by Dan Zangari
* * * * *
Storm clouds were approaching from the east when Almar reached the Estate of Concorious Knowledge. Almar made it to the Main Hall just as the rain began to fall.
The page who had summoned him gave little more information. The secrecy didn’t bode well. Worrisome possibilities raced through Almar’s mind as he hurried to the grandmaster’s office, not far from the Main Hall’s oversized foyer.
Almar reached the office door, but hesitated for a moment. His wrinkled hand rested upon the handle and he took a deep calming breath before turning the knob.
To Almar’s surprise, most of the Order’s council—a body of twelve of Alath’s most powerful mages—was gathered in the large office. Several stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the far corner. Others leaned against the bookshelves beside the door. Each was somber.
“Come in, my friend,” Grandmaster Dorith said from his opulent desk. Though the grandmaster looked tense, Dorith’s thin lips relaxed into a genuine smile. He rubbed his long forehead and sighed. His hazel eyes calmly scanned the others standing in the room.
“That leaves only Nemmerin,” Thranar said from the foot of a long white lounge chair by the bookshelves. Rildan sat beside him, hands clasped.
The grandmaster nodded, rubbing his square jaw. He stood and took one step toward Almar. Dorith was a man of average height, standing shorter than Almar
“Why the solemnity?” Almar asked, shutting the door behind him.
Rinden was the first to speak. “Oh, Almar, we finally have an opportunity to bring peace to the world.”
Almar started. If this was such a momentous occasion, why were they so solemn?
“I suppose we can tell you while we wait for Nemmerin,” Grandmaster Dorith said. His tone was hesitant. “One of our agents contacted us with information about Emperor Marden of Mindolarn. He was spotted at the Hilinard four days ago. Our agent followed him to the city of Rinolas, where Marden then retreated into the mountains along the borders of the Mindolarn Empire. He has since sequestered himself within a stronghold on the edge of a high valley.”
Almar’s eyes widened at the report. Had they actually located the last of Mindolarn’s brothers?
“I knew he couldn’t resist,” Mathal said from beside Dorith.
The grandmaster nodded. “We are waiting for Nemmerin to take a vote on this information.”
Almar looked at the other council-mages in the room. None looked opposed to the unspoken proposal.
If Marden were deposed, Prince Jeridi would be appointed emperor in his stead. They all knew of the prince. His pacifistic reputation preceded him. He was probably the only Mindolarnian prince that Almar would not be willing to slay; after all, Almar had spared Jeridi on the battlefield years ago. With Jeridi in power there was potential for peace between the empire and the Kingdom of Los.
Almar felt that temptation welling within him again. Only if we agree, he told himself. Then I will gladly lead the assault.
When Nemmerin joined the rest of the council in the grandmaster’s office, they discussed the news in lengthy detail, then voted on the matter. The votes were unanimous.
“I will go,” Almar said, stepping forward. He stood in the middle of the room, assuming a bold demeanor. His despair plagued him no longer. “I will lead the assault to slay Marden. We will put an end to this conflict which has lasted over a century.”
“I support the motion,” Thranar said.
“And I second it,” Mathal said.
Each of the others gave their votes on Almar’s proposal.
“So let it be done,” Dorith said.
Without hesitation, Almar turned to leave the office. Much had to be done in preparation for Marden’s demise.
At last, Almar would avenge his father, stepmother, and brother.
Perilous times are upon us, even more so than what befell our ancestors during the ancient days.
Solidin breathed heavily, dropping his broken weapons. He and the others of the Sapphire Guard had defeated the Mindolarnians and the Wildmen. But the Sapphire Guard hadn’t escaped without heavy losses.
At first glance, Solidin supposed the Mindolarnians had slain nearly a hundred of the Sapphire Guard, and perhaps another thirty were severely wounded. Not even Solidin had escaped unmarred—his armor was cracked and his left arm was bleeding.
“You,” Solidin called to one of the uninjured mages, “go send Silrian the signal.” The elf hurried across the rubble without question.
Solidin turned back to the other survivors, those whose wounds weren’t too severe. “These aren’t the only Mindolarnians we must dispatch.” He paused, searching the survivors for an arpranist or a barsionist, but found none. “Leave the wounded as they are. We will come back for them once the rest of our foes are defeated.”
Quickly, Solidin scanned the ground for some suitable weapons. His daggers and his stolen weapons had since broken beyond use.
“Solidin,” Gladis said, then uttered an incantation.
Solidin watched as the transmuter formed two daggers from the rubble. “Thank you, my friend,” Solidin said, taking the transmuted weapons.
Now armed, Solidin marched at the head of his ragtag force. The three gholistras—which were unscathed—dashed through the enormous doors of this place cut out of the mountain. The gholistras ran at incredible speed and quickly vanished amid Dalgilur’s towering buildings. Soon, the elves made their way into the open air, passing the statues that stood as sentinels—the Ancient Keepers, Solidin supposed.
Solidin had seen this place in his mind as they traveled the seas. He had sensed Dalgilur’s grandeur. This was a place that rivaled the ancient cities of the elves.
They were soon on a road leading to the isle’s eastern shores. Eruptions of magic flashed across the horizon. As they neared the shoreline, Solidin noticed the draconic gholistra frozen within a shallow crater. It stood motionless, a perplexed expression across its stony snout. What happened to you? Solidin wondered. He knew of nothing that could disable a gholistra. Had the Mindolarnians something that powerful? No, else they would have used it on the three gholistras assailing the war camp.
Three capsized vessels caught Solidin’s eye. Two had their masts ripped from them. Another was on fire. These three were the Mindolarnians’ warships, but the Sorothian vessel was nowhere to be found.
“Cornar Dol’shir escaped,” Solidin whispered. He must have taken that scholar with him. The old scholar would have been Cornar’s only means of escape. Solidin didn’t recall seeing the coward’s body among the dead. The other Sorothian scholars were there—he had slain two.
Solidin and the remaining Sapphire Guard came within a hundred phineals of Dalgilur’s western shores as the last of the Mindolarnians were defeated. They had succumbed to the three gholistras, and what few elves remained of Fingas’s force.
One of the survivors shouted to Solidin, informing him of their losses. Fingas had fallen, as had their arpranist and barsionist.
Solidin eyed the dead, searching the wounded Mindolarnians. He had not found the half-breed prince among the dead at the war camp. Where is he? Solidin wondered. His eyes fell upon a short Mindolarnian wearing a charcoal naval uniform. His golden tassels and buttons indicated that he was a high-ranking officer. Solidin picked his way to the man, then kicked him.
A sudden groan left the officer’s lips. “This one is alive,” Solidin said, gesturing for two of his soldiers to grab the man. The elves hefted the officer onto his feet, his head hung low. By the looks of his uniform Solidin assumed the man was an admiral.
“Where’s your prince?” Solidin asked in Common.
The admiral looked up, an expression of defiance on his face. “I won’t… betray… His… Grace.”
“We’ve conquered your forces,” Solidin said. “But your prince is not among the dead.”
The admiral grinned. “Then… he will… come for you.” He coughed, spitting blood.
Solidin averted his gaze for a
moment. There were some still living among the Mindolarnians. “Kill the mages,” he shouted, “but keep the others alive.”
“You won’t… get anything out… of me,” the admiral said.
“Perhaps not willingly,” Solidin said.
At that moment, the three gholistras approached. “Bladesinger,” the Lith gholistra called to Solidin. “There is something that prevents Zu’mal’thisr’nsar from moving.” Solidin started. That is a Draconic name, he thought, then glanced to the draconic gholistra, still frozen. “Please investigate it,” the gholistra said, “we would go to his aid, but we fear that whatever ails him will undoubtedly ail us.”
“Gladis,” Solidin turned to his friend, “go inspect the draconic gholistra.”
The transmuter hurried off without a word.
More of the surviving Mindolarnians were brought beside the admiral, all wounded and weary.
“Surely, one of you knows where your prince is hiding,” Solidin said, pacing along the survivors.
“His Grace is not a coward!” one of the soldiers spat.
“Of course he’s not,” Solidin said. “But I have a score to settle with him.” None of the Mindolarnians spoke. Solidin shook his head, sighing. “Your survivability depends upon your cooperation.”
“Admiral Kaetet, surely you know from your meetings in the war camp,” said another naval officer.
“Silence!” the admiral slurred.
Solidin studied the admiral and bent forward, gazing into the man’s eyes. “Tell me, admiral, where is your prince?”
“I… don’t know,” the admiral said, groaning. “And even if… I did… I would not tell… you.”
Solidin nodded. “I see,” he twirled his transmuted dagger, resting its tip against the admiral’s throat. “Then you’ve outlived your usefulness.” He thrust the dagger, but instead of piercing the admiral it crumbled to dirt. What…?
Solidin looked to his other transmuted weapon. It too lost cohesion.
Each of the gholistras staggered, their movements becoming rigid.
“Blade… singer…” the Lith gholistra muttered, “some… thing… prevents—”
The gholistra froze. Their weapons reverted to stone—the fanisars dropping to the ground in pieces.
Confused, Solidin turned from the Mindolarnians, seeing Gladis approaching with a large orange shard. The draconic gholistra was also moving. It took to flight, flying toward the towering structures. Solidin’s eyes, however, were drawn to that shard. He had heard stories of a substance that could render magic inert. The Cess’nal warriors of old wore rings that were composed of such substances, though their rings were designed to negate only certain effects. But this shard seemed different.
Returning to the Mindolarnians, Solidin pointed to Gladis. “What is that?” he asked.
“I don’t know…” the admiral said tersely.
Solidin wasn’t convinced. “You disabled a powerful creature with that. Surely you know what it is.”
“They did not overcome the gholistra,” an elf interjected. “The Sorothians did.”
Cornar disabled a gholistra? Solidin wondered. That gave him pause.
“They had several of those shards,” a Mindolarnian said. “When the cowardly Sorothians fled past us they destroyed our magic.”
“This is impressive, Solidin,” Gladis called in Elvish. “I cannot feel my transmutations anymore. It is as if they were dispelled.” Gladis sounded intrigued, even amused.
Solidin glanced to Gladis, then to the three frozen gholistras. “Get rid of that shard, Gladis,” Solidin commanded in Elvish. “The gholistras cannot move.”
Gladis nodded, then hurried off. Soon, the three gholistras began moving again. They picked up their weapons, their touch transforming the deadly tools of war.
“Tazerin,” the Lith gholistra said. “In its raw form it negates our functions.”
“We will keep it away,” Solidin said.
Each of the gholistras nodded with gratitude, then moved toward the surviving Mindolarnians. The gholistras readied their weapons, poised to strike swiftly.
“It seems your time is at an end,” Solidin said. He turned as the statues executed the admiral and the others. “Let’s return to the place cut out of the mountain,” he shouted to the rest of the Sapphire Guard. “We have a half-breed prince to slay.”
* * * * *
Solidin and the rest of the Sapphire Guard were once again inside the place cut out of the mountain. Silrian and those with him had since joined them. The arpranist under Silrian’s command immediately healed the wounded.
Together with Gladis, Solidin picked through the dead Mindolarnians.
“We would have noticed the prince,” Gladis said. “Especially with that vile blade of his.”
Where could he be? Solidin wondered. He recalled seeing Cornar Dol’shir fleeing with his men, some wounded. Perhaps Cornar heeded my warning… Had Cornar clashed with the prince? With those weapons of his, Cornar would have had a chance. But Solidin doubted Cornar could have defeated the half-breed prince on his own.
Solidin crossed the ruined war camp, gazing to the far end of this enormous space—a space that could house a dragon. He marveled at the grandeur as the rest of the Sapphire Guard was renewed. It didn’t take long to heal the wounded, even the most severe.
Eighty-seven of the Sapphire Guard had survived the assault. That was better than Solidin had hoped. But they hadn’t faced that abominable prince.
Incantations sounded behind Solidin. The mages cast enhancements and barsions. Weapons were imbued with destructive power.
“Here,” Gladis said, handing two daggers to Solidin. Undoubtedly more transmutations.
“Thank you, old friend,” Solidin said.
With weapons in hand, Solidin turned back to face the rest of the Sapphire Guard. “We have a prince to slay. He cowers somewhere in this mountain, desecrating this sacred place. We will hunt this half-breed abomination, and exact vengeance upon him!” Battle cries echoed through the enormous chamber. “We move as one,” Solidin shouted, “and we will slay him as one!”
Solidin spun, marching across the enormous space. After they were several hundred phineals from the ruined war camp, Solidin noticed movement at the far end of the room. Another Mindolarnian? Solidin thought.
All was still until a feminine figure, shrouded in tan, darted toward one of the enormous pillars and disappeared within it. Intrigued, Solidin led the Sapphire Guard toward that pillar.
And when I say “us” I include men and elves. They too are a part of this world.
Kaescis opened his eyes. He gasped for breath, but could not breathe. I survived? No… he had died, and he remembered the pain so vividly.
Kaescis tried to move, but there was no strength in him. Pain surged through his body, near unbearable pain. He opened his mouth to scream, but he made no sound. The pain swelled, becoming excruciating.
Voices shouted in Kaescis’s mind, craving death and destruction. They roared like thunder.
And then, blackness.
Kaescis opened his eyes again. He was adrift within an endless white void. The pain was gone. Kaescis opened his mouth to breathe, but it wasn’t necessary. And his thoughts were quiet.
“I know this place…” he muttered, looking around. He floated in an endless expanse. Kaescis tried to turn, but couldn’t feel the movement.
“Why am I not dead?”
“You are.”
Kaescis turned again. A man in a crimson robe stood within the white void. His hawk-like features were stern, even disapproving. Brilliant sapphire eyes glared with restrained anger. Kaescis knew this man… but the memory was out of reach.
“You are a fool,” the man said petulantly.
Why? Kaescis wondered, confused.
“Because of your disobedience I will have to recalibrate everything,” the man said, fury tainting his voice. “Now, events will transpire differently. Eons of careful planning now rendered useless because you w
ouldn’t listen!”
The anger was baffling.
White light blurred the man, and he kept talking, but Kaescis couldn’t understand him. The words became mumbled and then ceased.
Kaescis opened his eyes. He gasped for breath, but he could not breathe. Malicious voices rumbled in his mind. Kaescis glanced about, taking in his surroundings. He was still on the walkways where he had… died.
Pain surged through his body and he heard… footfalls. A feminine voice shouted Kaescis’s name in a panicked frenzy just as death overtook him once again.
And then, blackness.
Once again Kaescis found himself in that white void.
“… perhaps I should have commanded you to forsake your armor.”
Kaescis blinked, looking for the voice. A man stood in front of him, dressed in a red robe. He knew that man, he thought… but Kaescis couldn’t place him. The robed man droned on, talking nonsense.
White light filled Kaescis’s vision, washing out the robed man and his voice.
Kaescis opened his eyes. He gasped for breath, but could not breathe.
Death… voices rumbled in his mind, give us death—
“… on. You just need to hang on,” a feminine voice said, quelling the others. Was that… Laeyit?
Pain surged through Kaescis’s body. He took in a sweeping glance, seeing white-gray particles of light—a telekinetic spell. More pain filled him as he suddenly became weightless.
And then, blackness.
Again, Kaescis was in the white void.
“… that tedious suit of yours is getting on my nerves.”
Kaescis looked up, seeing a crimson robed man. There was something familiar about him.
“I could reach out and kill you, but then it would just revive you again. Over, and over.”
Rebirth? Kaescis wondered.
The white light returned, engulfing everything.
Kaescis opened his eyes. He gasped for breath, struggling to breathe.