The Veiled One

Chapter Twenty-Three : In which there is ass-kicking on a large and small scale

The dream strikes much like any of his other visions do. It's the same dream he had in the Otherworld, the one where a boy, unseen, attacks the goddess of magic armed with nothing more than a sword. The sky is blood red, the clouds like dark gray smears in a river of fire. He knows he's poised on the cliffs just above the plain, watching the fight unfold. He watches as the figure with the sword is struck down by a bolt of magic from Lisentia's fingers.

The figure shakes himself off and waves his sword, but it's a feeble attempt. He makes one last strike, but then the goddess swipes a hand. The figure crumples to the ground and does not rise. He will never rise. Endor knows better than that.

He awakes to the feeling of his stomach heaving, vomit crawling its way up his throat. He tears out of his tent, conscious of his brother's presence behind the tents. He makes it off a few hundred yards before falling to his knees, heaving as he vomits all over the ground. His stomach empties itself once, twice, and then he's done, spitting on the ground to clear the taste from his mouth and wiping the back of his hand across his lips.

Endor makes his way across the grass towards the fire pit, kindling a small blaze and putting a pot of water on to boil for coffee. It will help to keep him awake and alert, as well as rinse the awful taste from his mouth.

Sylas comes around the back of the tents, his face instantly brighter as he sees his younger brother.

"Endor! So glad you're awake! How did you sleep?"

Endor ignores the question. It wasn't meant to be an affront, though it almost feels that way.

Sylas's smile slides for a moment, then resumes. "Are you ready?"

Confusion fills Endor's features as he tips his head, shifting the pot to coax the water into boiling. He does his best not to think about how, if Sylas wanted, he could probably stick a finger into the pot and set the water to heating instantly.

"Ready for what?"

"The battle is today."

Endor does his best not to let the horror he feels inside show through. His dreams are playing a constant loop in his head now, but there's a simple way to prevent that dream from ever coming true. If he just pays attention during the fighting, he can save the boy from Lisentia. Fate can be circumvented, delayed. He just needs a chance to make it happen.

"I was thinking that maybe I ought to stay up here, perched on the cliffs, with an arrow nocked at all time. You know, so that if Lisentia tries anything, I can shoot her."

Sylas's smile is gone entirely now, like a cloud that eclipses the sun without warning or apology. "I'm not sure that the rest of us are going to need you. The odds are pretty good right now."

Endor feels his lips turn down into a frown. "The rest of us?"

"Hey, don't make that face. You're going to stay here with Agramina. A sort of rear guard, per say. You'll be like lookouts from afar."

Endor feels his face grow hot with embarrassment, and with pressure. The only way Sylas would ever allow him to set foot in the battle was if he knew what Endor dreamed about at night. But somehow, that vision feels too private to share. It would distract Sylas. But Endor could make it his sole job to wait, to watch, something he can't do from a rear guard position.

"That's not true," he bursts, some of that shame welling up and escaping its dam. "You just don't want me to fight. You doubt my ability!"

Sylas sighs. He doesn't plan on denying it. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Endor. Far be it from me to try and stop you from doing something you want to do. But this battle is different. This is going to be fighting the likes of which even I've never seen before. It's not just between two mortal armies. And if I knew for sure that you could hold your own, maybe I'd consider. But against an enemy like Lisentia... If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself. Never."