The Keys to Ascension

by Dilland Doe

  The Theto illusion kept feigning aggressiveness, attacking with fury, but carefully keeping its distance. Every time Number Two faced away from Theto, Theto took steps closer. The illusion and his opponent spun and struck until Number Two teleported in front of Theto. Number Two’s back faced Theto within attacking distance.

  Dropping the invisibility, Theto lunged forward. Students gasped as the sword came within centimeters of Number Two before he jumped forward—away from the blade. Theto still had the leverage of attack and he wouldn’t drop it. He unleashed a flurry of sword strikes as Number Two turned around and backpedaled, twisting his torso and dodging his head to avoid his defeat.

  Number Two disappeared into smoke. Theto anticipated that he’d actually retreat backwards this time. Right as his opponent disappeared, Theto extended his shield in the path which Number Two would travel.

  BLAP! Number Two slammed into it, appearing out of nowhere, then crashing to the ground. Before the opponent had any time to move, Theto lunged a sword into his adversary’s torso, where the magic shield shattered. Theto had won.

  #

  Hibb sat in his chair drinking sweetened water. Sweat still moistened his face and body from his late afternoon fun activity. He called to his secretary. “You still on the bed?”

  From the other room: “Oh my, yes. I don’t think I’ll ever come down from this.”

  Hibb smiled satisfactorily.

  A knock came from the front door.

  “Come in, it’s open.” Hibb said.

  Theto walked in. He wore new robes. They were mostly gold with a twirl of red going down them.

  Theto smiled. “Uncle, I’m an adept!”

  “That’s amazing, Theto!” He leapt from his chair, dropping his water that spilled all over the ground. “You are your father’s son!” he slammed into Theto, hugging him. “Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! You’ll be a master in no time!”

  Hibb swayed left and right while hugging his nephew. “Theto! Theto! Theto! Yeah, boooyyyyyyy!”

  He noticed Theto pushing against him. “C’mon man, you smell horrible!”

  “Oh.” Hibb let go and stepped back.

  Theto shook his head and blew air out his mouth and nostrils.

  “When do you start your training as an adept?”

  Theto stared at his uncle seriously. “I’m tired of training. I may come back in a few years. But I’m qualified to work as a mercenary.”

  An anchor dropped in Hibb’s stomach.

  “I’ve never really earned money before,” Theto said. “The planters down south pay a lot, even for adepts.”

  Hibb couldn’t allow this. Absolutely not. He had to protect Themeno’s son. He crossed his arms. “No. No no nooo.”

  “Heh, sorry, uncle, but the decision is mine.”

  “Mercenaries die, Theto, die! You have talent, but you’re still a beginner. Your illusions need a lot of work, and your other high being is a one trick pony. You’re not ready for real combat.”

  Theto flashed his arm in front of him. “You have no idea how hard I’ve worked. I didn’t become an adept so fast based on nothing. I’m ready.”

  Hibb closed his eyes. His connections are strong, that’s a start…a third connection? “When did you get another high being?”

  “His name is Thranix. He can do pretty awesome shockwaves.”

  Hibb walked toward the door. “Cool, show me!”

  Lowering his eyes to the floor, Theto said, “I haven’t really figured it out yet. I just got him yesterday.”

  Hibb froze. Oh yeah, he’s trying to commit suicide by eastern raider. He flashed toward his nephew. “Working with three high beings is hard even for masters. You’re not ready. My sole purpose in life is to protect you, and I will not allow this.”

  “Your presence hasn’t seemed to worked out well for members of my family.”

  Hibb’s face contorted. He almost moaned in regret, but held it back, biting his lip with a sniffle. He looked away from Theto.

  They stood in silence for a moment as Hibb held back tears.

  “I’ll visit you when I come back. I’m not your responsibility, Uncle. What happens to me is of my own doing. Please, live your life free of guilt and burden over me.”

  #

  Theto wore a straw hat to keep the sun off him. He set down his single bag containing some water, food, and a few changes of clothing. His two swords were secured on his back. He and all the possessions he owned stood with a group of battle-mages, waiting for the caravan leader to let them on the series of two-horse covered wagons.

  Theto knew there was almost no chance of his mom living in the Plantation Coalition, but he had no choice but to hope. He imagined himself blasting through a charge of eastern cavalry, then following up with his swords slashing through necks. Every easterner he killed was one less to threaten Hyzantria.

  The middle-aged man leading the caravans and wearing a white hat yelled, “Load up!”

  Aged veterans, and young adepts, shuffled toward the wagons, then jumped into the backs.

  “Eight to a wagon! Eight to a wagon! We got plenty, don’t worry!”

  Theto pulled himself into one with a few other guys.

  A voice came from a running man, whose body and things shuffled loudly. “I call that one. Dibbs on that one! Diiiiiiibbs!”

  People glanced at the man like he was a buffoon. And he was.

  Hibberro…Anger flashed through Theto.

  Hibb, and his beautiful secretary, ran toward Theto’s wagon.

  Theto sighed, resting his head in his hand.

  Hibb jumped onto the edge, then started losing his balance. “Wha wha woooo.” He fell back, crashing into his secretary and sending both of them sprawling to the ground.

  Why. “Why,” Theto whispered. “Why,” he spoke. “Why!?”

  Hibb climbed into the wagon. “Hey Theto, I got leave from the school and joined your protection band. You’re my responsibility whether you like it or not, and don’t think I didn’t hear how a crazy demon monster targeted you for some reason. I don’t know what in The Divinity’s name is going on, but I’m not letting you out of my sight. Plus, I want to see how bad the poor slaves have it compared to the Hyzantrian peasants.”

  Ch. 49

  Parto pulled his blade out of the wizard’s skull, then froze, listening for any awakening soldiers. He tiptoed out of the camp and back into the night. That makes two. The spy said there were three Citian wizards camped on this island. I need to find the last before dawn. Escaping during the day will be impossible.

  He walked through the woods at a brisk pace, about fifteen yards away from a road, heading toward the final encampment. The Citian main army was close. The armies rested on land to limit the chance of being sunk by a surprise naval attack. This gave inquisitors chances to strike.

  The woods weren’t particularly thick, but with no moon, Parto couldn’t see anything but blackness. While carefully stepping through the foliage, Parto listened for enemies. He only heard the chirping of crickets and the occasional scurrying of a small creature.

  Finally, Parto approached a small fishing village dimly lit by a few torches. Everything was silent. Where are the warriors?

  He saw their ships anchored and looming over the dinghies the villagers used. The boats and huts all appeared like shadows, hardly discernable from the night itself. The camp must be on the other side.

  He approached the dirt road that led to the village. He’d have to leave the cover of the forest. No one should have seen him in his black robes, but Parto didn’t like any risk. He looked both ways, then crept across before reentering the forest and creeping toward the other side of the village.

  A few tents stood pitched in a circle surrounding a dying fire. Parto closed his eyes, searching for connections. If the wizards got smart, they would have the high beings turn them off at night so assassins couldn’t find them.

  This maleefa had not. Parto prowled forward, circling around the encampment before approaching th
e back of a tent. The wizard slept just on the other side. Parto paused next to the cloth, listening for any sounds. One person inside, not the infidel, lightly snored.

  Parto silently slid his long blade from its scabbard. With his other hand, he grabbed the bottom of the tent, then lifted the cloth. Excellent. Parto was crouched right next to the wizard’s head. Blankets surrounded his body, and a rolled-up blanket comforted the head. Parto aimed the point of his blade toward the back of the skull that faced him.

  He blinked. The hair seemed familiar. He imagined himself feeling his own head. Parto’s trained killer’s instincts urged him to penetrate the skull and end this insult to The Divinity. But something held him back. He had to see the face.

  Parto lifted the cloth up higher, took a few crouched steps forward, then leaned over the maleefa. Even in the faint light he recognized the features. Brother…

  #

  King Sannacles paced back and forth atop the ramparts of his keep, staring down as his mind boiled. He took a few glances at the sea, expecting to see the league’s armada each time, but he saw mostly empty ocean, save for a few Hyzantrian scout ships.

  Three estra-armored guards stood twenty yards away on each side of him. Behind them, a handful of archers who normally manned the wall Sannacles paced, tried to watch the ocean and the land but Sannacles knew they couldn’t help but stare at their king.

  Back and forth the king paced, rage running through his head. He froze, then snapped his head toward a guard. “Where in the king’s name is that damn admiral? I requested his presence twenty minutes ago.”

  A light older man’s voice sounded from the steps around the corner. “King, king, I’m almost there, your messenger didn’t tell me you’d be on the walls.”

  Sannacles paced again. He heard his massive estra-guards step aside and the Hyzantrian approaching. Sannacles paced away from him, then halted before turning around. He stared at the man whose head only had light brown hair on the sides. “You’re not the admiral!”

  He smiled. “Of course not, King, I am his representative. The admiral is organizing the main force.”

  Sannacles lifted, then flung down a fist. “I know that! But I requested the admiral himself.”

  Stopping in front of Sannacles, the representative said, “Be reasonable, Admiral Warlicto can’t return here for every meeting. I know you know that.”

  The king sighed. “Fine.” He gazed at the gentle waves of the ocean again. A few sea birds soared over the water, but not an enemy armada. “I know I agreed to this plan, but I’m reconsidering. The Hyzantrians blockade a few cities and save most of their navy for a master strike upon the largest city-states, but what about me? An amphibious assault and I’m done. A blockade and I’m starving. I need naval protection!”

  “The admiral considers the risks minimal. The pride and glory of the Hyzantrian army is on your island ready to destroy the Citian League’s combined forces. We can defeat them no matter where they land, but we’ve left open the other side of the island, and we know you Citians prefer a straight on land fight. They will act as we expect.”

  The king flung his hands through the air. “Weak Hyzantrians! Your navy is what I need not your cowardly army.” He shook his head. “Cowardly…and stupid. They don’t even use estra!”

  The representative stared at the king. Sannacles clenched his fists while looking at the ground, then started pacing again.

  Running sounded off the steps, then a young messenger ran toward the guards, who didn’t part.

  “My king, I have a message!”

  Sannacles kept pacing. “A message or a dagger? Has your background been checked?”

  He nodded. “Yes, sir. I promise.”

  “Just tell me what it says.”

  “But sir… it’s from Kericles.”

  My boy. My baby boy. The assassins have not found you. He must be so strong form the Torn Lands. My three sons and I will charge into battle together, avenging their mother’s murder. The King stopped pacing. The heat and pain in his brain dissipated as his lips curved upward.

  “When will Kericles arrive?”

  The messenger, still standing behind the green wall of estra, looked down, then back up. “Never.”

  “Huh?”

  “He claims you are a traitor to Citians everywhere and that he is the true king. The Citian League already recognized him as the King of Actus.”

  Flaring his arms to the side, balling his hands in fists, and arching his back so he faced the sky, the King yelled, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” He paced with heavy steps, then paused, staring out at the sea. “Traitor! Traitorrrrrrrrr!” He started pacing again. “His head should decay atop this keep until nothing but bone remains.” Grrrrkshhhgrrrrrrrrrr… Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

  #

  Finio stared at his cousin. Kericles gazed at the newly built wall that cut his home island in half, and at the city and keep beyond. His squires brought up his estra armor and started placing the leggings on their prince. All around them, other squires helped their Citian nobles put on their armor and large groups of warriors started forming up for battle. Triremes dotted the ocean around the Citian beachhead.

  Finio ached for Kericles’s dilemma. “Can you really take on your own people?”

  “Bah. We fight Hyzantrians, not Actians.”

  “But your goal is to dethrone your father.”

  “My goal is to liberate my people from his arrogant and anti-Citian rule.”

  The squires locked in the leg armor. Estra surrounded Kericles’s feet and legs.

  Someone shouted from the side, “Prince Kericles!”

  The cousins turned to see the Cornthian prince they fought in the arena. In full estra armor, but his visor lifted, the prince strode toward them as Kericles’s squires carefully lined up the glowing body plate on their lord.

  “We have fought each other for fun,” the Cornthian said, “but now we will fight together in real battle.”

  Smiling, Kericles said, “The blood of Hyzantrian scum will roll down our weapons.”

  Finio gulped.

  Estra armor connected around Kericles’s torso and the squires latched and sealed it onto the leg armor.

  Kericles still looked at the Cornthian. “I’m glad I’ll be on the side of your wily wizard this time. Where is that old guy anyways?”

  The Cornthian’s face went straight. “He’s not with us.”

  “Damn mercenaries,” Kericles shook his head. “Always running from a real battle.”

  “No. He was assassinated two weeks ago. Most wizards have been.” The Corinthian nodded toward Finio. “Your cousin is lucky to be alive.”

  Kericles started to speak, but his squires put his helmet on. One of them slapped open the visor before working on the latching connecting the helm to the torso armor. “They killed two on the fishing island we camped on two nights ago. Maybe the assassins have a soft spot for their Hyzantrian blood. Ah haaaa!” Kericles shoved Finio.

  Finio forced a half smile. He knew he was fortunate to still breathe. Now I have to make it count.

  The Cornthian stared into his fellow prince’s eyes. “Kericles. The big city-states don’t offer you the protection of their elite guards because you’re weak. They do so because you’re important. You should take their protection. If you fall in battle, there will be no legitimate ruler of Actus.”

  “If I don’t fight in battle, there will be no legitimate ruler of Actus.”

  The two young men smirked at each other before crazed expressions exploded on their faces. “Rrrrwhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

  Ch. 50

  Parto, in his full, white inquisitor robes, rode underneath the open archway of the wall. He examined its white stone. The thickness and height of the quickly constructed barrier surprised him. He smiled smugly. The Divinity’s will.

  Around him, mounted knights covered from head to toe in steel plate armor also passed through the gateway, moving to line up behind
the stretching rows of foot soldiers and archers.

  The foot soldiers made up the main body of the army, wearing breast plates and some wore brimmed steel hats, but their limbs were exposed. They carried poleaxes, but the axe-blades would do little good against estra armor. The blunt ends and hammer that protruded opposite the axe would do the potential damage. On their belts, each man wore a thin visor blade or two for stabbing through visors.

  Parto couldn’t believe that these men stood without apparent fear as a mass of green marched toward them in the distance. The highly trained Citian nobles could cleave through Hyzantrians with one swing, while the Hyzantrians were lucky to bruise a Citian with a massive and direct hit. In their estra-armor, the Citians looked more like magically summoned golems than humans.

  About twenty yards behind the main rows of Hyzantrian foot soldiers, stood a row of archers in shiny chainmail. And behind this were the elite knights, about half of them on horses. Intermixed among the knights were the white robes of inquisitors, Parto being one of them.

  As the Citians neared, the green mist that flowed upwardly from the estra warriors became visible. About twenty yards behind the mass of estra, a horde of squires, a thin row of archers, and a few robed wizards marched.

  The galloping hooves of a single horse sounded from the side of the army and moved in front of it. The Hyzantrian general held up his hand, then bent his head forward. “The Divinity guide us in battle. Our heathen enemies use infidelic armor mined from Hyzantria itself. They use the power of demons. And they fight without belief in the one true power in the universe. But we know who we fight for.”

  The army in unison chanted: “The Sovereign. The Authority. The Divinity. One Source, rules all.”

  The general lifted his gaze toward his army. “Faith guides us.”

  He rode off to the side of the battlefield as the hulking, green Citians prepared to charge.