by Dan Zangari
“Of course it did,” Nordal remarked smugly.
Cornar wasn’t as convinced. Sure, they were protected from any of the dragon-statue’s magic—and the fire was surely magical—but the tazerin couldn’t stop the thing from squashing them.
“Keep moving!” Cornar shouted.
As the last of the blue flame dissipated, the dragon-statue appeared, banking immediately. Was it attempting to evade the tazerin’s effects? The dragon-statue arced in the air, but its wings stiffened.
Intrigued, Cornar watched as the dragon-statue plummeted uncontrollably. It crashed into the grassy plain, spewing earthen debris as it skidded to a halt over two hundred phineals away.
“Wow!” Cordel exclaimed, “that worked, too!”
That gave Cornar an idea. “Igan, get me your largest shard!” Cornar shouted, pushing his way through his men.
The wizard didn’t hesitate. Igan undoubtedly understood Cornar’s plan. When Cornar reached the wizard, Igan tossed him a long shard of tazerin.
Cornar caught it and dashed away. “Hold here,” he shouted. The dust settled as Cornar darted toward the dragon-statue, bounding across the carved ground. The dragon-statue struggled to stand, tail pushing against the dirt. Amid its struggling, the statue turned its stony head, eyeing Cornar. The dragon-statue spun, rising on its foreclaws.
“Oh no you don’t!” Cornar shouted, his advance causing the dragon-statue to stagger. The stony behemoth became rigid. The expression on its chiseled snout was that of perplexity. Did it comprehend what was happening to it?
Cornar neared the dragon-statue and hurled the shard at it. The stony figure froze, its stony eyes fixed on Cornar. There, he thought as the shard struck the dirt beside the stony tail.
With the dragon-statue debilitated, Cornar shouted for his men to continue to the pier, and then dashed toward the party’s head once again. Each of the men was beaming.
“Well, I suppose we can add Dragonslayer to the list,” Nordal quipped. Cornar gave him a sidelong glance, but continued leading the men around the battle. The elves paid little attention to Cornar and his men. The Mindolarnians, however, shouted for them to join the fray.
Odd… Cornar thought, why would they want us to join them? Wouldn’t Kaescis have ordered his soldiers to attack? Perhaps the prince had acted without informing his forces.
Either way, Cornar didn’t dare stop. They had to make it to the Promised Maiden.
“Be ready,” Cornar commanded. “Keep the injured on the right.” There was a shuffle among the party as the uninjured warriors formed a line of defense. Nordal took up the lead on the left, followed by Midar. Aron and Cordel were there as well, followed by Kalder and Hemrin. Ordreth and Demsal moved toward the rear with Grensil.
As they stepped onto the pier, the Mindolarnians shouted at Cornar and his men, infuriated. Shouts of “cowards” and “traitors” resounded behind them. A few cursed furiously.
Cornar passed what remained of the Helidar. The vessel had sunk, and only its broken masts and tattered sails rose above the water. The Ulicin was also in disarray, but it wasn’t in as bad a shape as the Executor’s Breath. Kaescis’s warship was taking on water, tilting to one side. The mast thrown by the dragon-statue protruded from the portside hull.
Cornar heard his name shouted from the Executor’s Breath. Admiral Kaetet waved his arms, pleading for assistance.
“Come on,” Cornar urged his men, ignoring the admiral. Under any other circumstance, Cornar would have gone to the admiral’s aid. He would have gone to fight alongside the Mindolarnians, too. But not today. Not after what had transpired with Kaescis.
Once they were beyond the ships, Cornar gave more orders to his men. “Nordal, run ahead and inform Captain Salisar that we will embark immediately. Kalder, hold the rear, in case any of the Mindolarnians decide to come after us.”
Both warriors obeyed, and Nordal dashed ahead of the others.
It took over a quarter of an hour to reach the end of the pier. Nordal hadn’t returned yet, and Cornar feared that Captain Salisar would refuse to leave without Krindal. After all, what Cornar was asking would be tantamount to suicide. Cornar found Nordal on the pier, arguing with the captain. The rest of Salisar’s crew was also on the pier. It was a safe choice.
“… if you just listen,” Nordal’s voice carried across the pier, “this thing will protect us.”
“You can’t expect me to accept only your word,” Captain Salisar retorted.
“Look, woman,” Nordal nearly shouted, “this stuff works. Ready your ship, because we need to leave, now!” Nordal and the captain continued arguing as Cornar approached.
“Rein in your man!” Salisar shouted to Cornar. “Or I’ll put him in his place.”
“Oh really?” Nordal asked, laughing. “C’mon woman, hit me. I dare you.” Salisar’s face flushed. She formed a fist and reeled back.
“Wait!” Cornar held out his hand, attempting to defuse the hostilities. “There’s no need to fight.”
“Well,” Nordal put his hands on his hips, “if she doesn’t comply, we’ll just have to commandeer the ship.” Salisar swung at Nordal, but the warrior evaded swiftly. “Watch your follow-through,” Nordal said, snickering as he dodged another swing.
The captain must have sensed the futility of her actions, for she stopped her advance. Her face, however, was still flushed.
“Thank you,” Cornar said, his hand still extended. “We need to leave Dalgilur. The tazerin”—he gestured to the shard in Nordal’s hand—“will negate the magic causing the storm in the World’s Frown. And I can prove it. All of you mages, cast spells. Now.”
A roar of incantations rumbled around Cornar. One by one, the mages finished casting their spells, but no magic manifested.
Every crewmember of the Promised Maiden—including Captain Salisar—gawked at the mages, dumbfounded. Amid her astonishment, the captain relaxed, dropping her fist.
“The Sapphire Guard is here slaying the Mindolarnians,” Cornar added. “They have Dalgilur’s defenses at their disposal—things we can’t hope to defeat.”
Salisar looked beyond Cornar. “Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked, her tone tinged with bewilderment.
Igan stepped forward. “It’s stopped every other form of magic.”
“If you will not believe the laymen,” Jahevial said, pushing his way through the warriors, “then hearken to a scholar. Tazerin will negate the storm. The storm is produced by tevisrals. These shards negate all magic, even that produced by tevisrals. See her cloak,” he gestured to Sharon.
The captain sucked in her breath, eyeing the group. She then turned, looking to her first mate, then to her mother—the chef.
“Trust them, darling,” Salisar’s mother said.
Emila—the captain’s first mate—shrugged. “I don’t want to be around when that flying thing comes back,” she said.
Captain Salisar spun back to Cornar. “Get aboard!”
* * * * *
It didn’t take long for the Promised Maiden to get underway. A lively sense of self-preservation drove the crew’s efficiency. While they busied themselves, Cornar’s men set to preparing the vessel against the dangers of the World’s Frown. Tazerin was placed all across the ship, from the bowsprit, to the crow’s nest, to the aft cabins.
The wounded were also tended to with greater care. Midar was busy inspecting each of the men. They were organized on the main deck according to the severity of their wounds.
Once the vessel sailed away from the pier, Cornar made his way to the bow. Though he knew the effects of the tazerin, he was still nervous about traversing the World’s Frown. What kind of man wouldn’t be nervous?
He looked to the timepiece tevisral, but the spindles were motionless. In fact, they showed a time before noon.
“Are you ready for this?” Igan asked, coming beside Cornar.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Cornar said, propping a boot against the bowsprit. He grabbed a nearby line
while gazing at the distant horizon—a picturesque illusion masking the raging storm.
After sailing for several minutes, part of the pretty picture distorted, then vanished. A hole, nearly two hundred phineals in diameter, tore through the illusion. It revealed that odd white space with distorted sound. But even that white void fled in response to the tazerin’s presence.
Waves crashed into the burrowed opening, and the Promised Maiden tipped forward. Jolted by the turbulence, Cornar braced himself against the waves.
As the Promised Maiden reached the hole, Cornar glanced back to Dalgilur. He could no longer see the pier, or the wrecked ships. Dalgilur’s buildings and its mountain range were barely visible above the Promised Maiden’s stern.
We made it, Cornar thought. He felt a burden lift from his shoulders, but there was still the storm.
Turning back to what lay ahead, Cornar watched as the tazerin burrowed through that white void and revealed the raging torrent.
Soon, they were beyond the white void and at the mercy of the World’s Frown. Lightning surged across the sky, racing toward the Promised Maiden. Cornar gritted his teeth, but relaxed as the lightning dissipated. Even the waters—as turbulent as they were—became calm around the Promised Maiden.
Cheers resounded across the main deck.
“It worked, Cor!” Igan exclaimed, grabbing Cornar by the arm. “We did it!”
Cornar smiled, sighing with relief. Lightning continued surging across the sky and rain fell from abysmal clouds, but neither reached the Promised Maiden. The tazerin—similar to Krindal’s gem—burrowed a tunnel for the ship to sail through. It was an astounding sight.
“Tension rose all across Aridia. Those who believed in Cheserith fought against the Channelers of Aridia in a devastating civil war. The Channelers were forced to flee to the heart of the continent, and sought refuge in a remote mountain range.”
- From The Thousand Years War, Part I, page 49
Two days had passed since Pagus had gone missing. No one had seen the boy. It was as if Pagus had just vanished. Iltar inquired of the attendants at the Royal Archive, but they hadn’t seen Pagus. The librarian, Vaegris, had not dealt with Pagus either.
Alanya’s guards kept watch for the boy, but Pagus never returned to the mansion. Bilda and Agen took it upon themselves to search Vabenack, but the Translucent Fields were empty.
Pagus’s disappearance angered Iltar, but there was nothing he could do about it. So, Iltar returned to his research, alone. The women were busy helping prepare the palace, since it was the day before the Imperial Ball.
Iltar strolled into the Royal Archive near the crack of dawn, hoping to have a day of uninterrupted study. He had finished most of the volumes Vaegris had delivered to him in the last week. Today, Iltar would require more material to read.
The Royal Archive was oddly quiet. Usually, the old librarian could be heard shuffling about, but there were no signs of his stirring. Iltar sauntered through the archive, searching the aisles as he passed. He walked from one side of the archive to the other and even glimpsed a desk at the far end of the archive—it too was empty.
Well this is odd, Iltar thought, furrowing his brow. “Vaegris!” he called, walking back across the archive. “Vaegris, are you here?”
As Iltar passed the entrance, one of the Crimson Praetorians turned around. “We haven’t seen Master Vaegris today,” the Praetorian said coldly.
Iltar spun, shocked that the man was speaking to him—no Praetorian had as much as flinched since he began visiting the archive. “And when was he seen last?” Iltar asked. The Praetorian shrugged and returned to his post.
Great, Iltar sighed. He glanced at the Praetorians, wondering if he could peruse the archive without them interfering. That was a risk Iltar was willing to take. Acting nonchalant, Iltar returned to his alcove in the corner of the underground library. He read through the rest of the tome he was studying. Then he left his alcove in search for other texts.
I wonder if I can find something about this Crimson Eye, he thought. Iltar didn’t know where to start looking. Hopefully, one of the titles would have that name in it.
One book caught his eye: The Fall of the Cheserithean Empire. Iltar started upon reading the title. He grabbed the book, but his hand went through the spine.
“An illusion,” Iltar whispered, pulling his hand back. Why would they have an illusion of a book? Mindolarnians were odd, but putting an illusion of a book in a secret archive? Preposterous…
Iltar continued scanning the shelves. He came to another interesting volume, The Prophets of the Trifica. This too was an illusion.
What on Kalda?! Iltar cursed. A second illusion? What was this—he suddenly came to a realization.
“Oh, you stupid boy…” Iltar shook his head. He leaned toward the illusionary book, a scowl forming upon his face. “Pagus, I know you can hear me. Stop this charade at once.”
He waited for a moment, hoping the illusion might do something to indicate that Pagus was listening. A mage could hear through the illusions they created, regardless of its form. It was an excellent way to spy on someone.
The illusion didn’t do anything.
Foolish boy, Iltar thought. You have no idea what you’re doing. This is not Soroth. Taking a deep breath, Iltar spoke to the illusion once again. “This isn’t Soroth, Pagus. Your father’s influence cannot save you here.”
Again, there was no change.
Iltar grumbled, then continued his search for something to read. Finally—after finding three more illusionary books—he found a text called the Legacy of Ku’tharn. Iltar remembered hearing that name while at the palace. The book shared the name with the palace’s southern temple.
Interesting… he thought, eyeing the book—it wasn’t that big. He could easily read the entire text within a few hours. Iltar took note of its position on the shelf and tucked the tome under his arm. He continued searching the rows of shelves, but he couldn’t tell much from the titles.
I probably should have found an appendix or something, Iltar sighed. His eyes then fell upon another tome, Basics of the Keadal Tongue.
Iltar grinned and took the book, tucking it under his arm beside the other one. He finished winding his way through the various rows, but didn’t find anything else. Iltar did, however, come across another illusionary tome.
With only two books in hand, Iltar returned to his alcove. He set aside the primer for the Keadal language and began with the Legacy of Ku’tharn.
Iltar flipped through the first few pages, coming to the preface. “She is the mother of us all, the eternal goddess, daughter of Cheserith. After the Crimson Eye devastated our world, she led three others of our Father’s children into safety, guided by the Grand Oracle. Through her the Lish’sha roam Kalda once again, and the line of Cheserith is preserved. It is she who birthed the first qui’sha in this new era of desolation. Praise be her name—Ku’tharn the Eternal—for all time.”
He then flipped the page, seeing a depiction of a beautiful woman—tall and slender—standing atop a jagged cliff. Her left hand was raised high, clutching a translucent yellow orb. She wore a flowing crimson dress, with woven symbols similar to the robe Reflection wore in Vabenack. Silky black hair hung almost to her waist, and her turquoise eyes gazed skyward.
There was something oddly alluring about that picture. Iltar found himself gazing at it—for how long he couldn’t tell.
Research, Iltar, research! he chided himself, flipping the page.
“Long ago, when the Crimson Eye decimated the world of the gods, Ku’tharn survived. She took her sister—the goddess Es’bereth—and the gods Zal’usnyl and Yarthar’sthul—and fled to the Heart of the World. They slumbered for centuries, watched over by the Grand Oracle…”
The text continued with myth-like narration that sounded borderline scriptural.
Finally, Iltar came to a passage that shed some light on the Crimson Eye. It was a quotation from this goddess, Ku’tharn, as she taught her followe
rs about the past. “The traitorous metallic beast came, wearing the Crimson Eye upon his chest. The Eye shone with a luster that debilitated the gods. They became vulnerable, even pliable, under its influence. None could resist its gaze, except my Father. The Crimson Eye bound any whose veins ran with divine blood…” The passage continued citing the horrors one experienced when subjected to the Crimson Eye’s influence. Iltar found it similar to emotionally charged rhetoric.
“And once the gods were bound, the bearer of the Eye purged the gods from Kalda, hurling them to other worlds, the realms of exile.”
Iltar paused, sitting back on his bench. Other worlds? he mused, shaking his head in disbelief. Like in The Myth of Morgrid. A boyish smile formed on Iltar’s face. Could there really be other worlds? Iltar had seen Vabenack, but that was like a different reality. This text, however, claimed there were worlds other than Kalda. Iltar’s mind spun with possibilities.
He soon regained his composure and continued reading. “After the dismal tale was recited, a vow went abroad through the Heart of the World: ‘May the Crimson Eye remain hidden for all time.’ Since then, the followers of Ku’tharn use this vow to identify a brother or sister, as all who know it would zealously fight to defend their gods from exile.”
Iltar continued reading for several hours. The book only mentioned the Crimson Eye several times more. He couldn’t deduce much else about it, but Iltar assumed the Crimson Eye might be a tevisral of some kind. What would it be like, he wondered, to control a god…
The rest of the book proved intriguing. Some of the topics sounded similar to things he had read in The Codices of Soron Thahan. One such topic, however, he had never come across elsewhere. Supposedly, Ku’tharn chose a pious man to revive a long extinct race—part god and part man. She bade him mate with her and eventually presented him with a child who would live far longer than any man. His mind would be far superior, able to fathom the mysteries of divinity.
Iltar wondered about that passage. His mind was taken back to his conversation with Raedina four days ago. The princess had mentioned that the Keadal tongue was spoken by her ancestors—the true rulers of Kalda.