The Shattered Path

Chapter 25 - The Messenger

Aerham sat with his back against the cool stones. How long had he watched the flickering flame? It didn't matter. If Ravyneira had heard his prayers, she had given no sign. The Brotherhood of Light had betrayed him. Uth Arthgrin was no better than Uth Garenthil. No, he was worse. If Uth Arthgrin had been true to his oath, then he could have held everyone else accountable to their own.

Aerham rubbed his short beard, a symbol of his mistreatment. He hadn't been permitted to clean himself properly since his arrest, except for the dousing with water before his trial. Even a prisoner of the Brotherhood should have been treated with dignity. There was no honor in any of the recent happenings. It seemed everyone was self-serving and there was absolutely nothing selfless about the Brotherhood. Everything was exactly the opposite of what his father had taught him.

He had begun to doubt himself at the trial with so many Brothers standing against him. He hadn't doubted his own honor or what was right, only that maybe his dedication to such high ideas might be naive. Yet, Uth Vaedis had encouraged him with his impassioned defiance. Aerham would endure their penalties and hardships. He had lost almost everything, except his honor. That was the thing that his father had held most precious, and so he would not fail his father. He would weather the storm and surely the Lady of Light would see his worth and reward him. He did not know what the future held. Ten years from now, he might yet be a Brother. These others could all be in a prison in Saroken for their dishonorable activities.

A sound drew Aerham's attention toward the door. Feet ground small rocks against the stone floor. It was loud, seeming as if someone had wanted to be heard. He expected the lock to click and the door to open, but instead an acrid scent filled the air, stinging his nostrils. Fantasy took hold of his mind and he wondered if Aryl had finally returned from the frontier and crept down to the dungeons to set him free.

Aerham had visited an alchemist with his father once. He had smelled similar odors in that gloomy workshop filled with vats and vials. Had Aryl gotten some alchemist's chemicals and come to burn the lock away? The visit would be welcome, but Aerham would not flee the fortress. He would endure his punishment and still stand proud.

He brushed aside his foolish notions. The odor was likely attributed to something else, perhaps a concoction used to clean the filth from the cells. He knew no one had come to save him, so he didn't get up. He didn't care who wanted to speak to him this time. No one at the Fortress of Light was going to help him. He sighed impatiently nonetheless. He just wanted them to come in, say what they had to say, and then leave him to his solitude.

The door creaked open, revealing a slender figure draped in a hooded cloak.

It wasn't Aryl.

Aerham opened his mouth to speak, but caught his breath. The cloaked figure held a long, metal spike. It was a weapon and not a lockpick. A strange weapon made of a silvery metal.

Had the council changed Aerham's fate? Was he to be executed? Or had Uth Garenthil sent an assassin to finish him?

Yellow light erupted within the hood. The figure's eyes glowed dimly! Aerham cringed. He had never seen such a thing. It looked like a Darkie straight from the stories about the Darkland. It had to be his imagination. The solitude of the dungeon had twisted his brain.

The dark figure spun to face something in the corridor, raising its other hand to reveal a second spike.

Another figure came in to view, standing on the ceiling as if it were the ground. It was a woman with white hair, clad in white silks. Standing on the ceiling! Her arms moved swiftly, wielding similar metal spikes. Bluish sparks streaked each time their weapons clashed. Their hands moved so quickly that they were a blur. There was another sound. A higher pitched clanging, like jewelry. But it was too fast.