by RG Long
The stairs became increasingly colder as Jerius finally found the bottom of them. They stopped abruptly around a corner and led into a hallway with a door at the end. The entire length of the hall was not more than ten of Jerius’ short steps. He crossed it quickly and met the high priest’s gaze.
“I have walked those stairs every week since I became High Priest,” he said. “I need no light. But we may both benefit from what is beyond this door.”
With that, he pushed it open and revealed a large cavern. A small fire burned in a metal basin that stood next to a chair and a table. Beyond those were just a few places carved into the stone of the wall like shelves. Each hole held a small chest, no larger than the lantern Jerius had. Some appeared to be metal, while others were a different type of stone than what surrounded them.
The high priest walked over to one and heaved it off the shelf and onto the table with relative ease.
Jerius almost didn’t pay attention. He was lost in the expanse of the cavern. Its ceiling was so high that the stalactites that hung from it just barely caught the flicker of both the lantern and firelight. The back of the cave was far out of sight.
It was like a cathedral furnished with only three small shelves and some odd assortment of furniture.
“Come,” Regis said, motioning with his hand for Jerius to join him at the table.
Jerius walked over and saw that the high priest had taken out of the chest two books and laid them out on the table.
“You were instructed in the ways of Decolos, correct? That he founded our religion based on the casting out of the heretic who learns magic?”
“Yes, My Lord,” Jerius replied.
“Would you like to see his own hand tell the tale?” the high priest asked. “I think you’ll find it quite illuminating. And, perhaps, you’ll come to agree like I do, that my brother has outlived his usefulness.”
Jerius looked up from the book. It was ancient; there was no doubt about that. The pages were faded and crumbling in places and the binding had nearly all fallen off.
“Outlived?” he asked, repeating the word that had caught his attention. After learning that he was about to read the founder of their religion’s own words.
The high priest nodded.
“Read this page,” he said, opening the book to the very first sheet with words scribed on it. “Finish it and I’m sure you’ll agree that the Theocracy of Ladis should never have been ruled by a king at all. And that it is time for the rule of the Priests to begin.”
39: The Gates of Prommus
Octus walked dutifully beside Her Holiness’ palanquin. He did not carry the poles on which it was born. That was an honor too high for a simple slave. Instead he hauled a satchel on his back that Yada herself had commanded him to carry.
What it contained, he neither knew nor cared. All he thought about was escaping the terrible woman and finding his niece.
Every attempt he had made to escape so far had been either fruitless or had been something that had earned him another stripe across his back. The scars were never fully healed before another went above it.
Why Yada kept him alive was beyond him. She should have killed him on his second attempt. Whether it offered her some type of sick pleasure to keep him around, knowing that he wanted to escape, or for some other potential excuse, he didn’t know. All he was aware of was his burden and humiliation.
He was a warrior for Ladis. A soldier who had gained fame and notoriety. Now he was a slave.
Nothing more.
Not even an uncle, he felt.
What would his brother say to him? Leaving his niece, his brother’s own daughter, to someone else so he could fight?
The shame weighed heavier on him than his pack.
“Halt!” came the call from the front, as well as the long trumpet blast that informed the rest of the large army of soldiers behind him to follow the same command. The reason was clear.
Rising over the plains of green stood not only the mountain range that marked the beginning of the more eastern portion of Ladis, but also the castle and grand Temple that stood above the capital of the Theocracy: Prommus.
“We’ve arrived, Your Holiness,” called General Cern from the front of the line.
Blue energy filled the area around Octus like demonic fireflies. Slowly it crept up from the ground and down from above him. These floating points of light gathered slowly in front of the palanquin until they formed a sphere larger than the pack on Octus’ back.
Appearing from nowhere, a line of points of light stretched out from the sphere pointing in the direction of the gates of the major city. Several discs of the same pale blue encircled the sphere, spinning dizzyingly fast. Then the ball of energy shot like a bolt of lightning towards the castle walls.
With a blinding crash, it exploded against the massive gate of the city. The ball of light shattered and the walls shook from the impact of the magical shot. Soldiers cheered at the blast and the commotion of soldiers and Speakers preparing for battle filled his ears. They shouted and beat their shields with their spears. Captains shouted at their soldiers to form back up and retain their jubilation.
It must have been a difficult task, for the crowd quieted down slowly.
Octus was in awe. The cannons he had seen performed a similar blast, but with a much smaller impact. Demons had fallen to these cannons, once the fools had finally gotten them up and running. It had only taken down one of the six beasts that had assailed them, but apparently that had been enough to convince the others to fight another day.
The demons had returned to the sky and the army had continued its march. Octus shook his head. How he had wished they would have wiped them all out.
“And now they know we’re here,” came the voice of the woman Octus had come to hate more than he hated himself. Looking up, he saw Yada had come out from her shelter and stood, hand outstretched towards Prommus, and a grin of satisfaction on her face.
Octus shuttered at the next words that came from her mouth.
“The sins of the Theocracy will today be paid for.”
40: Pantheon’s Rising
Wind blew steadily through the city and its residents ran for the protective interiors of their homes. Even though the chill wasn’t able to blow in past the stone walls and wooden doors where they sheltered down, the mood of the city was just as bleak. And no amount of stone or wood could penetrate that.
Miss Rivius had gone missing. That wasn’t a good sign. Something about her dealing with the enemy of Isol. Why the most prominent of business women would side with the enemy was beyond most of the populace. She had done just fine on her own. Perhaps it was her greed that had driven her to the invading army?
Men had always said she was too ambitious. Now her treachery proved it.
Only a very few knew the truth of the matter. And Prince Dram wasn’t about to correct any of the rumors he heard. Everything was finally going his way.
Prince Dram stood over the quivering frame of the Priest of Juttis. He had longed for this day. The day he would begin taking what was due him.
“Your pathetic religion ends here,” he said, holding his hand outstretched over the poor soul. “Today will be remembered as the day Ladism began its fall.”
The blast was unnecessarily large. He didn’t need to put his all into the burst of magic, but he had for too long suffered under the supposed rule of the Theocracy. Years of bitterness went into his spell.
There was no yell, no cry of pain. The crater that formed in the middle of his courtyard was satisfying. The look of his cheering guards and soldiers around him filled him with pride.
Today was the day of his own rebellion.
His own uprising.
Today was when he would take control of the kingdom that was due him.
Isol had used magic in order to take over control of the southern tip of Ladis. This he knew. His father was a fool. Soldiers alone could never drive back those who relied on the power of magic. At best, they would
leave a mountain of bodies for their enemies to climb over in order to achieve their goal.
Prince Dram had received a better vision.
And received the power to back it up.
He flexed his arms and felt the power coursing through him. Purple flames began to rise around him in a circle. The courtyard became blurred as rings of purple light rose higher and brighter. Four shapes began to materialize in front of him. One by one they appeared, rising out of the ground and becoming solid even though they had just before been blurs of light.
One was a female, powerful and strong, with long claws and wings.
Another was red and clothed in black. She looked nearly human, were it not for the two sets of arms that carried a massive sword in each hand.
The third was a bull that had a helmeted head and the torso of a man. Massive plates of metal covered its chest and flank. It held a halberd that glowed with purple light.
The last was a man. One Dram recognized. He nearly lashed out at the sight of him. The man was white-haired and strong. For years, Dram had known the only one who could claim the throne other than he was the one he was staring at now. His hand rose in preparation for another spell. Demon or not, no ally could be found in him.
The armored bull rushed forward and reached out a powerful arm, knocking Dram back.
“You may have summoned us,” the winged female said. “But you do not attack without expecting retaliation.”
Prince Dram held his hand. It burned from the swat the bull creature had given him. His eyes were narrowed at the man he knew to be his half-brother.
“He is no demon,” he said, pointing with the other hand. “That’s a Prince of Ladis!” How can we execute our plans with him in tow? I am to be the King! I am the only rightful ruler of this empire!”
A smirk came over the White Lion’s face and Dram held back the urge to blast it off with a spell. The bull demon seemed to be quite aware of this feeling and stamped a foot down on the ground. A tremor shook the castle courtyard and Dram nearly lost his footing.
“Then explain!” he shouted, finding his balance and channeling his rage through his shouts rather than through magic that might earn him retribution.
He had endured years of exile. In that time, he had delved into the darkest texts he could find, explaining the magic that had nearly undone his empire and the only power on Gilia that might be strong enough to counter it. The only power that could snuff out the Speakers who claimed power. They didn’t even know the smallest bit of what true power was. Dram did. And he would do whatever it took to use it to gain his throne.
Even if it meant turning on the very forces he had recruited.
“The body you see is only a shell,” came a voice that was not the White Lion’s. Dram recoiled a bit. It sounded distant and distorted somehow. Like the voice wasn't yet as connected to the body as it could be.
“Who...” Dram started, a look of concern filling his face for a moment.
“Who are you?” he said more forcefully this time. The purple light had begun to subside and the courtyard was becoming visible again. Soldiers were dutifully holding their places, though Dram could see fear in their eyes at the sight of these demons.
The body of the White Lion stepped forward, a purple gleam in his eye.
“I am fear. I am death.”
With each statement, the voice grew in strength and volume. Dram did his best to hold his ground, but he felt magic coursing through his hands and fingers in preparation for an attack, should it come. The other demons bowed their heads as the man who looked so much like his half-brother stepped forward. Metal plates began to grow from inside his clothing and shape themselves over his body. A sword of impossible size appeared in a haze of purple flame at his side.
His white hair grew down to his soldiers.
“I am power. I am strength.”
He was within an arm’s length of Dram now and the prince could feel a pulsating power coming from him.
Dram could feel power emanating from this thing. It was not a man. It couldn’t be. The soldiers around him faltered. Some fell to the ground while others covered their eyes.
The very ground shook beneath them as the demon uttered the next resounding and deafening phrase.
“I am pain. I am pestilence. I am plague.”
The prince knew he was facing a being more powerful than he had ever encountered before, even in his years of study and seeking out these demons to gain power over his father and assume the throne.
He was looking into the eyes of a god.
The thing swelled in size as he uttered the next three words in a growl that shook Dram to his core.
“I... am... Rayg.”
The Story Continues
The next exciting adventure is “Spears of Ladis”, book eight in the Legends of Gilia series. It will be released December 4th, 2018.
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Enjoy the journey,
RG Long