Chapter XLI: The Next Quest Begins

“Who are the Four Winds?”

The question echoed through the silent halls of Castle Oztroja. The music had stopped, the voices gone silent. The slumbering masses, overtaken by the mist of Lethe’s mystic river, barely even breathed in their sleep. The torches had gone out and the magical lights faded away, and only the faint silver glow emanating from the aqueous form of Lethe kept the darkness away. Radiating light in the darkness, standing atop the surface of his river, the man appeared more ghost than human. Rykoshet believed that to probably be close to the truth of the matter.

Lethe’s clear, liquid eyes leveled an unreadable gaze on the Elvaan, and he made no move towards him. He stood near the center of the table still, rising up from it like it was a part of him. Rykoshet, his arms suspended in a state of not knowing whether to drop to his sides or reach for a weapon, remained at the head of the table, standing and facing the shade in front of him. His question still hung unanswered in the air, as Lethe, a dream made real, quietly appraised the leader of Those Guys.

“Such a question would require more time than we have if I were to answer it properly.” He finally replied, the water flowing in rhythm with his words. “I am their herald, and I have been told to seek you out that you might preserve the balance.”

“What balance?” Rykoshet asked, finally letting his arms come to rest. He had seen what happened to Fated, who now laid helplessly in the grip of Lethe’s power. There would be no point in trying to attack him.

“Time runs short,” Lethe replied, “I will explain what I can, but you must understand I must be brief.”

Rykoshet glanced about the great hall. To all sides of him, the bodies of those whom had only moments before Lethe’s arrival been at the height of revelry were now trapped in the web of his magicked sleep. His entrance had been enough to prove he was not a man to be trifled with, if he were mortal at all for that matter. Whatever his reason for being here, it was clear enough that the importance was dire in scope. Not taking his eyes from the ephemeral figure, the Elvaan warrior sat down, pulling his chair up behind him, and folded his hands on the edge of the table, careful to avoid what had become Lethe’s river.

“I’m listening.”

Lethe drew in a breath, and the river cascaded as if a gentle breeze had just flitted across its surface.

“The Four Winds maintain the balance. Like the air and water, all things must flow in a precise manner, or our world will be in peril. Many times has the balance been upset, only to be restored through the actions of brave men and women. Now the threat is so unprecedented it threatens the winds themselves. It would choke the very air we breathe from our lungs and stifle all life, forever.”

As he spoke, images appeared just under the surface of the river, fleeting and clouded. It seemed Rykoshet was looking at the snowy north, and the vast, frozen wastelands therein. Here and there, shadowy figures marched by, only to vanish in the water.

“The peril upon your world was engineered and deliberately executed. The perpetrators of the crime now seek to silence the Four Winds to ensure that no possibility of stopping them exists.”

The words widened Rykoshet’s eyes to resemble dinner saucers. “This . . . all of what has happened . . . someone made it happen? Dynamis was unleashed . . . on purpose?”

“Yes, to the foul and twisted purpose of a cabal that would use the strife of millions to further their own ends. Death and suffering mean nothing to them – even the scourge of the Nightmare World is but another means to an end for them. Even as we speak, one of their number lays siege to the frozen Keep of the North Wind, hidden within the ruins of Pso’Xja.

“This is why I have been sent to retrieve you. The North Wind asks for your aid in reaching safety. If even a single link in the chain is broken, all is lost. This cabal will melt the whole chain down, just to be sure.”

“What are their names?” Rykoshet demanded with a snarl. His eyes were narrowed now into slits as his teeth ground together. Everything, all of the suffering, the death of his friends, the loss of life on an untold scale, all part of some twisted plan carried out without remorse. A faceless group of monsters, preying upon the lives of millions, so that they might acquire personal power, were responsible for what Rykoshet had thought up until now was entirely the fault of the demons. The people of Jeuno, the Yagudo, and Those Guys, everything they had been through – nothing but a sick game.

“Tell me their names,” the Elvaan repeated.

“I do not have them to tell you.” Lethe said, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “You will have to discover this on your own. All we can see is that each one is possessed of tremendous power, and one wields a terrible weapon. Their names and faces are obscured to us by the shroud of Dynamis, through which no scrying can pierce.”

“What do you want from me?”

Lethe breathed an outward breath, closing his brilliant blue eyes as the scent of freshwater and rain filled Rykoshet’s nose. “My power wanes,” he stated, “but it is within me to bring you back to Pso’Xja with me and assist you in moving undetected for a short while. I can bring others, as well.”

“I’ll have Danienne prepare her division,” the blonde Elvaan replied with a nod, rising from his chair, “some of the Yagudo can – “

Lethe silenced him, slowly shaking his head. “Such a feat is beyond my power. I can, at the very most, bring the two of us and perhaps four others. No more than this.”

Rykoshet gaped at the man for a moment, and then sunk back into his chair.

“What kind of forces is this North Wind being attacked by?”

“Their numbers are seemingly endless. The one leading them is also a wizard with enough power to challenge one of the Four Winds on his own, even without the hordes accompanying him.”

Something like an icy stab jabbed at Rykoshet’s heart. He was not being asked to break a siege, he was being commanded to undertake a suicide mission.

“Rykoshet,” Lethe said, his voice as calming as the ocean at low tide, “I was sent to you for a reason. Out of all the others, you are the one judged to have the greatest chance of success. The North Wind believes salvation lies with you.”

For a long moment, Rykoshet stared at Lethe without responding. One word stuck in his mind, and haltingly, almost fearfully, he repeated it.

“Others?”

Lethe looked at him quizzically. “Yes, the others still struggling against the Kindred. The ones who once bore pearls from the shell strung around your neck.”

Rykoshet felt as if someone had tossed a bucket of ice water in his face. “Still . . . out there?”

The blonde-bearded man closed his eyes, lifting his chin before he spoke. “There is a woman far to the east, traveling to find one who cannot be found. There is a man in the west, searching for an object of great power, though he knows not what it is. I see forces gathering for war in the south, with the survival of hope at stake. To the north, there is a man wandering alone, on a quest to preserve life by bringing death. All of them were ones you once called comrade and friend. They all bear a connection to you, and they yet live.

“I can tell you only what I see, but it would be a small task for the North Wind to guide you more succinctly towards them.”

“Take me to him,” Rykoshet replied without a shred of hesitation in his voice.

This was what he had been waiting for.

Absurd as it seemed, he suddenly felt like joining in the celebration.

“To leave now would be to confront the enemy at its strongest, while the night is high and the shroud eliminates the light they despise. I will return twelve hours from now, and then we will depart for Pso’Xja. Use your time wisely, and decide who will be coming with you.”

The Elvaan’s mind was already working in response to the issue. If he were going to be facing a powerful wizard, he’d need magic of his own, so Vile would be the first person to accompany him. Another fighter to back him up, but he couldn’t take Danienne away just yet . . . perhaps Celeres . . .

“One more thing,” Lethe said, interrupting Rykoshet’s thoughts. He held his hand in front of him, and seemed to be scouring the room with his eyes. “There is one here named Hiraiko.” He returned his attention to the leader of Those Guys, and there was intensity now behind that crystal clear gaze. “She must be among your companions.”

“Hiraiko?” Rykoshet replied, puzzled. “But why?”

“I only know that the slim chance for success we hold to will be lost altogether if she is not with us when we reach Pso’Xja. The other three are yours to decide, but victory demands Hiraiko be present.”

The warrior’s stance shifted perceptibly. His plans had been altered significantly by that declaration, and he was thinking quickly to adjust.

“I can remain here no longer,” Lethe said suddenly, talking over Rykoshet when he raised his voice to try and get a question in. “You have twelve hours to prepare, and then we depart. Farewell, Rykoshet.”

“Lethe,” the Elvaan called out after him, “wait!”

Where Lethe stood, a whirlpool had formed, and as Rykoshet watched, the mists began receding as the water heaved and splashed. The river heaved and churned towards the center where Lethe was enveloped in a shroud of the mist which gathered over him, drawing back from all corners of the castle where it had reached. There came a great surge as the river drew itself downward, and then, with a flash of light and the sound of a titanic wave crashing against a rocky shore, the herald of the Four Winds was gone, without so much as a single drop of water to mark his passing.

“Rykoshet,” he heard at his side, “you’re doing it again.”

He was sitting down. The lights were bright and full, and music was in the air, filling the great hall as scores of Jeunoans laughed and danced. Though somber as always, the Yagudo willingly joined in the merriment and feasting around them. The scents of roasted rabbit and seasoned meats from exotic game such as cockatrice and skink wafted about freely, along with the tinge of the immensely strong Yagudo spirits. Several Jeunoans had already succumb to the powerful liquor, much to the amusement of their kinfolk.

Odessa was at Rykoshet’s side, chiding him for looking grim. Battousai was right where he had been, the ladies swooning over his scarred visage. Around the table there sat a hundred and more of the people living in Castle Oztroja, eating and drinking, conversing and laughing, enjoying the festive time being had. There was no indication anyone found anything amiss, or that Lethe had ever been there at all. Fated sat where he had been, sword dry and sheathed.

“Are you alright?” Odessa asked, and Rykoshet turned to gape at her. “You really don’t seem yourself tonight.”

He stared at the silver-haired White Mage, and she looked somewhat alarmed at the gaze he returned. His brain seemed temporarily frozen. He may have very well continued staring had the sound of a glass clinking not suddenly brought low the noise filling Oztroja.

Rykoshet snapped his eyes away from Odessa. Baeladar was about to make his toast.

He knew every word the Paladin was about to say.

“- and despite whatever tensions existed beforehand,” Baeladar was saying.

“learned to coexist,” Rykoshet finished, loud enough to be heard. Eyes turned to the head of the table, where he sat with dawning comprehension rising on his face. “Together,” he said, completing Baeladar’s toast, “we shall persevere.”

The partygoers looked back and forth at one another, unsure of whether or not they were supposed to respond.

“Why . . . yes,” Baeladar spoke, sounding taken aback. “That was what I had intended to say, but how did . . .?”

Rykoshet pushed himself away from the table before Baeladar could complete his question. He was already moving.

“Find Hiraiko,” he ordered, “and bring her back here. I need to find Vile.”

“Rykoshet,” Odessa protested from her seat, her teeth clenched, “sit down.”

He ignored her hissed warning, brushing through the confused crowd. “Hiraiko,” he called back at Baeladar, “get her for me. Every second counts, Bael.”

Baeladar called after him, but the crowd was already rushing to fill the void created by the silence. Some people were affronted that Rykoshet would up and leave the banquet he was supposed to be hosting. Rumors began spreading about the girl who seldom left her room, and always carried an ornate staff with her. People wondered if there was something in the wine. A few complained about the weather.

It was all noise to Rykoshet. Lethe’s words were still ringing in his pointed ears. His friends, his comrades, they were still out there. He could still save them. He could find the people responsible for everything and make them pay. He could set things right.

He had twelve hours. There was no time to lose.