Weight of Worlds

Ranvir’s breath plumed white in the air as he stomped toward the Queen’s Palace. He’d chased her for the better part of two hours, before Saleema made good her escape. Series of jumps, misdirections, and double backs he couldn’t follow. By the time he’d traced her path, she was long gone. And should be for some time.

Predicting her awakening was tricky to Ranvir’s eyes. Kasos had sounded confident in their assertion, though Ranvir couldn’t see how. Gazing the Lines was perhaps one of the most useful skills he’d gotten from his stay in Korfyi and tutelage under the old master, yet he still felt unequipped for the sheer weight possibilities it offered.

He was just beginning to grasp the advanced skills, like determining not just the mana used, but the effect they intended versus the one they achieved. Apparently, some masters could extrapolate entire events from simple observing enough information, though these were basic skills employed on a high-level.

He’d tracked the flows of energy, how they’d impact the ambient mana, how the currents flooding from Vednar’s singular source all would interact. How they’d wash over Saleema’s current location.

Yet, he still seemed to lack the innate sense of understanding Kasos gained from observing the events to come. It was exciting to understand just how much lay ahead of him. The sheer possibilities sent thrills of excitement racing through his emotions, darting rays of white-gold sparking with fire.

He could attempt to track Saleema down once she’d stopped running, but tracing her path would already be halfway nonsensical from her leaps through space. Her passing sent the lines into disarray. Even now, their brief fight was spreading ripples through ambient mana, blurring any image he could achieve.

Still, once he was done here, it was worth a try. If only to see if he could remove her sword before the true battle started.

Stomping up the steps to the palace, the guard watched him warily, spears crossing the doors. Yet, they didn’t move to stop him as he shoved the weapons aside and pushed the gate open.

“Sir!” a maid or something yelled at him. “You can’t just come in here! This is the palace! Guards!”

Ranvir glanced behind him at the men clutching their wooden hafts, gazing into the city. They didn’t even seem to notice the snowflakes fluttering past them into the entry hall. “Warn the masters I’m coming. Have a room prepared for us.”

“Sir, I will do no such thing. You must halt right now!”

Ranvir turned his gaze on her, his wings flaring slightly in annoyance. “Now.” The shine of his eyes reflected in hers and the color drained from her.

“Great one,” she whimpered, dropping a curtsy that nearly spilled her onto the floor. “As you wish.”

Ranvir stifled a snarl, though couldn’t stop the sneer on his face. Spreading his tether-sense, he found his first target. The oldest of the three. Guards came and passed, even a few tethered, though they didn’t care to challenge him either. He caught more than one muttered praise, bordering on prayer.

His mood darkened as he tramped through the halls, wet boots against lush carpets. Dragging behind him, the wet and cold, as if he bore a coat of winter. Servants rushed aside, breaths pluming, a hint of panic in their whispers now.

His target had been wandering through the palace, yet now seemed to have settled and Ranvir was closing in. The halls grew wider, more richly appointed. The rooms grew to suites, rooms were added and then he was there. Just a few short meters down the hall.

“Open, Saif!” Ranvir yelled, in no mood to wait at the door. He heard the triplet master sigh, sensed his shoulders slumping. Yet he didn’t move for the door. So Ranvir didn’t wait. A well-placed boot tore handle and lock from wood in a roar of splinters.

Saif, orange-eyed and scowling, held his jacket in one arm, shoulders still glistening from the snowfall outside. “You broke my door.”

“Come with me,” Ranvir said. “We’re going to talk about her.”

The ankirian’s eyes widened, light-flashing momentarily through them before he sighed. Shoulders slumped, Saif hung his jacket, raked fingers through his bushy beard, and stepped behind Ranvir.

Presently, a servant came rushing down the hall, slipping to a halt before them. “A room has been prepared and the masters have been warned.” He was in such a hurry that he didn’t even remember to bow or say ‘sir.’ Ranvir hurried on before he could, sensing the man’s eyes on his back.

Saif cleared his throat. “It’s spread this far? Even into the palace?”

“If you know of a way to stop it, please tell me.”

“Afraid not,” Saif shrugged. “I’d suggest killing them all, but that might only spread your ‘legend.’”

Ranvir stopped to glare at him. Saif stared back, unfazed. “You think I’m gonna back down because your eyes glow weird? You’re no more a god than the Sun King.”

“You knew him?”

Saif shook his head. “I was raised in the wake of him, his death.”

“That makes you… nine-hundred years old.”

“There abouts.”

Ranvir looked over his form. A healthy man in his mid-thirties, not a gray hair in his beard. “Disappearance.”

Saif frowned, brows drawing down. “It’s been a thousand years.”

“Yet his daughter still haunts us.”

Saif flinched at that. “Point taken.”

They continued until they came upon another servant, who wasn’t too awestruck to take them to the room. “Doesn’t seem that holy to me,” she muttered. A no-nonsense woman with a motherly air to her.

“At least some sensible people remain,” Saif said, taking a seat at the long table of rime oak.

“What’s this about?” Zubair said, hitting the room like bad weather struck a broken barn. Vein pulsing on his forehead, icicles in his hand. Stray hairs flailing in the down draft he was creating.

Ranvir stared him down, eyes a glow, wings spread.

“Sit down, Zubes,” Saif said, throwing his arms behind his head and leaning back in his chair. He grinned at Ranvir. “It seems we’re being interrogated.”

“Interrogated?” the third triplet master asked, stepping into the room. He hesitated on seeing Ranvir, looking to his elders for advice. Between Zubair’s aggressive stance and Saif’s suddenly lax attitude, Ranvir doubted he found what he wanted.

“Tell me all you know about her.”

Zubair’s grew more tense, his presence sharpening to a frosty peak.

“Her?”

“The First Daughter, don’t play dense,” Saif said, his chair dropping to the hard stone floor again. “There could be no other.”

“I haven’t fought her much,” the youngest said. Ranvir didn’t know his name. “I only fought with her at the capital briefly. By the time I got back from the front lines, she’d already gone through the King and was tearing apart the palace.”

Zubair had eased some, yet still glared angrily at Ranvir. “Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because you’re cowards. All of you. I’m including the sharp-toothed worm hiding by the border. None of you even dared fight Dhaakir, let alone Saleema. You’re afraid of her, so you need me.” Ranvir wondered at his words. Were these not the sentences of a fool? Or perhaps a Young Lord? He gritted his teeth and continued. He had to stay the course. “You needed us to clean up the Purists for you and you need me to end her.”

“Just tell her what you know, Zubair.” Saif didn’t sound amused any longer.

The old master of ice glared at both of them, but he grew no more aggressive. All a display of bravado. “Strong and tough. She prefers fighting people alone, drawing them into spaces where she can kill them at will. She can’t be killed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” the youngest said. “True immortality is not real.”

Zubair shook his head. “I’ve seen her run through, spine severed, burnt to a crisp. Nothing you can do will put her down.”

Ranvir narrowed his eyes at Zubair. The man had at least been in a conflict with her before. “What else do you know?”

“She swings wildly in power. Sometimes weaker than a master, occasionally… a fourth-stage, I guess. Her mind is broken and while that makes her more dangerous, she also cannot maintain that kind of concentration forever. At her highest, she can perform for only a week, maybe two.”

Ranvir nodded. Actually, good information. Perhaps if he did more damage to her, strained her spirit further, or any of a hundred different ideas, he could achieve that effect earlier. Fighting her for a week was an option, though that would have him slow down as well.

“Good, thank you.” Ranvir turned to Saif.

He lifted his hands in the air as if to shrug. “You got me. There’s not a lot more I could tell you. She’s emotionally vulnerable. If you were twenty years older, Ankirian, and a royal, I’d tell you to emulate fatherly energies. Though I gather she’s getting a different vibe from you.”

Ranvir grit his teeth. “She thinks I’m her son.”

Saif shrugged, a reluctant energy around him. “If she isn’t excited, I’d suggest you try it. When her blood is up, only time can calm her down.”

“Her other skills?”

“She’s a master of her power and all the various effects she can squeeze out of it.”

Zubair nodded in agreement. Even the youngest gave a weak nod.

Ranvir looked between them. Not good for much, but perhaps he retrieved a little good information. Entering a pocket-space, he headed for the school and his friends who’d gathered there.

Behind him, in the meeting chamber, the triplet masters eyes met. “You think he can do it?” Kanaan asked.

“I hope so.” Zubair’s voice was rough with sudden exhaustion.

Saif ran a hand over his face, but the door opened before he could speak up. “He’s gone,” Queen Minul II said, sounding vexed. “He comes into my palace, whips my staff about and leaves!”

“You ought to do something about that,” Saif said with a grin that did not bring light to his cold orange stare.

“I just might.”