“Well, do you have an answer, Lord Kahl?” asked Esthinor, breaking the moment’s peace. But there was no peace within Jesolin. Silently he screamed in refute of his master’s decision to remain hidden and blocked. This was no simple decision with simple and easily correctable consequences. No, this could potentially change the course of his unquestioned domination over all of Avendia itself. Could he trust this Wizard, this Esthinor? He had reached his power out in an effort to distinguish the wizard’s motivation hoping to distinguish truth from lies. Yet, regardless of the amount of his power he poured into his dark magic, Jesolin was unable to correctly read this Wizard. That alone should have given him pause; but the potential benefits, if what this Wizard was saying was all true and not just a scheme to elevate the position of The University by secretly attaching any number of strings to his compliance, could be unstoppable. Should he acquiesce and present Satan with this potential gift, or should he wait? All of his other decisions to date were made under the guidance of his master removing any doubt. Even the smallest decisions were not confirmed until Satan rendered his approval. Yet with this one, quite possibly the most important one to date, Satan chose to remain silent. Even the demon, Gogoziel, remained eerily quiet.
“My Lord,” interjected Esthinor once again, “Do you have an answer?”
Releasing his connection to the dark fountain, Jesolin closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he said only two words, “Do it.”
In response, Esthinor spoke no words of appreciation. Instead he offered only a small grin, turned, and powerfully strode out of the throne room with Amoos struggling to stay in his wake. Jesolin could not help but follow the Grand Wizard with his eyes as he silently watched him leave. There was something devious about the tall, slender man, as if he was hiding something underneath the covers of his robes the way a skilled assassin hides his own weapons in plain sight. Right before he crossed the threshold of the large throne room doors, Jesolin extended his power one final time, hoping to see into the Wizard’s emotions. However, much like when reaching out to Satan, the Grand Wizard of The University, this Esthinor Tansa, returned exactly what Satan had, silence.
Graloralynn
(Gray)
Indeed, she was not the greatest of her kind. Her lack of size was always apparent; however, when standing next to the rest of her pack mates on what would soon become the field upon which all battles were fought to fight, it seemed more pronounced than before. Regardless of her diminutive size, she was still more than formidable; for she was fast and possessed a lethal ferocity hidden under her slender, fur lined body that was difficult for all except the eldest of her kin to equal. While the others involved in the hunt needed their condition strengthened to match and exceed that of their quarry, she did not. She had a natural stamina woven into her muscles and joints that her hunt mates did not possess. Beyond that, her movements outpaced theirs not only in straight speed, but in quickness as well. And it was a good thing that, because as superior as she was in all things agile, she was lesser in all things strength related.
This posed both a strategic advantage and disadvantage at times. In their sparing, the first time she battled one of her pack mates, she would almost always emerge the victor because they, as all animals do, judged her competence on size and strength alone, especially since their self judgement of battle worthiness was solely determined by the same standard with which they judged her. And she was often judged lacking. She knew this and used it. She was smart, so while her pack mates would attack, she would play to their strength and size driven ego allowing them the advantage all the while balancing just on the fence separating victory from defeat until the perfect opportunity presented itself. When it did, and it always did, she would attack with a primal force of combined speed, quickness and intelligence leaving her opponents stunned. In that stunned moment of surprise, she would seize her advantage and relentlessly and viciously dominate the rest of the match unto its end. When they sparred, it meant to the other’s yielding. Today, however, it meant to the other’s dying.
After ages and ages of their campaign to rid the realm of the foul taint of demons, the summit of an impossibly tall mountain was about to be reached. Long had they chased them through the foulest places the world has ever known. Long have they battled, sometimes winning and sometimes loosing, sometimes dealing casualties and other times suffering them. However, regardless of those battles, perhaps even because of them, today, at this very hour, in this very spot, the totaled remaining strength of The Hunt stood in all its battle-hardened and righteous glory before the Gates of Hell waiting for the Chaos Armies to spew forth their retched hosts upon their land, their sanctified land; a land given them to be holy and protected.
Many wondered how the Gates of Hell could be projected into their world without their awareness. For they were the ordained protectors, the infantry charged with the identification and elimination of Satan’s vengeance driven hordes. Many could not fathom how The Huntmaster could have overlooked their presence. Some were afraid, thinking His power had been diminished. Still others blamed Him for intentionally allowing Satan’s evil to infiltrate Avendia. But she did not. She knew the truth; a truth that was simple. The Hunt had grown complacent.
Believing that protection was a passive luxury of being blessed by their God, The God, they grew less structured in their efforts and worship. What they did not realize, however, was that protection was meant to be a dynamic dependent upon the actions of those who were being protected. They learned this late in the game, or rather, had forgotten its truth and taught themselves a new one. So, when the insidious nature of Satan used his deception to propagate their complacency, he was eventually able to infect the world with enough of his hate and evil to change the very nature of the land and its people.
They chased and chased him and his minions. For ages, they chased and had become tired; but not the physical tired of muscles, legs, backs, or jaws. They had become tired in the will of waging a futilely long war against a foe so great, he was always multiple steps beyond their reach. Sure, they were victorious in battle more times than they were not, but even their victories seemed to yield losses. For when one victory was won, there were three more that needed to be fought. Yet, she kept the faith under the leadership of the two Great Wolves and their Huntmaster. Had it not been for them, their numbers would have dwindled more from broken hopes than broken bodies. If not for them, they would have lost the war years ago. But they did not. Instead, they stood on the edge of the precipice to end it all for all time.
They stood and they waited. The Huntmaster, majestically brilliant with the splendor of the stars in his eyes and the confidence of hope in his shoulders stood at their front. He led them and would be first to charge into the endless lines of demons. He was flanked by his two Generals, brother and sister wolves standing almost as tall as Him. Displayed like an ocean of blended shades of browns, blacks, greys, and reds, the rest of The Hunt spilled forth from their sides farther than eyes were able to focus. And she, the one they called little death, was standing beside the male general, having taken it upon herself to be his defender.
Within the pack mind, there were no secrets or disruptions in thoughts. They were one, and as such, they all knew she claimed her station. They knew it, and none argued. Had this been a different age, she would have loved him, but long has love left the lands they dwelt within. Such was the effect of Satan’s evil that it absolved all living things from the pure emotions of love, joy, hope and faith to be replaced with lust, greed, desire, jealousy, and hate. For hate will purge love if none stand to defend it. So, they stood defending the return of love.
The wind was still, as was the ground. They could sense no vibrations under their paws, nor could they detect any movement of sounds and smells from any of their senses. It was as if a great storm had been brewing far away, large enough to eat away at all the life around them to fuel its soon to be released havoc of unequaled energy. Had they not been inspired by the ho
peful tastes of the impending battle; they would have all felt fear. But fear cannot exist where love abides; and although it had been driven from this land, they still held it within them as a shield against the forces of evil. And none held it more tightly than she, for she held it for him and knew he held it for her.
But what was mortal love when weighed against the Gate of Hell itself? For that is what stood before them; the large and hideously formed gate that lead to Satan’s realm of hate and evil. How it had come to manifest within the mortal realms, they did not know. Though the Huntmaster’s wisdom extended far beyond what mortally defined creatures could possess, not even He possessed the knowledge necessary to whittle away all of Satan’s subterfuge and skullduggery to reveal the nature of his evil intent. If he had, it would not have progressed this far, nor would the land have been allowed to be affected to its current degree.
Behind the Gates there was not what should have been. The plains they were in were supposed to be lush with green grass and brilliantly colored bright flowers. This place was known throughout the land as the Rainbow Plains, made famous for its kaleidoscope of colors radiantly sewn together by the rays of the sun into the very perfection of creation. Perhaps that is why Satan had chosen this place to manifest his gate. Perhaps the desolation of the surrounding colors into an unremarkable field of dead greys was offered as an offense to God Himself.
But those considerations were of no matter now. It was much too late to pay them any heed. As she looked around and surveyed the terrain, it became apparent that the physical properties of the plains and not their aesthetics were more likely the reason for Satan’s choosing. It was flat and open providing no cover nor advantage for either side. It was indeed going to be a battle of open warfare with the skills of the two leaders pitted squarely against one another. Destruction verses creation. Good versus Evil. God verses Satan. Champion verses champion.
And then, they felt it. Collectively, inside their shared pack mind, it began as a slow vibrational increase within their hearts and souls as the energy within the gate began to subtly shift. Before this moment, the energy, while formidable, had been contained inside the violet, slowly swirling circular shape much like a lake held behind a damn. The stilled waters did not threaten the town allowed to thrive only because they had been held at bay. But if that damn should falter and break, the waters, once heralded as a life-giving blessing, would be released as a hand of total destruction whose innumerable fingers would flow into every street, every house, and every room drowning everything in its wake. Often times, there would be a warning sign that the waters would soon erupt and engulf the life below. A small leak was the normal precursor. And like a damn, this gate began to leak.
She felt a hand land on her shoulder. She snapped her head to the right and instinctively had the dagger she slept with in her hand, thrusting it less than an inch from her assailant’s neck. As her eyes focused, she thought she saw the outline of a beast, but when they adjusted to the darkness of night, she saw the familiar light inside Ronialdin’s eyes. They were opened wide and his hands were drawn back in a gesture of surrender.
“Easy, Liani,” he said, “It is just me.”
Her breathing lessened and her muscles loosened.
“We need to leave. The guards have discovered our location. Even now they are preparing to come for us,” he said as her tension eased. However, the haze of her dream, a dream that felt even more real than this conscious moment, had not worn away its influence completely. Seeing this, Rony placed his hand on the dagger and gently led her to lower it. “Liani, we must go.”
The life of a mercenary had taught her many things, one of which was the necessity to become mobile very quickly. As such, she had grown used to sleeping in her full clothing, leather armor included. She gathered her weapons and small pack of supplies quickly then followed him out of the room and down the stairs to the main dining hall. When they entered, they saw Di, Borinth, and Zyndalia already sitting around a large, round table in the corner. It was still very early and the lightning within the tavern was still very dim; however, the majority of the tables were occupied by other patrons, all of whom seemed to be enjoying the home cooked breakfast offered by the owner and her staff. When they sat, Borinth looked to Dianali and said, “Tell them.”
She looked around the room hesitantly, making sure that none of the early rising eyes could pry their way into their conversation. When she was satisfied none were attending to them, she leaned in and almost whispered, “Apparently, the public execution of Borinth was just a ruse to draw out more of his supporters.”
“What do you mean?” asked Liani.
“She means they knew we were here and were coming for him,” answered Zyndalia before Di could respond.
“Yes,” said Borinth. “And that means they have probably been watching us the whole time.”
“If that was true, why did they not take us earlier?” asked Rony.
“Probably because they wanted to see if we would lead them back to a larger force or threat. It is a common tactic to release a captive only to follow them back to their leaders. Any common captive would fall prey to that scheme,” he finished, letting his words trail off to end at their unspoken self-accusation.
After a moment of silence, Liani asked, “What do we do now?”
“We leave,” said Di. “We leave and pray they do not see us.”
Her statement left them all in silence for a few more moments. This revelation changed things for them. Before, when they still believed their identity and location were hidden, they thought as long as they kept their heads covered, they would be able to reach one of the gates and walk though. However, now that their whole rescue had been orchestrated by powers that knew much more than they did themselves, their escape would be much more complicated.
After a short period of discussion during which Borinth took the lead, they finally had their plans for escape finalized. To none of their collective surprises, they decided it would be better to, once again, split up. But this time, it would be Borinth with Dianali and then the other three together. “Are we all set then?” asked Borinth giving one last opportunity for further suggestions. He made eye contact with each of the others, and upon seeing their silent consent, he said, “Very well. Leave us go.”
“Here are your drinks,” said a voice interrupting them before they could stand.
Instantly, each of them had their hands on their weapons as their eyes darted to attend the interrupting voice. Liana had been so on edge that had Zyndalia’s hand not reached to settle her, she would have stood up and probably had the edge of her dagger against the unknown voice’s throat. After an alarmed moment allowing their eyes to connect with their minds, all of them save Borinth had a moment of recognition. Standing before them was the very same old man who had approached them on the streets with the strange silver elixir.
“It is you,” said Dianali bordering on accusation.
The old man grinned broadly and replied, “Yes, it is me. I should hope. I would hate for it to be anyone other than me residing in my body,” he said as he set down five goblets filled with liquid, one in front of each of them.
“But, why are you here?” asked Zyndalia.
“Oh, I should think that was rather obvious,” said the old man as he stepped back from the table still grinning, leaving the five of them to look at each other in bewilderment.
Finally, after what seemed to be a rather long period of awkward silence, Dianali spoke up, “What do you mean obvious. I dare say there is nothing obvious about you.”
The old man gazed at her empathetically, as if he held some greater understanding that could never be explained adequately enough for the simple to understand. “I am here, my dear, because you ordered these drinks and someone needed to deliver them,” he said as he grinned piercing her with his radiantly blue eyes.
“We did not order,” started Borinth, but was interrupted by Di who put her hand on Borinth’s arm.
“Yes.
Yes, we did.” Turning toward the old man she added, “Thank you sir. We appreciate the quick delivery of our order.”
“Very well then,” he smiled as he turned to walk away. “Oh, you might want to drink up. Things are going to get quite interesting in short order. I think you will all want to be refreshed and alert.”
As elderly man turned back to walk away, Borinth turned to Dianali and asked, “Who is that? And please tell me you are not seriously going to drink what he just gave us.”
“I am not sure who he is, or even what he is. But yes, we are all going to drink what he just gave us. All of us,” she said as she returned his stare. “That means you too, my love.”
She never used those words, at least, never when they were outside of their shared and sacred place. That she used them now disarmed any argument he could form before he was able to put it to voice. She knew it contradicted their entire lives as mercenaries to accept some unknown liquid from some unknown person to an unknown end. And although every instinct she had was consciously telling her to throw the drink on the ground and trust her own skills and knowledge to emerge from their current situation, from somewhere behind her own reasoning was a peace that exceeded her understanding. So, she took one last look into the pewter goblet in front of her, snatched it up almost defiantly, and drained it in one gulp.
Zyndalia, Liani, Ronialdin, and even the unshakeable Borinth each held their breaths for a few long moments and stared intently at Dianali waiting to observe the effects of the old man’s tonic. But when she stared right back at them and said, “Well, what are all of you waiting for? If I just ingested a poison, I would prefer not to meet my end alone. But I am quite fine actually. I do not feel anything.”
Liani was next to pick up the cup, albeit with a small amount of remaining reluctance, and drink the bitter tasting liquid. To her, it tasted sharp and crisp, as if her tongue was being stung by the smallest insect over and over again. The little stings were not painful, but neither could they be classified as a benign tingle. She knew it was doing something to her, but she could not define what because, aside from the crisp sting, she noticed nothing else.
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