Chapter 19: The Parting at the Great Canal

  Great mountain ranges drifted by, replaced by rolling green steppes. After days of relentless flight, the brown speck soaring across the sky—to the astonishment of the locals—had crossed more than half of Tar’Muffin. Aeron and Ogris moved without fatigue, pausing only at night and for a brief midday rest.

  The freezing air of the high altitudes could not chill Aeron’s resolve. He had traveled farther in these few weeks than he had in sixteen years of wandering his small capital. He had tasted sweetness, endured agony, and witnessed heroic tragedy. As a survivor of the Great Wall, Aeron cherished every moment; he refused to let another chance slip away into the shadows of regret.

  On the eighth day, after a trembling farmer pointed toward colorful sails gliding along the Great Canal, Aeron urged Ogris higher. He had found the bridal convoy. Somewhere beneath those sails, Chiryl Shiratius sat in mournful silence, her eyes fixed on the world beyond her window.

  Aeron circled a dense forest flanking the canal, careful to avoid detection by the royal guards. In doing so, he spotted a trail of dark, ethereal smoke tailing the fleet.

  "Pentrius?" Aeron whispered.

  He didn't intervene immediately. Signaling Ogris to land, they tracked the smoke on foot to avoid the thunderous sound of wings. They followed the dark trail for miles until the convoy dropped anchor for the night.

  Under the shadow of a massive oak, the smoke coalesced into the mage who had twice escaped death: Pentrius Ragsain. Just as Aeron suspected, Pentrius was stalking the princess. Having failed to kill the Signer, he had seemingly pivoted back to his original mission for the Empire: the assassination of Princess Chiryl.

  Ogris dug his talons into the earth, his patience fraying. The beast, immune to most magic, wanted to tear the sorcerer apart. But Aeron held him back. A struggle now would alert the guards and ruin any chance of a quiet rescue.

  "Go find yourself some fresh meat," Aeron commanded softly.

  Ogris wagged his tail and vanished into the woods. Aeron turned back to the dark mage. He needed a lure—something to force Pentrius to strike so he could move during the chaos.

  That lure appeared under the moonlight. Chiryl stepped onto the prow of the ship, looking like a lonely pansy lost in a field of stone.

  Aeron froze. His breath hitched, and his heart hammered against his ribs. A strange, sharp fear stole the air from his lungs. The Sign on his arm pulsed with a soft, bioluminescent glow, yet his body felt weak, his soul drawn toward the figure on the deck.

  Pentrius, too, saw his opening. For days, Chiryl had remained barricaded in her cabin. Tonight, the moon had drawn her out. She gazed westward, toward the home and the knight she had left without a word, her face a mask of frozen grief.

  Pentrius cared nothing for her sorrow. He was a creature of shadows, having bartered his soul for destructive power. Aeron could understand the mage's hatred for Signers, but he could never forgive the murderer of King Berian. Tonight, the debt would be settled.

  Pentrius dissolved into smoke, gliding across the water toward the prow. As the mist began to climb the hull, Aeron drew his bow and aimed—not at the mage, but at the ship's mainmast.

  Thwack! The arrow thudded into the wood. Shrieks erupted from the handmaidens. Guards poured onto the deck just as Pentrius was forced to manifest. Snarling in rage at the interference, the mage struck down a few guards with a blast of frost and retreated toward the shore as a hail of arrows followed him.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Small boats were lowered, packed with guards and snarling hounds. Aeron’s plan had worked, but it veered into danger when Chiryl herself boarded a boat to join the pursuit. She had recognized her father’s killer.

  Nearly a hundred men landed on the shore. Aeron tracked Pentrius to a high branch, where the mage’s red eyes were fixed on the princess. Aeron loosed another arrow. He was no master marksman, and the shot went wide of the heart, but it pierced the mage’s thigh.

  Pentrius shrieked and tumbled to the forest floor. Spears flew. The mage desperately threw up a wall of frost, fighting a losing battle as the Lorencine mages joined the fray, blasting his defenses with counter-spells.

  With the guards focused on the woods, Chiryl was left with fewer than ten protectors. She stood on the bank, clutching her cloak, her eyes wide with adrenaline.

  Aeron decided to test a small spell Ivyl Wall had taught him. She believed that since both Signers and Mages tapped into the same "Power Pool," they could learn each other's basic cantrips.

  "Fogiriotus!" Aeron whispered.

  The Sign on his arm flared. A shimmering mist rolled from his fingertips, blanketing the canal bank in a thick, silver shroud. Hidden by the fog, Aeron moved through the confused guards and reached the princess. He lunged, covering her mouth with his hand.

  Chiryl struggled, but Aeron’s grip was firm. He pulled her a mile into the forest, his feet bolstered by the energy of the Sign, before finally letting her go.

  "Help—!" Chiryl began to scream, but stopped the moment she saw his face.

  The silence that followed felt like a thousand years. They collapsed into each other’s arms, a desperate, searing kiss bridging the gap of their separation.

  "How are you here?" she sobbed. "Why would you be so reckless?"

  "I couldn't let you leave without a goodbye," Aeron smiled, brushing her nose with his. "I’ve come to save you from this forced marriage."

  Chiryl looked down, her eyes squeezed shut. "I chose this, Aeron." Her words felt like a dagger. "My brother offered to let me stay. But after my father’s death, I realized something. I could run away with you to a place where we are the only two people in the world... but what of my people? Their suffering would haunt me forever."

  "No, Chiryl!" Aeron countered. "I have the power of a Signer now! I am going to find the lost chronicles of my ancestors. I can help Lorencine win!"

  "And then what?" she asked sadly. "I am proud that you have become the 'Sign-Bearer.' But I cannot be with you if the price is the blood of my nation. How long would a war last? Ten years? Twenty? How many sons of Lorencine must die for our happiness? My selfishness already cost my father his life. I won't let my people be next."

  "Even if you go, the war might still happen," Aeron sighed.

  "'Might,'" she emphasized. "It is not a 'certainty.' This marriage gives me a chance to enter the heart of the Empire. It is a slim hope, but it gives my brother time to prepare. I am no longer that selfish girl, Aeron."

  She pulled him down to sit by the quiet canal. "Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me everything you’ve done since the capital."

  Aeron laughed through a breaking heart. He told her of the desert raiders, Ivyl, Ifindo, Hagoth, and the blood-soaked ramparts of the Red Duke. She listened with tears for his wounds and laughter for his new friends. But as torches began to flicker through the trees and the guards called her name, the dream ended.

  "For you," Chiryl said, removing her necklace—the one bearing the Sign.

  "It belongs with you now," she whispered. "Go, Aeron. Do not let them find you. Our path ends here. I love you."

  She kissed him one last time, then turned and walked toward the light of the torches. Aeron watched her disappear, a silhouette of royalty and sacrifice. He looked up at the moon and let out a hollow laugh.

  "Time to become a true Signer," he said to the stars.

  Across the canal, Ogris emerged from the shadows, the mangled corpse of Pentrius dangling from his jaws. He dropped the mage into the cold, forgettable depths of the water and roared at his master.

  "We have a promise to keep to Ivyl," Aeron sent the thought to the beast. "Then, we find the Chronicles. Ready for a new journey?"

  “In early December of the year 1750 after the Day of Union, Prince Fastinga was appointed Lord of the Red Duke. Richard Tuckerham was promoted to General for his defense of the realm. Together, they were tasked with guarding the Northeastern border.

  Two weeks later, the Council of Mages was forced to acknowledge the return of the Signers. Under the guise of rewarding him for the pirate defeat, Grand Commander Fris’kost Ryul issued a decree naming Aeron Teh’Bvera as Marshal of Neura, summoning him to Mantorias. Aeron flatly refused.

  Using this as a pretext, in January of the year 1751, the High Council of Mages issued an empire-wide bounty on Aeron Teh’Bvera, marking a formal declaration of war against any Signer who dared to resist...”

  — Excerpt from “A History of Orancles” by Flaming Gurdiora Sytarp.

  (END OF BOOK 1)

  D??NG BùI