To you, friends of D’Natheil, who have found a way to unlock this message, my gratitude and admiration. By your deeds you bolster our last hope. Some say it is unwise to trust any but our own with the knowledge I give you, but our days grow short. Now you have come this far, I must believe that you, whom I have entrusted with our future, are able and willing to do what must be done next. And so my words are meant for you as well as D’Natheil.
The man lived in my head as truly as did my own thoughts… a cool morning… a dove cooing mournfully from a garden beyond an open door… fat dripping into a cooking fire … I would have sworn that I heard and smelled and felt his surroundings as truly as I smelled Celine’s flowers and felt the shifting airs of the mild Vallorean evening.
My name is Dassine. I am a Preceptor of Gondai, and I dwell in the city of Avonar, from whence I have sent this D’Natheil and the Dulcé who is his Guide. With the release of this enchantment that I have buried inside you, my prince, you will know how to unlock the knowledge of the Dulcé. If you have not yet learned of our history, of the Catastrophe that we have wrought upon ourselves, of the war that threatens to throw the universe into chaos, or D’Arnath’s Bridge that is your singular responsibility and our lasting hope for redemption, then you must ask these things of the good Dulcé.
Baglos stumbled backward over my knee, grabbing the door frame to steady himself. I paid him no mind, for I was mesmerized by the enchantment, especially when I believed… when I knew… the sorcerer’s words were meant for me.
Our world is not the world you know. Gondai exists side by side with your own in much the same way that a reflection or a shadow exists side by side with its original, its subordinate nature only a matter of one’s point of view. As the reflection completes the image, and the shadow defines the light, so do our two worlds create a balance in the universe — the power of enchantment that exists in Gondai and the exuberant passions that flourish in your world. When life’s essence flows between us as it was meant to do, we are both immeasurably enriched.
“I knew it!” I murmured, though no one in the room had attention to spare for me. Another world—the mad idea I had not been able to articulate. The only answer to the puzzle of two Avonars… of gates and bridges and the exiled J’Ettanne.
For thousands of years our talents, so different from those of your people, were nourished by the glorious abundance and beauty of our world. We knew of your world, too. We wandered into it freely through the many gateways that joined us, but we were shy of the vigorous life you lead, never revealing ourselves and never staying too long.
After our Catastrophe —a disaster birthed of three sorcerers’ pride —our world lay in ruins. Yet we believed that our connection to your world would be enough to empower us, even to repair such damage as had been done. But the Catastrophe left a Breach between us, a chasm of chaos that destroys the reason of any who attempt to cross it and blocks this flow of sustenance that we need so desperately. Thus our king, D’Arnath, conceived and built this Bridge —a link of enchantment between the worlds —to be our salvation, to restore the balance and allow life to flow between as it had ever done. He and his beloved brother J’Ettanne pledged their lives and those of their heirs to defend the Bridge and the Gates that bounded it against any challenge. Once a year they would pass through the Gates and walk their part of the Bridge, using the link as a lifeline through the chaos and spending their power to repair and strengthen and sustain it. Their oath is a bulwark of the Bridge, a critical part of the enchantment that sustains it.
The Dulcé can tell you how we have fought to keep their oath for this thousand years, and how often we have failed. We Dar’Nethi are much diminished since the days of D’Arnath and J’Ettanne, and stand at the verge of losing everything we value within ourselves, as well as without.
You children of that other world might well say, “What has this to do with us? Why should we care that a foolish and greedy people have destroyed themselves?” What you must understand is that our doom is also yours. When the Gates are closed, your world, too, falls out of balance, disharmony and discord festering into wars and great wickedness. And the Lords of Zhev’Na —these three of our kind who have created this disaster —rejoice, for the evils of your world nourish their power and strength far beyond what our lore can explain. D’Arnath and J’Ettanne knew that if the Bridge were to fall, your world would follow Gondai into everlasting ruin. Thus, they took upon themselves the responsibility for your safety, as well as ours.
For hundreds of years the Gates have been closed, the Lords growing in power with every rising of the sun. We fear the Bridge is near its end, either from the corrupting influence of the Breach it spans, or from the relentless assaults of the Lords on Avonar. Ten years ago, the Exiles gave us one last chance to repair it. We have come near squandering that chance. And so now, in our last hour, we have sent our prince, D’Arnath’s last Heir, to walk the Bridge once more.
What I have done to you, D’Natheil, was necessary. I had counted on time enough to help you discover your way, to help you learn what you must do to make the Bridge strong and resilient. But our luck has run out. After a thousand years of trying, the Lords of Zhev’Na have at last discovered how to break the power of D’Arnath’s oath, a secret that we ourselves do not know. You are all that stand in their way. I fear for your life, D’Natheil, and for your soul, and I fear for the Bridge. It must not fall. Our enemies don’t know what I have done to you or how little we know about D’Arnath’s enchantments, and so your task is even more difficult than they suspect.
This is a formidable burden, and in your darkness and confusion must seem impossible, but you must understand, my prince… my son… that there is no one more worthy of our trust than are you. As you learn of yourself, you will discover what must be done to save us. The glory of your fathers lives within you, and, given time, it will blaze forth as hope for the peoples of both worlds.
I thought perhaps the message was done, but anger rumbled in my belly, and I did not believe it was my own.
One last truth that even the Dulcé may not know. With shame I must tell you that not all of our enemies have the empty eyes of the Zhid. Some who wear our own likeness have become so lost in their despair that they’ve sold their souls to preserve this fragment of life we call Avonar. They think that the Lords will honor their word, and that they themselves can embrace life again once enough murder and betrayal has been done. The sword of D “Arnath is a mighty talisman. Tales say it can give our warriors strength to hold against the Zhid, perhaps to push them back. For more than four hundred years has the sword lain with the Lords in their stronghold of Zhev’Na, but now these traitors have made an unholy —
The crash of splintering wood and breaking glass shattered our trance, breaking off the message. Rhythmic pounding battered the front of the herb shop, as if someone were trying to kick in the door. Emitting a string of oaths that would make a soldier blanch, Kellea retrieved her sword. “Take care of my grandmother!” she cried, as she disappeared into the passage.
“Seri, get them away!” Tennice said, drawing his sword, and starting after her. “I’ll meet you at the horses if I can. But don’t wait for me.”
Baglos charged into the room and dropped to his knees beside the Prince. “My lord D’Natheil! Come quickly!” But D’Natheil’s gaze was locked on Celine.