Part VI

When they made their way through the palace halls the next morning, it was Yluna who led them.
“My Father is a Steward of the King.” She explained quietly to them as they walked, “I have often been here to assist him.”
Spire nodding, glancing around the halls. Into the walls, intricate runes were carved in twisting patterns. As they came to doors, Yluna touched them lightly to gain entrance and the runes lit lowly for a few moments before they allowed the door to open. Aside from their steps and the occasional groan or grind of a door, the entire palace was as silent as the rest of the city. The Ildoans themselves moved almost as if they were floating. Spire stepped up beside Yluna.
“Do you…’hear’ a lot of noise when we’re talking here?” He asked very softly.
She glanced over to him, “I do. But it is not unusual that you would not. I was born here, it is quicker for me.”
“Oh…I see.” He nodded slightly.
“It must feel strange.” She ventured softly.
“It does.”
She nodded just slightly, pressing her fingers into the set of runes on the last door. They lit lightly, the door creaking just slightly as it drew back into the small cove carved into the frame for it. Behind it lay the throne room of the King, the runes running more densely over the walls than in the halls through which they had previous come.
The King himself sat solemnly upon a smooth carved throne, not angular but worked into gentle curves. He was tall, even for an Ildoan, his many-pronged horns rising well about the throne’s back. As the rest of the race, his hair was a mist-like white, drifting down in a thin cascade between his shoulders. Overall he seemed to be meant for the throne and the crown, stately and as majestic as the grand stag his horns and ears gave homage to.
“Welcome.” Even the deep feelings of his eyes seemed to ring throughout the hall, as would the deep voice of any other ruler.
Yluna bowed her head, and Spire and Courmier followed suit.
“What has drawn you here to Ciryl?” The King asked. Spire glanced helplessly at Courmier and the King smiled faintly, “An interesting pair, one who cannot hear and one who knows not what to say.” He glanced at Courmier, beckoning him forward.
Courmier, sensing the motion, obeyed and stepped away from the others. The King waited until he was within arms length, and then reached out, setting the heel of his hand against the blonde’s forehead. Courmier’s eyes, seemingly blue until then, paled rapidly into the white outline of sun-blindness.
“An illusion…” Yluna mused very softly, “He is blind, that is why he could not hear…”
Spire nodded slightly, not looking away from the motions of the King. His hand had lighted just slightly, a cool blue glow shimmering beneath his palm. To Spire’s surprise, he let his deep blue eyes slide shut, his head bowing just slightly. For a few moments he remained that way, and then he drew back.
“Your companion says that you are here to ask for the last of our mineral quarzine.” He said, “Is this so?”
Spire nodded just a bit, still amazed by the strange exchange.
“And it is the reason that you are here as well?” The King asked quietly, curiosity evident in his voice.
“It… it is.” Spire lied, remembering Yluna’s previous warning and trying his best to do anything that would ‘close off his eyes’.
The King half-smiled knowingly, “I see. Then so be it.” He motioned for Courmier to step back, and when the other obeyed he went on, “Then if it is truly to be fate that you have it, it will be no trouble for you to attain it.” He set two fingers into the runes covering the throne and it ground against the floor, drawing back slowly to reveal even more dense runes in intricate patterns behind it, “There are chambers beyond these markings. As you must have seen, they are the keys to all our doors. If it is within destiny that you will have the quarzine, you will find it inside the halls and chambers through this passage.”
Spire hesitated lightly, looking over the twisted maze of runic carvings on the pale wall. There were so many… and if there were more chambers beyond the first pattern it could take them forever to find all of the perfect spots to unlock them all.
“What does he want us to do?” Courmier hissed softly into his ear.
“The mineral… quarzine? It is somewhere beyond that panel.” Spire told him, “He wants us to find it on our own. To prove that it is truly ‘destiny; for us to have it.”
Courmier blinked, “Oh…”
“Come along.” The King told them softly, “There is no need to draw anything out. Unless of course you believe that there will be time to spare.” He smiled, close to wryly.
Giving each other a single, silent glance the pair stepped forward. Spire cautiously set a hand against the carvings. The stone was cold against his fingertips, and he drew them helplessly over the marks. So very, very many… it couldn’t even be possible to get through more than one chamber without knowing how to open the doors.
He was just about to draw back, to turn to the King once more in despair, when a firm hand gripped his wrist. Surprised, he looked over the find that the hand in question belonged to Courmier.
“What are you doing?” The halfbreed asked confusedly.
He had barely finished the sentence when the other blonde began to pull his hand just slightly. Within moments, a sudden glow lit up from within one of the runes, flickering its way throughout the pattern. Spire withdrew his hand as the panel slowly groaned, rising up into its alcove. He turned to Courmier, shocked.
“How did you do that?” He asked, “How did you know?”
Courmier glanced at him, “It… It was near the same thing as sensing where the people are around me. The spot is just…different.”
The shock of the easy finding slowly wearing off, Spire nodded and stepped forward into the open chamber. It was as densely marked in runes as the previous panel had been.
“Can… can you do it again?” Spire questioned softly.
Courmier did not respond, but instead stepped further into the chamber. His hands brushed over one wall, and then the next. He made a sudden stop and reached just slightly above himself. As it had done before, the marking immediately began to shimmer. The light wound its way like a ribbon into the rest of the markings, and the door drew itself back for them once again. However, as it did so, the first slid shut, leaving the room bathed only in the glow of runes left emanating from the door’s small slot. Spire blinked, then bit his lip slightly. He set a hand worriedly against the opposite wall to right himself. It did not bode well, and the room felt somehow more close in the darkness.
“Go on to the next one.” He hissed softly to Courmier.
The other nodded, moving swiftly into the next chamber. Spire followed closely behind him, but as Courmier began to shift around the room, the halfbreed stayed close to one wall. Nervously, he leaned against it. He had lied to the King about his reasons for being in Ildoa. He had not, after all, desired to come. If not for the circumstances, he wouldn’t have. Perhaps he was not “truly” meant to have the mineral after all. Perhaps it was not in his “fate”, and they would not be able to find it.
He sighed softly to himself, shutting his eyes lightly. It had not been but a few moments when suddenly he felt a deep cold in his chest. His eyes snapped open, and at the sight he gasped sharply. One of the runes had lit once again and seemingly peeled itself spectrally off the wall. The light, like a snake, had slid its way through his chest. To his horror, he noticed that several of the other runes had somehow pulled their way off of the wall behind him as well. Their glimmering tendrils wrapped around him, twisting and pulling at his arms and legs. The first one was still slithering its way inside his chest.
“Courmier!” The cry was hushed, more a sharp and startled whisper than an exclamation, “Courmier, help me!”
The other turned quickly away from the opposite wall, then blinked.
“…Help you?” He asked, “What are you talking about? Help you with what?”
Spire stared at him, wide-eyed, “W-with these!” He stammered.
“These what? Spire, there’s nothing there.” Said Courmier.
“Can’t you see- Can’t you feel them!?” Spire gasped as the runic tendrils drew him to the wall more tightly.
“There is nothing there, Spire.” Courmier insisted, “Stop panicking over the dark and let me find the spot” He turned his back on the halfbreed to continue searching.
The lined man let out a soft, horrified breath. If Courmier could not feel them, then what were they? They were touching him, he could feel their pulling and twisting. They had to be there! They could not just simply not exist, they were holding him back!
“Courmier, please…” He whispered pleadingly.
The other whirled, glancing at him irritably, “Spire, your mind is playing-”
Not truly here…
“-tricks on you.”
Spire’s eyes widened. He was sure, absolutely sure that he had just heard someone or something speaking to him. Was he mad?
Lied… no reason to be here…
“That’s strange…where is it?” Courmier muttered softly to himself from across the chamber, “I can’t seem to find the spot…”
“No no no!” Spire thought weakly, “Get off of me!”
No reason to go on, either…
It was the runes, he was sure of it. Somehow, they were actually speaking. But he did have a reason to be there. He did have a reason to go on!
“No!” He cried sharply, “Gods, I just want to live!”
With a small hiss, the runes untwisted themselves from around him. The first one slipped swiftly back through his chest and reapplied itself to the wall. Spire fell to his knees, panting heavily.
Courmier turned, frowning, “You’re raving, Spire.” He said, gripping one of his arms and then pausing, “Gods, you’re warm…”
“You didn’t…you didn’t feel anything?” Spire asked weakly.
“No…nothing.” Courmier told him skeptically, then set a hand on the wall to which Spire had previously been attached. He yelped slightly, drawing it back, “The spot…it’s there, but it’s so hot…”
“There was something there, Courmier. I’m telling you, it’s true.” Spire said softly, “It was like the runes just peeled away from the walls and took a hold of me.”
Courmier watched him for just a moment, then turned away and pressed two fingers swiftly and gingerly into the correct spot. The runes lit once more, but before they did, it was as if the wall itself let out a low breath. Small swirls of red twisted and vanished immediately from off of it. Shocked, Courmier glanced back at Spire as the door ground its way open.
“You… you were not lying.” He stammered, eyes wide with surprise.
Spire growled softly, long canines well pronounced as he did so, “No, I was not lying, Courmier. I am not like you.” He spat.
The other scowled, looking away from Spire and into the third chamber. Unlike the previous two, torches along the walls lit it well. In the center of the room upon a simply wooden pedestal lay the last remaining deposit of the mineral quarzine. Courmier smiled faintly to himself, stepping into the chamber. Spire slipped in silently after him. The sun-blind man strode up to the pedestal and removed the small slab of stone from it. Carefully, he deposited it in a pouch at his back.
“Now all we have to do is go back throu-” His sentiment was cut off sharply by a dull thud from behind him. He turned quickly.
Sprawled out across the chamber floor lay Spire, his breath coming to him in short, shallow pants. He had fallen unconscious. Courmier’s eyes widened.
“The antidote… I have not given him the first dose of the antidote yet.” He gasped, kneeling quickly beside the fallen halfbreed.
Although tall, Spire’s build was exceedingly slim, and the Duralian had no trouble lifting him from the floor. He held him carefully like a sleeping child. As he turned, he expected to have to work his way out of the runic maze, but the doors had slid open, and there was even light visible from the throne room. Swiftly, he made his way back through the chambers, stepping out into the great hall. The small doses of antidote he had carefully hidden within his traveling pack, he had left them at the Steward’s home and could get there quickly enough to spare the halfbreed any permanent damage.
The King, seated once again at his throne, glanced up at Courmier questioningly as he stepped from the passages. Yluna had not stayed, or perhaps had been told to leave. Whatever the case, the Ildoan ruler was the only other left in the room. Courmier nodded to him slightly, trying to indicate the pair’s success in attaining the quarzine. He turned to leave, but as his did so the King rose, setting a hand on the Duralian’s shoulder. Through the contact, Courmier could hear his message very clearly within his mind. It was a soft but firm warning.
“Your course of action is not heroic. Not righteous.”
***

Part V

From out of the mist, the great white city of Ciryl rose, the topmost battlements of its palace cleaving the fog around them cleanly. The thin white towers pierced through the surrounding vapor as if they had clawed their way directly out of the mire of the deep bog. As the trio made their way over the unsteady ground, white stone houses began to slide in and out of the mist. Their Ildoan inhabitants slipped among them like ethereal pale shadows. Besides the faint sounds of their motion, the entire city was deeply and absolutely silent. However, as he glanced at the eyes of those who passed him, Spire could very clearly feel in his mind all of the “speaking” that was taking place among them. To him, the entire city seemed very nearly a dream: graceful and silent, the little colour that was present thoroughly muted by the heavy fog.
As the houses grew in number, grew closer together before the massive palace, they were joined by another Ildoan, this one a woman. Her wispy white hair had been cut to just the nape of her neck, and although she moved with the same smooth grace of all those of her race, her strides were more accented, deep eyes more marked by inquisitive nature.
“Father.” She greeted the Ildoan man who had first met them in the bog, “The news of your visitors has already reached Mother and I. A room has been readied.”
He nodded, thin lips drawing back into a small smile, “Good.” He turned to the other two, setting a hand on the young woman’s shoulder, “My daughter, Yluna.”
Spire smiled in return, “It is a pleasure.” He greeted her.
“As it is for me.” She replied, smiling and glancing from Spire to Courmier and back again, “Can he not hear?”
“I am not sure.” Spire told her, blushing faintly, “It would seem that he cannot.”
Courmier glanced over at him, blinking, “You’re talking about me?” He inquired, “With her?”
“She just asked if you couldn’t hear.” Spire told him very quietly to the side, “Nothing more about it.”
“And what brings you to Ildoa?” Yluna asked, the sentiment ringing clearly as her eyes shifted.
“We need to speak to your leader.” Said Spire.
“I see.” There was a tone of disbelief or surprise in her reply, and Spire could almost see her mark something in him, but he did not pursue it.
“The room, Yluna?” Her Father asked, just slightly chastising.
A faint blush tinged her cheeks, “Oh yes…come along.” She said, turning and giving a small motion to Courmier as she went.
They followed her along firmer sections of the ground, and soon found themselves at the door to one of the white houses closest to the base of the palace. Yluna nodded to them and pushed the door open, leading them inside. On the way to their room, they passed another Ildoan woman, who gave them a small smile. She was obviously Yluna’s Mother.
Yluna stopped beside another door, pushing it inward lightly, “This is your room.” She told Spire, “It is not much, but it should be better than attempting to remain outside for the night.”
Spire nodded, smiling just a bit, “I am sure it will be.” He agreed.
***
The night came quickly, but Spire could not sleep. Instead, he slipped out of the house, leaning against one wall and gazing silently up at the silver sliver of moon rising solemnly over the bog. It turned all the whiteness of the marsh into faint shades of gray.
He felt a hand lightly on his shoulder, “You cannot sleep?”
Turning, he found Yluna behind him, even more pale in the moonlight, “I suppose not.” He replied.
“There is much troubling you?” She asked, and he could feel that her “voice” was quiet.
He blinked, “I do not know what you mean.”
Her eyes shifted once more, and he could feel the small chuckle that emanated from them, “It is no use lying to me. You are too open to keep anything from a pure Ildoan.”
“What?” Spire asked confusedly, glancing up at her.
“Your eyes.” She told him, “They are so open. I can read them better than any other I’ve ever spoken to.”
Blushing faintly, he looked away just slightly, “But why?”
“I do not know.” She answered, “It is like you are very young. People’s eyes close off more and more as they grow older. But yours have not. Almost everything can still be read from them.”
The blush on Spire’s cheeks darkened, “Oh… I see.”
“You have not been around many people, have you?” She questioned.
“No, I haven’t.” He told her quietly.
She nodded, “Perhaps that is why.” And then, more softly, “And… you do not truly wish to be on this journey?”
Spire bit his lip, “I… no. I do not.”
“I see…” She glanced over at him more closely, “I would caution you, Spire.” She began, “There are dangers to it, to your openness. That is why people close off. It is possible to be too open. Others could hurt you.”
“I do not know how to close up.” He said bashfully.
She smiled just slightly, “And I do not know how to make you. In a perfect world, you would not need to. That is the sadness of it all. Perhaps you need to experience more for yourself.”
“I… suppose so.” He sighed softly.
“Meanwhile, you should probably sleep.” She said with a faint grin, “That I can tell you well enough, in any case. My Father has gotten you a meeting with the King tomorrow.”
***
“Shall we advance, Commander?”
The General glanced down at the line of men, “No.” The order was quiet, but firm, “We will not risk drawing another country into our war. We will wait until they are sighted.”
There was a shuffle of agreement, rippling down through the line. The General gave a firm nod.
“Soon enough, men.”
***
When Spire returned to the room, he found Courmier waiting for him, still awake.
“Where were you?” The other asked softly but sharply.
Spire frowned, “I was just outside. Is there something wrong with that?” He asked.
Courmier snorted, mimicking his previous tone, “All I was doing was asking.”
“Be quiet!” Spire snapped, “You haven’t been any help at all getting us through the bog, you haven’t any right to treat me like dirt.”
Courmier scowled, “I got us here in the first place!”
“Of course, and then you couldn’t even speak with them! How am I to know what to say to their ruler on my own!?” Snorted Spire.
“Oh, trust me Spire, I would speak to him if I could.” The other growled lowly.
“And why can’t you?” Spire spat.
“They speak through their eyes, idiot.” Snarled Courmier.
“So?”
The Duralian let out a small, defeated sigh, “Don’t you realize why I’m the one here with you?” At Spire’s silence, he went on, “I’m already sun-blind. For years.”
Spire blinked, “But…how can you travel?” He asked quietly.
“I suppose I was one of the lucky ones.” Courmier said, rather bitterly, “Ever since I was young, I was gifted with a sense of ‘presence’. I can feel where the things around me are.”
“But you can’t communicate through your eyes…” Spire finished the thought for him.
“No.” Courmier admitted quietly, looking away from him, “I can’t.”
“Oh…” Spire fell silently for a moment, also glancing away from the other blonde, “I… I’m sorry.”
“It is no concern.” Courmier told him, “You did not know, and I did not tell you. I would not have, if this had not come up. It is just something that I live with.”
“I see…”
***

Part IV

The sun’s first rays found the pair departing the palace, moving on foot. No Duralian beast of burden would be able to withstand the poison of the sun. Courmier had donned a pair of protective goggles, leading their way to the west. Spire followed behind him, eyes fixed upon the ground.
For hours, they moved mutely over hill and dale, each one never meeting the gaze of the other. It was as though an invisible line had been drawn between the pair, not to be crossed at any cost. Courmier was wary of the halfbreed, and Spire lost deeply to his own thoughts. Occasionally, a small frown would press its way sharply over his lips. Courmier caught the expression once or twice before frowning faintly to himself and gathering up the will to speak.
“Don’t be a martyr.” The words broke the prolonged silence firmly, and Spire’s gaze snapped to the other man.
“What?” He asked, both surprised and angered by the remark.
“You heard me.” Said Courmier, “You are no tragic angel. No man forced into heroic deeds can ever truly be called a hero.”
Spire’s eyes widened, “I do not make myself out to be a hero or a martyr! I am merely a man wronged, you cannot deny me that! At least give me the time to adjust!” He growled, “I have never been treated as you have treated me, before.”
“Then obviously you have never left your Mother’s side until now.” Courmier sneered, “You are far too naïve.”
“I am not naïve.” Spire argued, “I have values, that is all. Quite unlike you, obviously.”
“Obviously.” The other agreed with a snort, “Unlike the rest of the real world, as well.”
“There will still be some good in their hearts.”
“And when you find them, I am sure you will all rejoice.” The blue-eyed man scoffed, “But until that time, why don’t you concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other?”
***
A slick movement of striped rustled through the grass. The Rynarian messenger moved swiftly, long legs carrying him over the ground in graceful, measured strides. He was the last of the chain, and soon he found himself at the central court’s man hall.
“An audience with the Roix.” He panted to the guard stationed there, “My message is urgent.”
The other man nodded, stepping away quickly to allow the messenger entrance. They exchanged a brief nod before the first slipped through the court’s gate and into the Roix’s chambers, falling to one knee with a quick bow as he entered.
“Hail., Roix. I bring urgent news.” He continued at the nod of approval from the Rynarian ruler, “Dural has sent a party west, heading on foot towards Ildoa.”
The Roix frowned, “They will not make it. They do not have the technology or the strength to even reach their own border.”
“But my king, they have chartered a halfbreed to travel for them.” The messenger informed him, “Half Rynarian. He moves about freely without any sort of protection from the sun.”
Pausing for a few moments, the Roix gathered his thoughts, and then spoke, “Then I suppose this excursion will have to by dealt with. Tell General Resis to see to it.”
“It will be done, Roix.”
***
With Dural’s capital already moderately close to the western border, Courmier and Spire’s pilgrimage brought them to the border of Ildoa in only a few days (although those days had proved themselves to feel quite long enough on their own). The climate had grown steadily more misty and wetter as they traveled, and before too long a light, omnipresent fog clung in wisps and curls to the landscape.
Across the border the going became slower as small creeks and streams melded into larger ones, criss-crossing the ground and leaving few firm paths to be followed. With the ever-present mist, it became easy to misstep and find oneself sinking into the veritable bog. Spire often found himself stumbling, and saw Courmier doing much the same. Even the carefully measured steps the took sometimes failed, and one or the other would let out a sharp gasp before scrambling swiftly back onto more firm land.
Wiping a new splash of mud from his cheek, Spire stopped Courmier with one hand on his shoulder, “Are you sure you know where we’re going?” He spat.
The other blonde scowled, “Shut your mouth, halfer.” He snarled, smacking Spire’s hand from his shoulder.
Spire growled angrily, the pointed canines of his Father’s race just barely visible beneath his upper lip. Eyes narrowing, he pushed Courmier’s shoulders just slightly, “All I was doing was asking!”
Courmier frowned deeply, shoving the halfbreed in return. The two glared at each other, each waiting for the other to make another move. However, there was no move to be made, for out of the corner of his eye Spire saw a slow motion of white moving out of the mist. Giving Courmier a short final glare, he turned, and the other man mirrored the motion.
The figure in front of them drew itself with grace out of the fog. It was an Ildoan man, pale as they all were. His ears were like those of a deer, sliding back at a gentle angle. They too were white. From the crown of his head, two sloping antlers made the surreal figure seem majestic and frail at the same time, sprouting like abstract statues from out of his white hair. But the most striking feature about the man was not the presence of the long deer antlers. Instead, Spire’s gaze was drawn almost immediately to the Ildoan’s large emotive eyes. The deep orbs seemed almost to draw him in, nay, almost to speak to him. And he was startled to find that, as his own eyes met the man’s, he did hear (perhaps not hear as much as feel) the man communicating with him through them.
“What brings this pair so deep into Ildoa?” The voice seemed to echo in his consciousness, in his mind.
“I… we…” Spire began, then glanced to Courmier to finish for him. But the other did not reply, “Courmier?”
“What?” Asked the blonde.
Spire blinked, “Didn’t you hear what he asked us?” He inquired quietly.
“…No…” Courmier replied, surprised, “What was it?”
“What brought us here.” The other told him softly.
Quickly, Courmier looked up to the Ildoan, “We have come to negotiate an agreement with your leader.”
“Then follow.” The Ildoan’s eyes shifted to say, and he turned.
Still, Courmier stared obliviously, unsure of whether or not anything had been said in reply. Spire glanced from the Ildoan to the Duralian man, and then gave Courmier a small nudge forward.
“Go.” He hissed quietly under his breath, stepping forward as Courmier obeyed and began to follow after the Ildoan man.
***

Part III

The day had passed quickly as Spire wandered the castle halls, and soon he found himself being hailed by one of the numerous servants of the Emperor.
“Dinner is prepared, Sir.” He told him, beckoning for him to follow.
Spire obeyed, and the servant led him into an elaborate hall, within which was set a great cherry wood table. A man he could only presume to be the Emperor sat at the head of the table, Courmier directly to his right with a third (and last) place setting at his left. The Emperor glanced up as the halfbreed was brought in, smiling faintly.
“Come in, come in. Make yourself comfortable, mm?” He motioned to the seat to his left.
“My thanks.” Spire replied, giving a half-bow and taking the seat, “It is an honor.”
The Emperor nodded, then turned back to his setting. Already, the luxurious food and drink had been put before them. He selected his first small bit carefully, and then fell silent to eat. Courmier waited until he had begun, and then tucked into his own portions. For a time, the only sounds that filled the hall were those of the meal, forks scraping against plates, goblets lifted and set back to the table once again. Spire took an occasional glance at the other men, but they never returned it.
Eventually, though, the meal was finished, and Courmier and the Emperor sat back from their plates. Then, the Emperor turned to look at Spire.
“It’s really very interesting.” He began, “Your resistance to the sun, and Duralian background, that is. One could almost say lucky, mm?”
“I suppose so.” Spire answered, glancing up at him.
“Really, there are many ways it could be lucky, don’t you think so, Courmier?” At his subordinate’s nod, he continued, “You could even help us out of our current dilemma, couldn’t you?
“I don’t know what you mean…” Spire said unsurely, “I’ve not been informed of ‘your dilemma’.”
“Ah, I suppose you haven’t.” The Emperor realized, “Courmier, would you be so kind?”
The Captain nodded, then turned to Spire, You see, with the war, any sort of travel has become extremely difficult. The goggles, although they work for short periods of time, wear out, as do other forms of protection. One can no longer reach another country without being blinded. But the solution to the poisoned sun lies within the countries surrounding us. You see, the Rynarians poisoned the sun by mineral-burning rites, from the highest point in their country. In Dural, our economy began primarily in minerals. However, eventually the mines were emptied. Unfortunately, alternate mineral rites to those the Rynarians are using could reverse the poisoning. In the countries surrounding ours, there are small quantities left of the minerals we would need for those rites. The dilemma is that we can not travel there safely.”
“But what does that have to do with my being ‘lucky’?” Spire asked.
“Well…” The Emperor began, “You are free to travel, are you not? Your assistance could be quite promising for Dural.”
Blinking, Spire answered, “I…I am not sure I could.” After all, siding on a war he knew nothing about between the races of his parents was certainly not abiding by the last wishes of his Mother. He could not find a place with her people if he was never among them. And to pick a loyalty without first knowing even the cause of war, that was simply illogical, “No, I cannot.”
The Emperor let out a soft sigh, “There is nothing to do to change your mind?”
“I do not think so.” Spire told him quietly.
“I was hoping that it would not come to this, but it seems there is not another path to choose.” The other frowned, “Rynarian blood is difficult to argue with. Courmier, if you would.”
The tall man stood, glancing down at Spire, “You have finished your wine, I see.”
“I have…” Spire replied perplexedly.
“Then I must tell you, there is no other choice. We had unfortunately anticipated at least some resistance.” Courmier said, “The drink you have just consumed contained a small dosage of a rather…lethal toxin. However, being such a tiny amount, it will take its time in weakening you. Of course, with the proper antidote, there is little to worry about. I possess that antidote, and I am quite willing to accompany you along your journey, to administer it in small doses as needed. Not enough to completely cure, of course, until all the necessary minerals are gathered. So, your choice is this: Take on this journey, or waste away slowly to your demise.”
Eyes wide, Spire stared at both of them for a few moments before speaking, “…What!?” He managed to choke out in horror.
“All is fair in love and war, my friend. Make your choice.”
Spire glanced down at the now-empty goblet, gaze both terrified and scathing at the same moments. He was barely able to meet Courmier’s eyes as he spoke, “I will go.”
***
Deep brown eyes stared silently at the ceiling of the bedchambers as Spire lay back upon the bed. Some of him still remained stunned by the events of the night. Something about it had not yet fully sunken in. They did not even know him at all, and yet they had had very little remorse in just poisoning him. It was not right. He had not been taught that such things happened in the cities, such cold and immoral actions taken so carelessly even by those in power.
Inside his mind, it did not truly feel to him like he could die. Logic told him it was true, and yet it had not fully darkened over the shock in his mind. Was he not just as much a person as they? And he had barely set foot into the palace before they had forced some sort of “use” upon him. It was just not right. It was not something that people did to each other, at least not in his mind.
And it had been thoroughly planned as well. After agreeing to make the journey, he had been informed that all had already been readied, that he was to leave (accompanied by Courmier) first thing the next morning. And, adding insult to injury, the Emperor had added a “sleep well”. As if he could. The small patches of sleep he had managed thus far were restless and short. How could he sleep, knowing that inside him a poison was weakening him, wearing him away? It was impossible. He would only be able to anxiously await the coming morning.
***

Part II

“They’re at war, you know.”
Spire listened anxiously as one of the land walker’s crew spoke. He had not known of any “war”. Had he really been that distant for all his life? He gave a weak nod, and the crewman continued.
“Have been for quite a time now, close to three, three and a half years. But it was only a year since they done it.”
“Done what?” Spire asked softly.
“You saw what happened to that man out there, didn’t you?” At Spire’s nod, he went on, “Blinded. It’s the Rynarian’s doing, all of it.”
“How?” The blonde questioned, perplexed.
“Rynarians, they’re like cockroaches. Could live almost anywhere, among anything. Not so for us Duralians. And they knew it, too, snakes all. It’s our sun they’ve ruined, poisoned it. But it don’t make one tick of difference to them. For us, though, why, it’s a different beast all together. The light from it’ll blind a man, fierce painful like. Tat is, if he ain’t got proper protection.” He gave his goggles, now perched atop his head (as they had been since they had come safely inside), a small tap, “They don’t last forever, though. Somethin’s powerful wrong with the sun, now, I tell you. It’ll drive one of our men mad if it’s all he’s got to live under for too long. Just like that poor bloke you saw back there. Hell, it’s a miracle that you’re walkin’ around out there with nothing but the pack on your back to help you.”
“It’s never hurt me before.” Spire remarked quietly, “At least… not that I know of.”
“You’ve got Rynarian blood in you.” The crewman said, “Resilient like them, I ‘spose.”
“Oh…”
Near subconsciously, he drew his fingertips over one of the lines along his forearm. Perhaps he was more different than he had thought. He had never seen a full Rynarian… his Father had not been present since before his birth. Perhaps he looked more like one than he had known. And the two countries at so vicious a war? Maybe there was more cause for worry than he had anticipated.
***
He walked carefully among the streets, when the land walker arrived. Not a single other was without the protective goggles, clothed in other heavy clothing. Barely any skin showed. In the buildings, there was not a single window to be seen, and doors pressed flush against their doorframes. The few others who did walk the streets paused to stare, and them moved hurriedly out of his path. He shifted uncomfortably, searching through the swinging signs above doors for any one vaguely boasting of a place to stay. More than once, those clustered around the doorways he passed dispersed at the sight of him.
Blushing, he stepped up to one of the doors, glancing nervously at the goggled men and women who watched him silently. He knocked lightly, and there was a shuffle within before the door swung open. Another goggled figure glanced over him, and then stepped back, shutting the door once Spire had entered.
“Closed.” The woman called, and those who sat crowded in the inn’s main hall silently removed their eyewear. She turned back to him, “You need a room, mm?”
Spire nodded, and the others in the room shared shifting glances of worry or anticipation.
“Halfer, ain’t you?” The Inn Mistress asked. Again, Spire nodded, and she returned the gesture, “Thought so. Put your loyalties in with Dural, eh?”
“I… I don’t know.” Spire replied, blushing, “I wasn’t really raised in either place.”
The woman raised her eyebrows suspiciously, “We don’t take plants here in this inn.”
Spire blinked, “I’m not a plant. I was raised in the borderlands, I hadn’t even known of the war until today.”
“Raised which way, boy?”
“By my Mother.” He told her, “She was Duralian. She has just passed on.”
“Ah, I see. My apologies.” The woman said, “We’ll have you. No trouble, though, you mark me?”
“I understand.” He agreed with a nod, “All I need is a place to stay.”
The Inn Mistress nodded once more, and turned, “Come along.”
Spire followed her, the other gazes tracing his path. He did his best to ignore them.
***
The tall blonde moved through the castle corridor swiftly, removing his goggles recklessly as he went. He knew what he had seen, and it was not difficult to make the quick mental connections between the sight and the benefit it could bring to the whole of the Kingdom. One audience with the Emperor and he was sure he could move the ruler’s mind to see his point. And it was not as if it would be difficult for him to find a time to speak, as one of the Emperor’s main guards. He brushed his bangs haphazardly away from his eyes, the mist-blue orbs searching out the guard at the door to the Emperor’s main chamber. Spotting him, he exchanged a few quick words to gain admittance, and then stepped in, sinking to one knee.
“Courmier.” The Emperor acknowledged him.
“My liege. I have a rather interesting proposal for you.”
***
The Inn Mistress stumbled groggily from her bed, slowly rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. A knock at this hour? Damned if she would deal with a pack of drunkards in the middle of the night. She’d give them a harangue worth remembering. Drawing her dressing gown around her shoulders, she pushed open her door, pulling her goggles on lazily as se went. A few steps took her woefully to the main door, and the lurched it open. Expecting to find a howling group of intoxicated young men, she was startled to instead be met by a stately group, each bearing the crest of the Emperor upon his breastplate.
“Good evenin’ gentlemen.” She greeted them, hastily pulling at her dressing gown in an attempt to make it at least moderately presentable, “What brings you out to this corner of the city at such a late hour?”
One of the guard stepped forward, “We’ve heard there’s a halfbreed Rynarian residing here at present, Ma’am?”
The Inn Mistress started, blinking, “Well, there is, but he ain’t causing no trouble, gentlemen. Dear Mum was Duralian an’ just passed. I wouldn’t think he-”
“We are not here to pass judgment on you, Madam.” The Guard interrupted her, “Merely to enquire. Perhaps you could fetch him for us?”
She nodded quickly, “Just a few moments, gentlemen.”
***
With a small groan of irritation, Spire sat up glancing at the Inn Mistress who until the moment had been gently shaking his shoulder and urging him to awaken.
“What is it?” He asked tiredly.
“There are some men here to see you.” She informed him.
Spire’s brow furrowed briefly in confusion, “Oh…”
“They’re waitin’ downstairs. Follow me, eh?”
Standing and half-stretching, the blonde obliged, making his way slowly down the stairs after the Inn Mistress, still in his day clothes as he had not brought along any for the nights.
The guards had taken seats in the main hall of the Inn, but rose upon his arrival. One stepped forward to meet him, offering a hand.
“Good Evening.” He said as Spire shook, “I’m glad you’ve come down so swiftly.”
“Is something the matter?” The brown-eyed man asked, withdrawing his hand slowly.
“No, no, certainly not.” The other said quickly, “You must excuse my rudeness. My name is Courmier. I am the Captain of the Emperor’s guard. I noticed you stopping here earlier this afternoon.” Spire nodded slightly, and Courmier went on, “It was interesting, you see, to find a man of partial Duralian descent who had no need of protection from the sun. I mentioned the fact to our Emperor, and he thought it best to offer you hospitality at the palace. After all, the city can be a rather… difficult place, at times.”
“I see.”
“Will you come, then?” Courmier inquired.
“I cannot see any reason to refuse such hospitality.” The other replied, smiling a bit, “My thanks.”
***
The palace, with its great tower, rose sharply above the city surrounding it, and Spire marveled at its size as the guards led him through its massive doors. Its inner walls were ornately furnished, draped with tapestries and paintings of all sorts, dimly lit by candles burning steadily in their sconces. Each step the group took echoed lightly against the polished stone floor. In all his life, Spire had never seen such finery.
Ascending the main steps, Courmier stopped besides one of the many doors in the upper hall.
“This will be your room, Spire.” He told the other man, pushing the door inward lightly, to reveal a chamber matching the great halls in its splendor, “If you have any sort of trouble, all you will need to do is find one of the attendants in the hall, they will know how to assist you.”
Spire nodded, “Again, my thanks.”
With a smile, Courmier returned the gesture, “You are quite welcome. A servant will come and fetch you for supper tomorrow evening. The Emperor is quite excited to meet you.”
With that, he stepped back from the door to allow Spire to enter, “Sleep well, my friend.”
***
“I trust that everything is in readiness, Courmier?” The Emperor asked quietly.
“It is, my Lord.”
“Good.”

Part I

He had known when her once-golden hair had begun to gray. He had known when her hands had begun to hurt, when her skin began to pale. He had known. And yet, until that moment, when he say kneeling besides her bed, it had not yet set itself fully into his mind. His Mother, one of the only people in his life with whom he had had contact, was dying. She held one of his hands tightly with her gnarled one.
“You must go back to my people.” She told him softly, “When I am gone.”
Wordlessly, he nodded, and she smiled faintly.
“There is fear in your eyes, my son. But no need for worries. You are strong. You will live on.” Her hand squeezed his, feebly, “There will be a place for you, in the outside world.”
Again, he agreed with a small nod. A tiny chuckle emerged from her aged throat.
“Will you not speak?”
He blushed slightly, “I am sorry, Mother. I do not know what to say.”
“Tell me that you will go. That you will make a place for yourself with them, and prosper. Then, I will be able to have peace in the other world.” With great strain, she leaned up from her pillow towards him, “Tell me that you will not dwell here in sorrow for one who will no longer be in any pain.”
“I will go. I will live with your people, I will make my own way.” He swallowed, choking slightly on the growing lump in his throat.
“My child, I will never leave you. My spirit will guide you, always.” She smiled, “I will watch over you from the other world.”
A few tears forced their way in small rivers over his cheeks, and he returned her smile weakly.
“I love you, my son.”
“And I you, Mother.”
Her body, weak and careful, sank back down among the covers.
“I will be with you, Spire. Evermore.”
The hand on his loosened, and with one final, gentle breath, she was at peace.
***
Even through his mourning, Spire was not unfaithful. He saw the woman laid to rest, but by the next morning, the necessities for his journey out of the borderlands were arranged. Almost nervously, he surveyed the contents of his pack once more. Preserved foods, water, extra clothing, and his bedroll for the nights. His bow and quiver leaned against the side of the doorway, certainly not to be forgotten, and he kept a hunting knife at one hip. The little money he had was kept in a pouch at the other.
Dark brown eyes scanned over the house once more, and then, deciding for a final time that he was ready, he shouldered the pack, bow, and quiver. He would fulfill his Mother’s final wish.
***
The sun spread deep warmth through his tanned cheeks as he walked, always keeping his eyes towards the great tower rising in the distance, the central point of Dural’s capital city. It was the home of the people of his Mother, and he anxiously awaited his arrival there. His Mother had often spoken of the elfin race that shared his fair hair, but he had never seen one except her, nor been to their great city. They had always lived on the nation’s very border, because although his scraggly hair was as blonde as hers, he bore other markings (like the two chocolate coloured lines criss-crossing the bridge of his nose) that identified the other half of him as the blood of a different race. It was the blood of the Rynarians, a tall race of people whose unique birth marked stripes twisted over their bodies like a map of tiny rivers. And although he did not have a complete set, it was obvious that he had Rynarian blood within him. So his Mother have never taken him to the city, because the two races had never been completely at ease with each other.
But it was not as if they could not accept him. They would see him outside of the marks. His Mother always had.
A low rumble from a distance drew him away from his thoughts. Scanning the horizon, his eyes fell upon something in the east, kicking up a cloud of duct thick enough to conceal what it was. It looked, however, as if it would pass y him, and so he took a few steps to position himself on the opposite side of a tree. If it looked friendly when it came (that is, whatever “it” was), he could approach it then.
It moved very slowly, and he found himself squinting in an attempt to distinguish the identity of the hulking figure. If nothing else, it was massive, almost like a barge dragging its way over the earth instead of the water. However, there were no horses or oxen to guide it, and no one on the outside of the great machine. It seemed to move on its own power, dragging up twirling clouds of dust along its way.
As it neared him, he could make out several latches and doorways carved into the thing, each paneled carefully shut. However, as he watched, on of the latches suddenly snapped cleanly as the door burst open, a bedraggled Duralian man tumbling from inside the machine, and a clamber of hands and feet as others began o scramble towards the doorway. Still, they seemed hesitant to come out of their shelter.
The first man stumbled, moaning quietly to himself, something about “never reaching home again”, as Spire heard it.
“He’s sun mad.” He heard another hiss softly from the doorway, “Traveling too long.”
“Someone get him before he hurts himself.” Another whispered firmly.
A sharp gasp rose from the rest of the men as the first raised a hand to the goggles that all seemed to be wearing. Cries of “No!” and “Don’t!” issued from the group, but the man would not be swayed, and in one vengeful motion, tore the eyewear from his face. No sooner had he thrown them to the ground than a strangled scream tore from his throat, and he fell to his knees. Spire blinked, taking a step out from behind the tree. What was it that was ailing the man so? Still howling, the Duralian clawed at his cheeks, and Spire’s eyes widened as he saw the cause of pain. The man’s eyes, once blue, seeming to be paling rapidly, leaving only faint outlines where the colour had once been. Quickly, he stepped out to assist the fallen Duralian. The others had come out from their shelter at the screams, but now they paused, goggled eyes absolutely fixed upon Spire.
“What are you doing here?” One other asked carefully, taking a few steps back.
“I… He is in pain…” The brown-eyed man sputtered, motioning to the first Duralian.
“Blind. Would think you would know, it’s your people who’ve done it.” The other spat in reply.
Spire blinked, “I do not know what you speak of.”
“Rynarian, aren’t you?”
“Half.” He replied, “Why? I am half Duralian as well.”
For a few moments, the other man watched him, opening his mouth once or twice before speaking, “…You haven’t got any clue what we’re talking about?”
“I have never left the borderlands.” Spire told him, somewhat sheepishly, “I am on my way to the capital for the first time.”
The other nodded slightly, “We’re headed that way as well. Perhaps if you needed, we could fit you on board the walker.”
“I would be very grateful.” The blonde said softly, giving the man a small nod.
Returning it, the other knelt, carefully pulling up the blinded man.
“Come along then.”
***

Here we go...

All righty. So, here's my blog page for Cross Bearer, the novel I've written during 2004's NaNoWriMo competition.