Truce of Love

Eyes followed the trail of a slender figure clad in purple whose fine shoes echoed with every step. He walked alone with a confident gait and a briefcase in his gloved hand. Swinging tailcoats followed his steady pace, pressed but never in a hurry. Under the brim of an elegant hat that matched the color of his attire, his face produced a smirk at the sight of the pale tower.

Riddled with markings and symbols of unknown origin, the structure stood proud at the center of the Verdant Valley. It was the watchful eye of Varta, and it had guarded the canyon since long before the town had been founded.

“Halt!” ordered one of the guards at the man’s approach. The stranger stopped at the top of the stairs. “Identify yourself and state your business.”

“My name is Alric D’eslato, resident specialist on aetheric phenomena from the province of Geldanos.” The man’s answer made the guards look at each other.

“The mage-folk summoned by the mayor,” whispered one of them.

“Aetherian, you idiot!” corrected the other one.

“Worry not, my friends!” said Alric with a smile that the guards couldn’t help but reciprocate. “Mage-folk, wizard, aetherian, it’s all the same to me. What matters is that I’m here to help. May I enter?” The guards nodded. One of them opened the door and let the aetherian pass.

Warmth rose from the tiled floor as light revealed mysterious paintings and daunting sculptures, many of which Alric found fascinating. Despite this being his first time here, the man knew where to go. He took the spiral stairs upwards, peeking through each window to see how far up he was. Along with birdsong and the rustle of plants that had managed to grow from the outer walls, loud steps and voices decorated time with cheer. Alric smiled; it was a new day at the Palace of Death.

Cold wind entered the tower once Alric reached the first floor. Quite a distance from the ground level he thought. He stood on a half-moon chamber, flanked by two chairs and a table. In front of him, a white door stood at the center of a great painting that served as a wall. Alric knocked, and a voice inside told him to come in.

“Master D’eslato!” greeted a burly man sitting behind his desk. A thick, white mustache covered the top half of his mouth, but his grin was as evident as his clothes were too tight.

“Mr. Mayor,” said Alric with a bow.

“Please! We’ve written to each other for so long that I won’t accept such formalities. You may call me Dormanu.”

“Very well, Dormanu,” said Alric. He approached and sat at a chair in front of the mayor’s desk. “Allow me to thank you for this opportunity. I understand that it must not have been easy for you to trust all this information to me, but believe me when I say that I will do everything in my power to help.” At the mayor’s eager silence, Alric continued. “I did some research, and I’m happy to tell you that I can treat your daughter. The—”

“You can r-rid Amaru of that wretched curse?” asked Dormanu with clenched fists. His eyes widened under the white brush that were his eyebrows.

“I believe I can, Dormanu,” answered the guest.

“But what about the effect?” The mayor looked around as if somebody could listen. He leaned in and whispered. “If that curse leaves her body, death will come to us all.”

“I can assure you, Dormanu, that this is my specialty. No aether technique is too advanced for me to decipher. I can take away this curse from Amaru, and she won’t die. Better yet, she won’t have to give birth to another vessel.”

Once Alric stopped talking, Dormanu leaned back and made his chair cry. The mayor looked at the empty space on his desk with a troubled look. Was it possible for him to find both the remedy for his daughter and for his town? He raised his head to the polite smile of this young man. The guest didn’t look like the bad sort. He was handsome, well-mannered and a master in those magical arts that Dormanu had always been curious of.

From a drawer, the mayor pulled a document and a pen. He placed it on the table and signed on one side. “As agreed,” he said with a stern voice that denoted his lacking smile, “you will save my town and my daughter. In exchange,” he said with a pause, sliding the document and the pen over to Alric.

“I will marry Amaru, and become heir to the Palace of Death.”

Duncan ascended the spiral staircase, his long cape flowing as the metal sheets of his uniform announced where he was. A palace maiden passed by him, and he felt her gaze on the back of his head. He kept walking with urgency until reaching the white door to the second floor. He combed his chestnut brown hair back and cleared his throat before entering.

A soft melody resonated in the Chamber of Death, embracing the finest artworks known to humankind and the most beautiful furniture that money could buy. At the center of it all, the Heiress of Death played her ivory flute. Gentle hands and frail fingers unlike Duncan’s danced around the instrument as a curtain of black hair covered parts of her face. She blew one final note while her dark eyes raised to meet the knight’s.

“Heiress,” started the man with a slight bow of the head. “I went to your father’s office as you asked, but it seems like he is in a meeting with someone.” He noticed a change in the heiress’s face, her eyebrows lifted.

“Ah, yes,” she said, her whisper reaching Duncan’s inner self. “That must be Master Alric D’eslato.” She stood and put away the flute in a drawer. Despite her guardian’s silence and stoic demeanor, she knew he had questions. “He is an aetherian from the northern province. Father claims that he will be able to cure me.”

“If I may, Heiress Amaru. How do we know he won’t fail like the others that tried?” asked Duncan. He faced her, but his eyes remained on her bare feet. Looking at her face would only betray what he felt, a burden he didn’t want to place on Amaru.

“We don’t, Duncan. All I know is that he is able to make curses disappear, or so father told me. Like you, I’m ignorant to the ways of aetherians. Their magic is strange.”

“And dangerous,” added Duncan. His eyes rose to her chest, where the dark scar of her malady grew with every passing year. “I overheard the conversation, heiress.” He waited in silence, half-expecting to hear her disapproval. But it never came. “Master D’eslato claimed that he could take the curse away and that you wouldn’t die. He also said that there won’t be a need for a new vessel.”

“What about the people?” asked the heiress. “You know that the curse needs to be contained in a vessel, in me. If we’re separated—”

“Everyone will be okay,” said Duncan. He regretted interrupting her. “Your father asked, and Master D’eslato said that no harm will come to you or the town.”

Amaru’s mouth opened a bit. She looked at Duncan with concern, but he knew what this meant; it was hope. His life as the Heiress of Death’s knight had allowed him to know and anticipate how Amaru felt. While he wanted to reassure her that this time it was going to work, rows of aetherians and physicians had already failed to deliver her from the curse. Could it be real this time? he asked himself, wishing some unfound knowledge on aether arts would dawn on him. But then came the other part of that private conversation. The terms. He must be lying.

“Duncan?” Amaru’s voice pulled the knight from his thoughts. “Someone’s coming.”

Duncan heard the steps and voices coming from the corridor outside. He placed one hand on the hilt of his sword and stood by the entrance. A knock on the door and Amaru’s nod prompted him to open the door. Two men entered: Mayor Dormanu and Alric D’eslato.

“My beautiful daughter!” yelled the mayor as he made his way to the center of the chamber. He passed without noticing the knight, who remained still and quiet.

In front of Duncan stood a newcomer in fine clothing who looked around the same age as the guardian. The guest stood almost as tall as the knight, waiting for an introduction with the hints of a smirk drawn on his face. It wasn’t until the mayor called Alric by his name, that the aetherian sent a side glance at the knight and moved to where the heiress was.

“It is the greatest honor to meet the beautiful Heiress of Death,” said Alric with a deep bow once Dormanu introduced him to Amaru.

“Thank you. You are kind,” said Amaru.

“You grace me with your words, heiress,” said Alric. He breathed in and looked at Dormanu, then at his daughter again. “I have come to learn that you host a most dangerous malady, one that could unleash harm and ruin should its bond with you be severed.”

“Death is my curse, Master D’eslato,” said the woman. She picked up the flute in one hand and showed it to Alric. It was no more than a beautiful flute. At closer inspection, the aetherian noticed the change. The ivory hue had lost some of its luster; it turned gray. The metal joints and lip plate became dull. For each second, the instrument turned into a worn version of itself. There was a crack in the surface, and in the blink of an eye, the ivory turned to dust. Only rust and metal remained. “I control some of it, but the fact remains that if I die without a heir, the curse will spread throughout the Verdant Valley, if not the rest of the country. It needs to be contained.”

“And it will be so, heiress,” said Alric with a smile.

Like Amaru, Duncan furrowed his brow at the confidence with which Alric spoke. How come no other aetherian knew what this man knew? Alric’s claim was bold, even to someone like Duncan, who didn’t know much about magic. I know what you’re after, thought the knight, as he braced himself to be an unwilling participant of a terrible conversation.

The shroud of night hid Duncan from prying eyes. Haste reigned his pace, along with the uncharacteristic silence of his steps. A far cry from the knight that guarded the Heiress of Death, Duncan looked like any other commoner to the inattentive eye. He had crossed the town square without issues, traveling further south from the tower. Trees and brush took protagonism as the distance between him and the palace grew, and the houses were not as well-kept as the ones near the square.

Duncan took a left and passed through an alley between a worn-down home and the remnants of a wall. I can’t believe I’m doing this, he chastised himself. Voices made him stop and grab the hilt of his sword. He waited, rolling his eyes at the crude jokes that only the slums of Varta could produce. Whoever was talking didn’t intend to move anytime soon, so the knight took a detour. Wrong footing sank his right foot in mud, and an altercation with a cow almost had him discovered. But the man finally reached his destination: the mage’s hut.

Ill familiarity allowed Duncan to open the door without knocking. Moonlight peered through the straw roof, revealing old broken furniture and objects of odd design. The place was empty. So much for that idiot to be home he thought. The knight turned, raising his eyebrows as a fist flew towards his face.

Colors flew within the darkness of Duncan’s eyelids. At the moment he opened his eyes, he felt a blow to his unarmored stomach. The air escaped his lungs, and as the other person swung another fist, Duncan managed to duck and counter with a punch to the stranger’s ribcage. The attacker let out a yelp, but it didn’t stop him from trying to attack again.

“Stop!” yelled Duncan to no avail. The other man grabbed a cane from his mess and swung. “I’m not here for trouble!”

“Yeah, right!” retorted the one with the cane.

“Harper, please!”

“Leave, Duncan!” yelled Harper. This time, the cane hit the knight in the neck. But instead of reeling away, Duncan grabbed it and pulled towards him. He threw Harper off balance, who let go of the weapon, but it was too late. Duncan’s elbow struck Harper in the face, and when the victim was about to fall, the knight grabbed him by the shirt and threw him against the wall. Timbers flew off as Harper’s body fell outside his hut. Knowing the problem this man posed, Duncan followed with careful steps. But he stopped. Under the shadow of the trees, Harper’s eyes glowed green.

“I truly hate your guts,” said Harper, standing up. His body was tense, and his expression was wilder than any beast Duncan had seen. “Leave me alone.”

“Harper—”

Duncan’s plea went unheeded, for Harper had already swung his arms upwards. Countless roots erupted from the ground under Duncan, swirling around his legs and reaching his torso. By the time the knight had managed to grab his sword, his limbs had been constricted and useless. Duncan felt his body rise from the ground, his extremities being pulled away from the rest of his body. Before him, Harper observed with glowing eyes.

“H-harper… Please…” whispered Duncan. All he could see was the slender frame of the man clad in black, and a hint of his silver hair. The roots tightened their grip, and the knight let out a moan.

“The gallant knight returns to boast his station,” said Harper. “Did you come to finish what you started?”

“I-I never s-started it. You… you were the one who sought her power to—”

“To protect her!” interrupted Harper. “But you and the rest of these idiots are too happy letting her die during childbirth for you.”

“Killing our p-people is not t-the ans-swer, Harper,” said Duncan in struggle. “She wants to protect humanity.”

“Killing her is not an option, Duncan,” replied Harper. “Those who would kill her to stay alive are not worth saving.”

Harper stood by the broken wall and flicked a hand. The roots squirmed and pulled screams out of Duncan. The knight’s body hurt, his own elbows began to crush his ribcage. Through gritted teeth, he managed to look at the rogue aetherian. “S-she will d-die.”

“What?” laughed Harper with a raised brow.

“S-she w-will die. Amaru.”

“What are you saying, Duncan?” asked Harper, and Duncan felt the roots loosening. “Speak!”

The roots released the knight, who fell flat on his back. Duncan gasped for air and rolled on his belly. He coughed as he crawled away from Harper, finding support in a tree. The knight turned around to face his enemy, and found that Harper’s eyes had returned to normal; he wasn’t using any magic. Duncan breathed before speaking. “There is an aetherian, Alric D’esolato, who claims that he can save Amaru, take away the curse without her dying. He says that there won’t even be a need for a new vessel.”

“Such a thing is impossible,” said Harper. His amber eyes gleamed at the sight of Duncan’s defeated expression. “Curses are everlasting, and the only way to break one is by letting it grow into its worst possible outcome. There’s a reason curses are extremely difficult to cast.”

“So the aetherian lied,” heaved Duncan as he hung his head. There was a pause, and the knight looked at the aetherian. “We cannot let this happen. The mayor offered Amaru’s hand for the sake of her life and the town. Alric will marry her and become heir of the palace.”

“What? And why have you done nothing about it?”

“Because she wants to protect humankind, Harper!” yelled Duncan. Both men remained quiet for a while. “I know that you would kill us all for her sake, and you know that I would help her fulfill her mission, even if it means her death. I know where we stand, but we were brothers in arms once.”

“Don’t,” said Harper as he folded his arms. Any humor that might have remained in him was now completely lost. Despite his command, Duncan spoke.

“I need your help.”

There was no response. Duncan stared at Harper, whose expression hid whatever dwelt in his mind. Without a word, the aetherian turned and entered his ruined hut. I knew it, thought Duncan, ignoring the sinking feeling that embraced his body. The sound of stuff moving around made the knight raise his head. From the hole in the wall came Harper, this time with a staff that Duncan recognized from their days as comrades.

“Well?” asked Harper. “What are we waiting for?”