‘Answers to Janak Harth’, Words of the Oracle of Speur Dún
Yet He is not lost, for only a God can destroy another God. Yea, His spirit shall survive, and His Vessel shall be reborn – a God-king, a saviour and destroyer – for just as the broken cruse holds no oil, neither can the Broken Vessel hold His spirit. Yea, its pieces must be found, consumed, and reforged. Only in that death can there be life. Only in the cleansing fire of purification can the taint be removed. Only by embracing destruction can He be reborn.
And from the Shattered Hand proceed the fragments of the Broken Vessel: Seven endowed with power, heirs to his magic.
Six born of flesh, heirs to their father.
Five claimed by clans, heirs to his children.
Three bound to Earthblood, stewards of what is.
Two tied to Entropy, heirs of what is not and what may be.
The seventh bears the mark of Keos and the Last Hope of Lumea, and whoso possesses His spirit at the last day shall rule the seven parts.
And these fragments shall war with one another, consuming each other until a new God of Earthblood rises from the ashes of their conflict. And His power shall exceed that of Odar and Lumea. And His worshippers shall be as numerous as the sands of the sea and shall sweep the Darites and Ilumites from the earth. Then shall Keos Reborn rule over every land, and every creature born of earth and blood will submit to His will or die.
‘Prophecies of the Shattered Hand and the Broken Vessel’, Excerpt from The Book of Fate
Over the centuries, there have been several notable members of The Six, with a few whose reputations bordered on legend, including Gevul the Terrible, Trat the Charlatan, Garrach Bog-eater, the Shadow, Shnee of the South, Kolda Bittern, and Bidba the Second (often called Sawpit).
It is fruitless to speculate on the identities of the extant members of The Six because they change so often, but evidence suggests at least two have survived for the last three centuries: Shachran of Tir Reota (a necromancer whose vile history I’ve outlined elsewhere) and the nameless ‘Shadow Reborn’.
Aside from his name, the Shadow Reborn has almost nothing in common with the original Shadow, Valdemar Kranak, who sowed unrest throughout Gorm Corsa prior to its abandonment; rather than being a Darite saboteur, this ‘reborn’ incarnation is of Kroseran origin and has typically been employed as an assassin or spy. He also has a unique connection to the shadow realm, and I believe it is that connection which gifts him his supernatural longevity (though my esteemed colleagues from Southmarch have some more exotic theories).
Little else can be said about the Shadow Reborn except that he is often, though not always, accompanied by an apprentice – a practice that has never been followed by other members of the Si?nar.
‘The Si?nar’, The Complete Histories of Luquatra by Kyartus Gairm
Chapter Sixty
It took Annev a little less than two hours to run from the outskirts of Banok to the edge of Chaenbalu. His six-mile race over the plains of Daroea had been tireless and exhilarating, fuelled by the magic of Sodar’s elixir and the fear of what lay behind him. In contrast, the five-mile sprint through the Brake had been pure terror: under the influence of the elixir, the sounds and shadows of the woods had startled him at every turn. Worse, the energising effects of the elixir had begun to wear off, and as the sky began to lighten, the shadows and spaces of the Brake began to lengthen – as they so often did – stretching before Annev and doubling the distance he needed to run. Even so, he did not stop to rest, did not dare look back in case the shadow was pursuing him.
Dawn was fast approaching when Annev crested the hill overlooking his village. He ached to stop and catch his breath, but he pushed on, running as fast as he could down the eastern slope and not slowing till he reached the centre of the village, only then looking round to see if the strange shade had pursued him past the standing stones. Despite his feeling it had been one step behind him for miles, there was nothing, so he pushed on to Sodar’s chapel.
The windows were shuttered when Annev arrived and, guessing the front door would also be locked, Annev crept into the training shed. Nothing was out of place – the training weapons, wood axe and chamber pot were all in their usual spots – but something was missing, and when he tried the rectory door his heart fell.
Sodar had left the door unlocked.
It was a small detail, but one which confirmed what Annev had already feared. Sodar was gone, leaving a cold hearth and an empty kitchen behind. Annev went into Sodar’s room and found his bed neatly made, as though the man had recently left or never gone to bed in the first place. Annev searched for a note – for some confirmation the priest had truly gone – but there was nothing.
Annev was on his own.
I have to get into the Vault. Sodar said there were other prosthetics there, and one of them might work. If he couldn’t get in, if he couldn’t find them, if none of the artifacts were helpful … he would deal with that when he had to. The sun’s almost up … and I have to hide my arm before risking the Academy. It was a painful realisation. Magic had always aided him but now he would have to manage without it and think up some trick to keep himself safe. Annev smiled sadly then, remembering one of his last conversations with Sodar. Even tricks have their place.
An inkling of an idea came to him. He tore the cape free from his shoulder and marched to his room. When he reached his straw pallet, he knelt on the cape, laid the crimson phoenix glove across his knees, and started stuffing straw into the long sleeve of the arm, working it down into the fingers until he was satisfied with the shape. He slipped the glove over the stub of his forearm and pulled the end up over his elbow. The straw was prickly, but the result looked real enough, so long as he was careful. For a little security, he tore the blue trim from the guard’s cape and used it to tie the glove securely around his left bicep.
Now to get to the Vault before Fyn and Kenton return.
He flew from the chapel, praying the others had not yet arrived. Just to be certain, he ran to the stables first, listened for voices, then slipped inside.
The scents of horse and hay tickled Annev’s nose and he instinctively went to rub it, only to surprise himself when the straw-filled glove thumped his face. He shook his head in frustration. He knew his hand was gone – he knew that – but he had taken the prosthetic for granted almost every day of his life.
Is this how it’s going to be if I can’t find a replacement arm? Annev wondered. The possibility frightened him, even though he had intellectually understood it, and Sodar had tried to prepare him for it. Whether he could accept it or not, though, the ancients would kill him outright if they discovered his deformity.