tent. It was far from the courtyard, set off in a silent part of the city. Each bride had a cushion, and they sat quietly, supposedly in meditation to prepare for the Choosing.

  The High Aedin women were all sitting piously, holding the sand-filled glass trinkets that were symbolic of their Ancestral patrons. Each of them had probably paid piles of money to their temples in exchange for prayers to their forebearers, hoping for an added advantage in the Choosing. Though the three blonde women were High Aedin, none of them had Aethers. As D’Naa understood it, women rarely Bonded Aethers, especially in the High Aedin Lines. Some regular Aedin women were allowed to Bond Verdant or Ferrous, but they were never given Amberite or Bestarin.

  The other three women, of course, weren’t of Aedin blood, and therefore didn’t have the opportunity to Bond Aethers. The Mahallen and the Khur wouldn’t have done so even if they were allowed—both followed Kamman, and that religion forbids all kinds of mysticism, including Aethers.

  All six women sat quietly, placidly awaiting the Emperor’s whims. Kallana, the Shorriken, had a glass trinket like the Aedin. The Khur woman sat with her eyes closed, and Nahan the Mahallen was reading quietly from a small book—the reading made an odd juxtaposition, D’Naa thought, with the woman’s sultry clothing. Mahallens, like Khur, didn’t believe in prayer. While the Aedin worshiped their ancestors, the Mahallen and Khur believed that everything happened in perfect accordance to God’s will, and so therefore praying was redundant. Both Aedin and Mahallens were wrong, of course, but at least they were religious in their own way.

  As she studied the others, D’Naa felt her fury dribble away. Being angry wouldn’t do her any good, and sh
e had no reason to vent at the other brides. After all, they had been put on exhibition just like she had. They might have been groomed for it, but they were probably just as nervous as D’Naa.

  Her anger abated. Unfortunately, she was left with another emotion—one she’d been able to ignore in face of her fury. Worry. It didn’t matter what Hern thought of her; he wasn’t the one making the decision. What if the Emperor actually chose her? She’d been apprehensive before, but now that she’d been face-to-face with Aedin scorn, she was beginning to realize just how helpless she was. If the Emperor picked her, she would have no choice but to do as she was told. To become Hern’s bride.

  The thought left her feeling ill. However, she felt guilty for her displeasure—she should want to be chosen. That was why she’d been sent to Aedinor. Her people needed the influence only she could bring them.

  Either I’m chosen and live with that man’s mockery all my life, D’Naa realized, or I fail my people and leave more to die from Harrmen raids. She lost either way.

  D’Naa shook her head, stretching with a sigh. She wished she had something to lean back against. She wasn’t accustomed to sitting on the floor, even with a cushion. Her grandmother would probably scold her for her worry—the Kavir were supposed to be a practical people, not wrought with concern about things they couldn’t change.

  She let her eyes drift across the room, and the other women’s piousness left her feeling a little guilty. She should probably be praying to D’Lum—if not for herself, then for the unfortunate woman who would end up spending her life beneath Hern’s belittling eyes. Still, she found it hard to get up the motivation to pray at the moment—her embarrassment was too recent in her mind. Perhaps if she—

  “You three!” a voice snapped. It was muffled, as if it were a short distance away, outside the tent. D’Naa sat up with a frown.

  “Sir?” another voice replied, this one much closer—one of the soldiers guarding just outside the tent flaps.

  “Come, quickly!”

  D’Naa looked around the room. The other women’s eyes showed flashes of concern, but none of them moved.

  A distinctive crackling sounded outside. It was faint, and D’Naa had only heard it a few times, but she recognized it nonetheless. Amberite. It was followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

  D’Naa sat uncomfortably, uncertain what she should do. The other women lowered their heads and went back to their prayers or contemplations. They waited for a few tense moments, the tent still save for the occasional wind-rustled flap.

  What is going on? D’Naa thought. Had one of the executions goon awry? Perhaps a murderer or traitor had escaped. That would explain the soldiers’ departure. If three men left, that only left the bride’s tent with one guard—were they safe?

  She shook her head. You’re being foolish, D’Naa, she told herself. What could happen to you here, surrounded by High Aedin?

  At that moment, she heard the screams. Yells of fear and pain, coming from the direction of the courtyard. Her head snapped up—an action mimicked by several of the other women. None of them stood.

  The screams continued, and D’Naa’s mind flashed back to Kavir and the Harrmen raids. She had heard similar yells of fright before.

  “We should find out what’s going on,” D’Naa said nervously, her whispered words seeming to boom through the tent.

  “It’s forbidden,” Alean, the Verdant offering, said. “We can’t leave until the Emperor calls for us. Whatever it is, they’ll deal with it.”

  Several of the other women didn’t look so certain. The small Shorriken woman’s eyes were wide with apprehension, and the Nahan bore a look that said she didn’t think much of Alean’s opinion. Still, they all remained motionless—none would risk the chance that leaving the tent would disqualify them from the choosing.

  The screams continued—they were growing louder. D’Naa’s anxiety grew. How could they just sit there, waiting? How could they assume the problem, whatever itself, would just fix itself?

  You’re doing the same thing, she reminded herself. D’Naa paused. Then, gritting her teeth, she stood. Ignoring the surprised looks on the other women’s faces, she marched up to the front of the tent and peeked outside.

  “What is happening?” she asked quietly, a cool winter breeze blowing across her exposed face.

  The single guard jumped at D’Naa’s question, his eyes nervous in the torchlight.

  “Um, I don’t know,” the young man confessed. He was Verdant, D’Naa noticed. She could see the vines trickling out of his sleeve and waving nervously in the shadows just below his fingers.

  Suddenly, a group of people appeared at the end of the street. They ran at a reckless pace, heedless of their fine clothing. There was horror on their faces—and, as they approached, D’Naa could see blood on their clothing.

  “My grandparents!” D’Naa said with alarm. They were still back in the preparation tent in the courtyard.

  The young soldier took a wide-eyed step backward as the people scrambled past, yelling. The screams from the courtyard were growing more frantic.

  All thoughts of propriety left D’Naa’s mind as she heard their terror. She had to get to her grandparents.

  “Wait!” the guard said as D’Naa left the tent and began to dash toward the courtyard. “Stay here! It might be dangerous!”

  #

  Raeth stood for a long moment, transfixed by the pit of darkness that had claimed his father. He took a step forward.

  “Father… .” he whispered.

  Then, in a moment, sense returned. The Shentis man was speaking apprehensively, trying to get Raeth’s attention. Darro’s bellows of anger sounded behind him. Two dozen dark forms were appearing from the pool. It was not the time for mourning.

  Amberite crackled as he regrew his sword and spun. Darro was still on his feet, but he was surrounded by a dozen dark warriors. They seemed to be bidding their time, staying just beyond Darro’s strikes, waiting for him to weaken. Another group of warriors had noticed Raeth, and were turning toward him.

  “Darro!” Raeth yelled, dashing forward. “Time to run!”

  Darro’s massive form turned toward him slightly in acknowledgement. The massive suit swung once more with its hammer, pushing back a few dark warriors, then its chest exploded in a shower of Amberite shards, and Darro rolled free. He ducked beneath a night-black blade and jumped to his feet running. Behind him, the massive suit toppled backward, shattering as it hit the ground.

  Darro fell in beside Raeth in a dead run, and the two brothers took the first street that wasn’t blocked by enemies. The Shentis man puffed along behind them, his death-row status forgotten before a more violent threat.

  The streets were dark, and it was hard to see. Some lanterns hung melancholy from tent-shops, and several torches lay discarded by the side of the road. Raeth could hear voices yelling in fright, though the broken ruins reflected the sound and made it difficult to judge direction. He could see shadowed figures running down most side-streets, but couldn’t tell the people from the monsters. Some figures lay slumped on the ground, immobile.

  He paused, puffing slightly as he regarded the horrific scene. It was like he was walking through a child’s nightmare, complete with twisted shadows, ghostly yells, and mangled bodies.

  “Raeth,” Darro said, pausing beside him, looking back in the direction of the courtyard. “Father… .”

  Raeth could smell smoke—tents were burning close by. “I know,” he whispered. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  Darro nodded solemnly in the poor light. “What now?” he asked.

  Raeth turned eyes back toward the courtyard. The Corpate lights were going out one by one—the only way that could happen is if the dark warriors were throwing them in the pool. As the lights disappeared, the area of the courtyard was quickly becoming a caliginous pool of shifting silhouettes and shadows.

  “Saeris Va is lost,” Raeth said. “We have to get as many people of here as possible.” />
  “Um, your highnesses,” the Shentis man said from behind them, his dark face almost lost in the dimness. “I think we’d better keep moving… .”

  Shadows were creeping toward them from the direction of the courtyard, some of them bearing weapons.

  “Slaughter and Despair… .” Darro swore quietly. “What is going on?”

  Raeth gripped his Amberite sword tightly and nodded toward a side street, one that led to a larger thoroughfare. “I saw a flash of metal from that direction. Let’s go.”

  Darro nodded, Amberite crackling as he created a massive hammer in his hands. It wasn’t as big as the one he could wield when in full armor, but it was intimidating nonetheless. The three men moved forward, dashing down the side alley. Raeth watched every shadow as they moved, worrying that they would somehow form into dark warriors. After just a few moments he was able to make out the sounds of men grunting, and soon they emerged onto the larger street to find a struggling force of soldiers fighting a group of dark warriors. There were looks of terror—even hopelessness—in their eyes as they fought.

  Darro bellowed a war yell and dashed forward. Amberite crackled up his arms, strengthening them, and he began to lay into the back of the dark warriors’ line. Raeth joined him, staying close to Darro to make use of his brother’s greater reach.

  “The prince!” one of the men exclaimed, hope flaring in his eyes as he saw Raeth.

  The dark warriors paused, turning to assess the attack from behind, and the Aedin soldiers struck with renewed strength. The air hissed with the sound of blackness escaping through the dark warrior’s wounds. Eventually, the creatures began to fall—either because of lost legs, or from sheer force of blows. The men let out a whoop as the dark warriors’ line broke, the creatures scattering to the sides.

  “Fall back!” Raeth ordered, turning worried eyes toward the courtyard. He could no longer see it, but somehow he knew that the dark pool was still spitting forth its demonic occupants.