by Dan Zangari
But the most horrifying sight marched at the head of this invading army. He was the one responsible for the massacre resulting in the deaths of Krindal’s friends and scholarly cohorts—Solidin, the Swift-Dagger. Clad in his white plate armor with a blue emblem emblazoned across his breastplate, the notorious elf twirled his two short daggers.
Oh no… not him! Krindal wanted to scream, but no sound left his lips. He tried to retreat, but stumbled, landing on the cold stone floor.
The Sapphire Guard had arrived, and Krindal was doomed.
* * * * *
Despite his efforts, several more of Cornar’s warriors had succumbed to Kaescis’s deadly blade. Naelis and Corbai were sprawled upon the floor, their bodies nearly mangled beyond recognition. Three others lay in pieces, cut down by the vile prince: Rediban, Durdar, and Yenal.
His blades glowing with stolen power, Cornar lunged toward Kaescis. He landed a blow against the prince’s breastplate, but instead of eroding the armor the black mist wisped into the gems inlaid in Kaescis’s suit. The gems immediately reformed the magic into a type of damaging shield, but Cornar’s weapons simply reabsorbed the shield. Kaescis spun, yelling with such rage that his mouth frothed.
The two men clashed, unleashing blow after blow against each other. Cornar parried the blows, getting in an occasional swing that nicked Kaescis’s armor. The prince, however, was not as fortunate.
It’s working, Cornar thought, blocking a blow from that monstrous sword. A total blackness veiled both his serrated dagger and short-sword. The weapons had absorbed so much of the Darkness magic that they could probably cut through solid stone as if it were wet parchment.
Cornar got in another glancing blow against Kaescis’s arm. Despite the armor siphoning the magic persisting around his blades, Cornar’s weapons remained sufficiently enhanced.
“You can’t do this forever!” Kaescis growled, swinging at Cornar in a flurry of blows. Cornar blocked each perfectly. The prince yelled with rage, undoubtedly infuriated at Cornar’s skill. Kaescis took one step back, moving beyond the range of Cornar’s sword.
The battle continued between Cornar’s men and the Praetorians. Only a few were left. A few of his warriors had fallen to the Praetorians,: Hemir and Morgad were among them. Cornar counted the casualties. Eleven, he thought in despair. He had let eleven of his companions fall. The very thought of their deaths sickened him. If only they had been able to implement their plan, things would have been different.
Kaescis steadied himself, then dashed toward the fray.
Oh no you don’t! Cornar thought, running parallel to Kaescis.
The prince ran straight to Aron and Shen. But before Kaescis reached them, Cornar tackled the prince. They fell to the floor, and Cornar reared back, slamming his weapons point down into Kaescis’s breastplate.
“You’re a persistent bastard!” Kaescis shouted. “Just like your father!” The mention of Melthas Dol’shir struck Cornar with realization. Everything he had dreamed was true. Kaescis was the man who had murdered his father.
“And you’ll die just like him!” the prince shouted. Kaescis grabbed Cornar by his mail shirt and threw him aside—Kaescis’s additional strength from his armor enabled him to hurl Cornar like a rag doll. Cornar hit stone and slumped to the ground. His vision spun, and he staggered to his feet.
Kaescis, however, was already bolting toward Monaris—another of Cornar’s warriors. The man met the prince’s blade with a blood-curling scream. Yelling, Kaescis spun around the falling warrior and cut down another of Cornar’s men.
“No…” Cornar stumbled forward.
Kaescis advanced upon Jorkal and Rinder, but as he lifted his black sword it puffed to mist, then vanished. Even the gems in Kaescis’s armor—which were clouded in blackness—became transparent. Magic all throughout the room disappeared in like manner. Light that shone from all sides of the room—walls and ceiling—flickered and dimmed.
The prince started with horror, then turned toward the hole leading to the vault. Cornar continued forward, still staggering, but glanced in the direction of Kaescis’s gaze.
Igan emerged from the crude doorway, holding an orange shard above his head. “You will not slay our men any longer, Kaescis!” the wizard shouted, stepping farther into the room.
Nordal moved through the crude opening. He too held an orange rock, but Nordal’s was much larger than Igan’s. The warrior cradled it under one arm while wielding his sword with the other. As Nordal came beside the wizard the room was plunged into darkness.
“There were some men of the Cheserithean Empire who saw the deceit of their so-called God. Those men found their way to Aridia. Over the years, others fled to Aridia, the birthplace of ancient humanity on Kalda. It was a beautiful place, until the onset of the war.”
- From The Thousand Years War, Part I, page 46
Cornar blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. The lack of light, however, didn’t stop the conflict. Sparks flew as metal clanged against metal. The brief flickers flashed images of the combatants.
Still slightly disoriented, Cornar searched for Kaescis. The prince was struggling against Jorkal, defending himself with his gauntleted hands. Amid Jorkal’s assault, Kaescis grabbed the warrior’s sword, then kicked Jorkal in the stomach. The jolt sent the warrior backward, separating him from his sword.
Kaescis twirled his newly seized weapon, turning to face Cornar. “Using that tazerin will only put you at a disadvantage,” the prince said, and shook his head. Kaescis noticed Jorkal rebounding, and the prince executed a flurry of swings that forced the warrior to evade.
Tazerin? Cornar wondered. Was the prince referring to the orange rocks? Those rocks seemed to snuff out magic. That gave Cornar an idea. Cornar and his band could use the rocks to escape Dalgilur. If the so-called tazerin dispelled magic, it would dispel the storm, enabling the Promised Maiden to sail unmolested.
Invigorated by the thought, Cornar burst toward Kaescis. He clashed with the prince, then sliced his short-sword at Kaescis’s face, barely cutting the prince’s chin. Cornar couldn’t quite tell, but he thought he saw blood dripping down the prince’s armor.
Kaescis cursed and jolted backward. In near frantic haste, the prince pushed through the battle and fled. You’re not getting away that easily, Cornar vowed, turning toward Kalder. “Get everyone to the Promised Maiden!” he yelled and then dashed after Kaescis. “I’ll join you!” As Cornar ran, he heard several of his men—including Igan and Nordal—shouting after him.
The hallway outside was dim. The walls and ceiling near the sitting room were darkened, but light spilled into the darkness farther down the hall. Kaescis was in the lit part of the corridor, dashing away while mustering white enhancing magic. The prince glanced over his shoulder, smiling sinisterly as his violet eyes fell upon Cornar.
* * * * *
A surge of exhilaration filled Solidin. He had led the Sapphire Guard into this place hewn out of the mountain. His eyes fell upon the aged necromancer from Soroth, who gazed at him and the Sapphire Guard in utter fright.
You brought them here, Solidin thought. I will not permit you to infect this place any longer.
Noises of war carried from beyond the coward. Soldiers poured out of the war camp. Their ranks were mingled with the primitives of Klindala—though these did not look exactly like the Wildmen Solidin and the others had seen. They were more human. Solidin noted that there were nearly as many Wildmen as there were Mindolarnians.
Outnumbered nearly five to one, Solidin thought, twirling his blades as he continued his march.
A Praetorian caught Solidin’s eye, pushing through the ranks of the army. It was that brutish man who had helped the half-breed prince lead the assault on the Keepers’ Temple. Bratan was it? Bratan was part of the half-breed prince’s powerful triad—the so-called Decimators of Angolith. But instead of wielding a fanisar—the typical Praetorian weapon—Bratan held a staff of intricate design.
Isn’t that odd—
Bratan twirled the weapon, holding it near its ends. The staff glowed a vibrant green, then axe-blades formed upon its ends. The transformation was unlike anything Solidin had ever witnessed—magic became matter. Both metal axe-blades of Bratan’s staff-turned-fanisar glowed with a green aura.
Most would have paled at the sight of such a weapon, but Solidin relished its existence. Bratan’s double-bladed fanisar was obviously of ancient origin. Its presence was a testament that Dalgilur held secrets well beyond the wildest dreams of the Elven Aristocracy of Merdan.
Fueled with exhilaration, Solidin shouted in Elvish, “Let the cleansing begin!” He raised a dagger into the air, signaling the charge. The roaring thunder of footfalls echoed around him, and Solidin dashed straight for the cowering scholar.
Bratan, however, moved straight for Solidin. The brutish Praetorian dashed past the petrified scholar, swinging that glorious fanisar at Solidin. Parrying the blow, Solidin maneuvered closer to Bratan and struck at the seam between breastplate and pauldron. He struck again, and again, before Bratan retaliated. Solidin dodged the blow, then landed three more strikes.
Out of the corner of his eye, Solidin noticed the aged scholar stumbling to his feet. At that moment, the ranks of the Sapphire Guard flooded around Solidin and Bratan. The Mindolarnians were also charging, and both forces clashed.
Solidin lunged again at Bratan, but the Praetorian intercepted the piercing daggers. The acidic aura of Bratan’s fanisar clashed with the imbued dispel around the dagger, but didn’t reach the blade. Solidin’s dagger was still sharp. Bratan yelled as he swung blow after blow. Solidin defended himself, but managed several piercing strikes against that same spot on Bratan’s armor.
A shadow veiled Solidin and Bratan for a moment, but Solidin didn’t dare avert his gaze. He parried, blocked, and landed an occasional blow. Solidin’s barsion flickered under the acid of Bratan’s fanisar. Amid their intense duel, Solidin was thrown sideways. The force felt like a blast from a kineticist. He landed on the floor, then skidded back up onto his feet.
Bratan charged, twirling his fanisar.
Another combatant was close to where Solidin had been repulsed, her hand outstretched. It was that woman, the same who was hurled into the chasm around the Keepers’ Temple, Laeyit—the third member of the half-breed prince’s deadly trio. She survived, Solidin mused, dashing to intercept Bratan.
Laeyit was right beside the hulking Praetorian. She reached to an empty sheath on her back and a haviklur materialized through transmutative means. Laeyit drew the single-sided straight sword from its sheath, and the weapon burst with a shimmering disintegrating aura.
Bratan and Solidin met once again. They exchanged blows in a rapidly moving melee. Laeyit, however, uttered an enhancing incantation. White light surrounded both her and Bratan. Both Bratan and Laeyit moved to flank Solidin, but they obviously underestimated him. Solidin evaded and parried both their blows, then pierced Bratan once, and slashed Laeyit’s garb. It surprised Solidin that neither had yet mustered barsion.
Laeyit leapt away, glancing at the cut on her clothing. Her lips twisted with wrath. “You insolent elf!” she barked. Solidin smirked, then resumed his bout with Bratan, landing another blow. The joint in the armor was weakening.
“Today you die, Swift-Dagger!” Laeyit shouted. “And we’ll deliver your head to our beloved prince!”
Solidin landed a few more blows, then tripped Bratan. You’ll have to do better than this if you want my head, he thought, landing a flurry of blows against the weakened joint.
On the fifth strike Solidin drew blood.
* * * * *
Run! Krindal told himself. Hide!
Panic overwhelmed Krindal. He stumbled past soldiers and Wildmen advancing to the battle. He couldn’t go to the war camp. No. They would find him there.
The shadow passed briefly, and Krindal glanced to the flying dragon-statue.
I have to get out of here, he thought, frantically looking past the army. Many were charging. Most avoided him.
Soon, Krindal was near the edge of the war camp, but he dashed around it. More squads were filing out of the side entrance, but not so many that would require dodging.
Heart pounding thunderously, Krindal ran faster than ever before. The sounds of battle faded behind him. But Krindal was not far enough away. He kept running, nearing the western end of the hall. He was almost a grand phineal away from the battle. Krindal glanced over his shoulder, looking back across the enormous room. Eruptions of magic sounded, their light filling the air above the war camp. Those colossal conjurations were amid the Mindolarnian ranks, wreaking havoc—one rampaged through the war camp. Tents flew through the air, thrown by the conjuration.
They’re looking for me! Krindal gasped, averting his gaze from the destruction. He kept running toward the western end of the Hall of the Guardians, toward those three statues. They weren’t this close before, were they? Krindal squinted. He cocked his head. Their feet were moving.
Krindal started, halting. Horrified, he froze once again, watching the statues approach. Are they coming for me? Krindal shuddered. Soon, those three towering statues were upon him. Each stood over twice Krindal’s height. The statue carrying the sword—clad in that scaled formfitting armor—looked down at Krindal. There was something serene about the statue’s gaze. Its eyes were soft, even gentle. That settled Krindal’s nerves.
“You are an oddity,” the statue remarked. “Branded a Keeper, but to no Order.”
An oddity? Hadn’t those illusions in Klindil said the same?
“An oddity he is,” said the statue with elven features.
Krindal started, but the elven statue had the same gentle expression across its stony face. The elf’s chiseled armor was unlike anything Krindal had ever seen—congruent angles forming diamond-shaped plating. Why would someone make armor such as that?
“Indeed an oddity,” the third statue said, the one wearing the flowing robe. Despite being made of stone, the robe fluttered with each of the statue’s movements. That statue looked familiar.
He resembles the Losians’ first king.
“Tell us,” the sword-bearing statue said, “why is there war on Dalgilur?”
War?
“Who are the vying factions?” the robed statue asked.
Factions?
“And to which are you allied?” the sword-bearing statue asked.
“He is in a state of shock,” the elven statue observed.
Krindal stared at the three statues, but glimpsed movement behind them. Some of Cornar’s band?
“Come, let us discern the combatants,” the sword-bearing statue said, stepping past Krindal. It lumbered with a slow, even, deliberate gait.
The other two statues followed, leaving Krindal alone. Still perplexed, Krindal turned and watched the statues move away.
“Master Krindal!” He knew that voice… it belonged to Cornar’s nephew.
Four youthful members of Cornar’s band were sneaking toward Krindal—Ordreth, Demsal, a mage, and that thieving woman. The thief was about to pull her cloak about her, ready to disappear, while the warriors were brandishing their weapons. The young mage, however, was gawking.
“What’s happening out there?” Ordreth asked.
“They’ve come…”
“Who?” Demsal demanded.
“Oh!” the young mage exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “It’s Solidin, and the Sapphire Guard.” He seemed excited about their presence. How could anyone be excited about them?
“Is it Solidin?” Ordreth asked. Krindal nodded. “Where’s the prince?”
Krindal hadn’t seen Prince Kaescis during the battle. In fact, he hadn’t seen the prince for hours. “I don’t know where His Grace is…” Krindal muttered.
Ordreth paled.
Does he fear the same as I? Krindal wondered. Without Prince Kaescis they wouldn’t survive those merciless elves.
The need to run returned. Krindal pushed past the young mage,
Hem, and darted westward. He had to hide. That naval yard, Krindal thought. Yes, he could hide there.
* * * * *
“What are we going to do?” Sharon asked warily. Ordreth furrowed his brow, gazing across the massive chamber. The battle looked intense.
“I don’t want to get close to that,” Demsal said flatly.
“The carnage is probably horrible,” Hem frowned. “I bet our tents are torn to shreds, too.”
Demsal gave Hem a sideways glance. As he bantered with the illusionist, Ordreth ignored them.
What were they to do? If Kaescis were there in the war camp, he wouldn’t just leave. The prince would be in the midst of the fighting. They would have to wait until the battle ended to lure Kaescis back to their feigned discovery. But then they wouldn’t be able to use the Sapphire Guard as a diversion for their escape…
But again, it was possible that Kaescis wasn’t at the battle. The prince could be anywhere. Ordreth groaned within himself. Despite all their efforts, Uncle Cor’s plan had failed. “We need to get back,” he said.
Gesturing back to the way they had come, he turned and ran.
* * * * *
Cornar’s serrated dagger clashed with Kaescis’s Darkness blade. Black particles wisped to the dagger, making it glow that deadly hue. Kaescis had fled down several flights of stairs and resumed their duel in another hallway. Though this was not how Cornar had planned the conflict, it was exactly what he wanted.
Just him and Kaescis.
“I don’t know if you’re brave,” Kaescis said, as he lunged backward, “or stupid.” The prince’s massive blade required great distance to be effective. Cornar grinned at the insult and held his ground. His blades needed more of the Darkness magic if he were to breech Kaescis’s armor.