Ashyla smiled. “Go to them. Go to your prophesied Beacon.”
Nodding, Mariah gestured towards the ceiling. A column of fire shot up from the ground, enveloping her in a glorious dance of flames. The blaze shot out, basking the area in warmth and light. Then, as quickly as they came, they were gone. As the flames cleared out, the room stood empty, with no trace of Mariah.
Ashyla laughed. Turning, she walked over to what remained of the wooden desk. A book lay upon the broken desk. Glancing down, Ashyla read the title, and smiled. A History of the First Night.
My dear Mariah, not everything is always as it seems.
Letting out a sigh, Ashyla sat down in the wooden chair, crossing her legs and brushing her hand across her elegant braid. She held out her sword in front of her, studying it, and gazing across the golden chains and shimmering emeralds.
All the pieces are falling into place. Mariah, oh the feisty one. She may think she understands, but never can she truly comprehend my web. And this is only the beginning. This is only that first flap of the butterfly’s wing before the oncoming storm. Soon, I will be released from that irritating Smiter. Soon —
Ashyla’s thoughts were interrupted by a knocking on the door. “Ah, so you’ve finally arrived,” she said, still studying her sword. “Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable.”
The door opened, and a tall woman strode into the room. Long, flowing black hair fell over the left side of her head, and a delicate face with smooth, pale skin created a sharp yet alluring contrast. Her eyes shone like sapphires and her lips were a rosy embrace. She wore a long, black cloak accented by scarlet coloring at the edges, and high, silver boots that covered much of her legs, yet revealed the tops of her smooth thighs. Sheathed at her side was a longsword fastened by a dazzling hilt of silver. Two black gems sparkled out from the crossguard like a pair of unholy eyes.
Entering the room, the woman looked around in surprise. The wooden desk lay shattered against the wall and Ashyla now sat coyly in the wooden chair. Mariah was gone. She narrowed her eyes, and pinned Ashyla with a surprised glare.
“You let her free,” she said slowly, still studying the room. The woman's eyes dropped down to the opened shackles, now laying still on the cold floor. “You released her,” she repeated, her voice growing stronger.
“My dear Saber, ever observant one,” Ashyla teased, standing up from the chair. “Yes, I released her from this imprisonment —”
“But why?” Saber interrupted, a hard edge in her voice. “Why keep her here for ten long years only to release her on a whim?”
Ashyla smiled, ignoring the question. Saber studied her, waiting for an answer. “Worry not about Mariah,” Ashyla finally said. “She is well under control. As for you, I didn’t call you here to talk about Mariah. No, there is another matter we must discuss.”
Saber narrowed her eyes in annoyance, and entered the room, closing the door behind her. “I’m listening.”
Ashyla strode over to Saber. “I’m assuming you know of the prophecy.”
Saber raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“As told in the prophecy, a Beacon is said to come forth and save Ansalon from the clutches of the Shadow,” Ashyla continued. “Well, as it is, after various false Beacons and many long years of searching, the Beacon has finally been found.” Saber looked up in surprise, but Ashyla continued before she could say anything. “In a small village in the southeast of the Heartland, whispers of a Beacon began to circulate. Only this time, it wasn’t a false. And so, Calitha dispatched a legion to crush the Beacon, and end all hope for the Light. But of course, I couldn't let such a fine opportunity pass through my fingers. So, naturally, I ventured out to the village and saved the Beacon —”
“Wait, you what?” Saber cried out, anger twisting her gentle face. Her eyes became two piercing flames of blue, and she locked Ashyla with a fiery glare.
Ashyla shot Saber a sly smile. “I saved him,” Ashyla said, mischief glimmering in her eyes. “For how could I let the mighty Beacon fall to the Shadow?”
Saber grunted in annoyance, and began to pace back and forth, her black cloak flowing out behind her. “Why would you save him?” Saber fumed. “After fifty years we finally found prophesied Beacon, but just when the Shadow was about to claim victory, just when any hope of the Light returning was about to be crushed, you saved him? Why would you do that? I don’t understand.”
“My dear Saber,” Ashyla said, laughing, “I’m not asking you to understand. I’m asking you to listen.”
Saber stopped pacing, and she turned to Ashyla, a furious expression on her face. “Why?” Saber spat. “I spent ten years behind the Flame, tirelessly searching for the Beacon. I spent ten years deceiving and seducing the Flame in order to gain a foothold.” Saber paused for a moment; her fists clenched at her side. “And yet, here we are now, siding with the Flame,” she hissed.
“Let me explain,” Ashyla said coolly, striding up to Saber. Reaching up, Ashyla brushed Saber’s hair away from her face. “Listen to me.”
At Ashyla's touch, Saber visibly relaxed. Yet still her eyes burned in a furious glare.
Smiling, Ashyla turned away from Saber, satisfied she would listen. “I have a task for you. Contact the Mistresses and create a network in Anland. There you will find the Beacon and his companions. Watch over them, but no more. I need you to ensure their safety.”
Ashyla paused, and she cast a mischievous wink at Saber. “Make sure that the hordes of brainless undead don’t devour all my hard work and effort. Is that understood?”
Saber stood silent, a blank expression on her face. She studied Ashyla for a long moment, trying to grasp some reasoning, to no avail. Slowly, Saber shook her head. “Siding with the Flame…” she mumbled to herself. She fixed Ashyla with a defiant gaze.
“I'm not asking,” Ashyla threatened, her voice becoming a venomous hiss. She turned around and began to once again stalk toward Saber. “You don’t have to understand.”
Saber stood firmly against Ashyla’s approach, her gaze an icy glare.
“You want me to protect them?” Saber echoed, spitting at Ashyla’s feet. “Why? I have stood by your side for centuries, but this? Don’t mock me. I know you are bound; I know you have no power.”
“Care, child, you are pushing your bounds,” Ashyla said softly, a dangerous undertone in her voice. Reaching out, she grabbed the back of Saber’s head, locking her in place. Whispering now, she leaned in close. “I will always have power. Remember that, child. Shall I remind you of what happened to your sister? Would you like to share her fate?” Ashyla asked, her lips brushing against Saber's ear and sending a shiver running down the woman’s body. “That would be … most unpleasant.”
Saber’s face paled, and she tried to pull away, but the Goddess’s grasp bound her in place. Suddenly, a shadowy butterfly flapped into view, fluttering just before Saber’s face. The two black wings seemed to be endless voids of darkness, drawing the unsuspecting victim into their murky abysses. As Saber watched, the butterfly’s head morphed into a long needle of death, its razor-sharp point shining in the flickering light. With a sudden flap of its wings, the butterfly charged at Saber, its needle aimed right at her sapphire eye.
Saber screamed and fell back, only to land on the hard floor. Gasping for breath, she looked up at Ashyla standing above her, the calm and collected expression having returned to the Goddess’s face. There was no black butterfly, no sharp needle. There was only Ashyla.
Ashyla smiled. “My dear Saber, what seems to be the matter?” she taunted. “Rise. You know what you need to do.”
Saber studied Ashyla, her arrogance humbled at the mention of her sister. Regaining her composure, Saber rose to her feet, and brushed the dust from her flowing coat. She tried to say something, but another black butterfly appeared just behind Ashyla’s head and vanished just as quickly as it arrived. Saber glared.
Ashyla laughed.
With an irritated grunt, Saber quickly turned around. Gat
hering her cloak and her wits about her, she stormed out of the chamber, her high boots clicking on the stone floor.
Smiling, Ashyla sat back in the chair, and once again raised her sword up before her eyes.
Ah, the Beacon. Who would’ve thought that after fifty years he would finally be revealed? Don’t worry, little one. Mariah will see to you and prepare you for the eternal darkness to come. Saber will be there too, protecting you from the Shadow. No matter how defiant she seems, she knows her place. And if not, well … there are always other options.
Shaking her head, Ashyla stood up from the chair, and gave one, final glance at the empty room
At last, all the pieces are in play. Saber and Mariah will watch over the Beacon. And perhaps soon, once he is ready, what was done may finally be undone. The damage that that annoying Smiter Serggie caused may finally be repaired.
Giving one last glance at her sword, Ashyla brushed her hand over her beautiful braid before gracefully walking towards the aged door. Smiling, she exited the room, closing the door gently behind her. As Ashyla walked down the decrepit corridor, a soft chuckle escaped her lips.
What was done may finally be undone. The damage that was caused may finally be repaired.
The seal can finally be broken.
Chapter 1
Ro looked around at the dark, gloomy prison, his draconian eyes having little difficulty seeing in the dim light.
Always the same, every day.
He was a draconian, a dragonborn, of sorts. Shining, gray scales covered his muscular frame like a mail of steel. His silver eyes twinkled like diamond gemstones, watching the world with a knowing wisdom. He kept his head high, and his shoulders proud, and never let the dreary world drive him to the ground.
The surrounding prison was nothing more than a small, plain stone building with a handful of cages arranged around the area. Torches dotted the walls, faintly illuminating the surrounding area. Years of weathering had worn down the building, and spiders and rats ran rampant around the place. Cobwebs and dust blanketed the area, and a sickly odor hung like an unwelcome guest. The cells were formed from thick iron bars forged together in an impenetrable cage, but long years of neglect had allowed rust to grow and weaken the metal. Each of the prisoners’ ankles were clamped tight by a pair of magical, iron shackles, enchanted to prevent the prisoners from casting any spells and escaping. None knew where the shackles had come from, or how the prison had come by such powerful relics. It was as if the shackles were placed there through the will of the heavens. Try as the prisoners might, there was no escaping the binding enchantments.
Ro was not the only one trapped in the cramped, unpleasant dungeon. There were five others imprisoned alongside him. There were two gnomes, SmibSmob and Nalgene, who claimed to be brothers of some sort. SmibSmob was a thin, frail gnome with shining blue eyes. He was warm, and seemed comfortable in the shadows, as if he were a part of their wispy darkness. Nalgene was an unusually robust gnome who insisted on interjecting in the happenings of the others. His blue eyes matched his brothers, but their similarities ended there. While SmibSmob was reserved, Nalgene was arrogant and stubborn, only listening to what his brother had to say.
There was also Andromeda, a tantalizing feline woman with immense strength in her delicate and agile frame. Her black figure seemed to be able to blend with the shadows, fading out of sight from even Ro’s sharp eyes. Whenever Ro looked upon her, his silver stare was matched by her toxic, green gaze, and he felt a sense that she was not quite what she seemed.
Then there was Fasto, a dim-witted orc who seemed to ponder a lot about cracks in the floor and rattle on about how he longed for the touch of the forest. Two dull, red eyes shone above his jutting jaw. Often, in the dead of night, he could be found staring blankly at the others, his eyes glazed over as he thought.
Finally, there was Margaret, an attractive female orc who seemed apathetic about her situation, choosing to remain absorbed in her own dark thoughts. She had a curious right arm, bulky and black, as if some vile demon had possessed it long ago. Whenever it was mentioned, she seemed to retreat away and sit shivering in the corner of her cage, haunted by its unsettling presence.
It is strange, how we were all thrown into this ghastly prison at the same time those short two years ago. Not only that, none of us seem to remember the reason why we were thrown in here, or what happened before. It is as if the memories of those moments were torn from our minds —
Ro's thoughts were interrupted by the soft voice of SmibSmob.
“I reckon it has to be past noon,” the gnome said. “Where is that guard? He’s not usually late.”
“Indeed,” Ro agreed. The guard had always brought them their food promptly at noon, and the fact that he was late unsettled Ro. Something was wrong. The thought persisted at the back of his mind, casting a hint of doubt into his voice. “I’m sure he’ll be here any moment.”
“I hope,” SmibSmob replied. “Our meager breakfast didn't do much for me. I don’t mean to be the obvious one, but our meals have been shrinking as of late.” It was true, their meals had been losing their wholesomeness. Cooked strips of meat had been reduced to bland soup, and portions of vegetables had been replaced by stale bread. “What I would do to escape this dreary prison —”
“Ah, quit yer whinin’, me brother,” Nalgene snorted, obviously irritated by the fellow gnome. “Ye ain’t gonna be escapin' anytime soon, so there’s no use in cryin' about it. We all be hungry here, and some o’ us more than others.”
Margaret let out a quiet laugh from her cage. “Oh, you silly gnomes,” she teased. “You think you’re hungry. What about me?”
Andromeda chuckled in agreement, her eyes shining out from her cage like two apparitions. She licked her lips, and turned her gaze to the door, eagerly awaiting her next meal.
“Eh, what do ye be tryin' to say, ye durned orc?” Nalgene fired back at Margaret. “It takes a lot o’ energy to power these fine noggins. Why do ye think that dolt Fasto don’t be needin' any food?”
Margaret laughed, and she shot Nalgene a playful wink. “‘Fine’ is not the word I would use.”
Ro let out an amused sigh and turned away from the others.
Always the same, every day. It’s amusing, how these few years together have brought us this close — at least I feel that they have.
Suddenly, he heard the rattling of keys, and the door to the prison creaked open, sending a ray of blinding light into the room. Eager to be fed, the companions turned their gazes onto the door, their quarreling silenced by the promise of food.
The guard entered the room, bearing a food tray. He was a good fellow, a stout man with short, shaggy hair and a rough beard. He looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the dimly lit building. After a quick scan confirming that all the prisoners were still present, he traveled around and doled out their portions. Satisfied that everything was still as it should be, he exited the prison, locking the door behind him.
Ro looked down at the food that was placed in his cell. It was a small bowl of soup, or what he assumed was soup. Chunks of white and yellow bobbed around the brown, soupy liquid. After a long, uncertain stare, he gave the soup a quick taste. A bland mixture of broth and strange chunks washed over his tongue. He nearly choked on the liquid.
Not the worst thing I’ve had here, and it beats stale bread. Still, I’d prefer a good strip of meat.
But his complaints were silenced by the clawing hunger in his stomach. He glanced around and, seeing most of the others seemingly enjoying the soup, he turned back to his own meal. Giving one last look at the brown liquid, he quickly downed it in one gulp, emptying the bowl.
“Agh, tastes like a dwarf's hairy arse,” Nalgene groaned, letting out a vile belch. “Yer right, me brother, these meals are bloody awful. If I be havin’ to eat one more piece o’ stale bread or drink one more bowl o’ durned soup, this bloody prison won’t be hearin' the end o’ it. Bloody awful.”
Ro gave a silent chuckle. “Pray,
my good friend. It wasn’t that bad.”
“Ah, shut it ye durned dragon,” Nalgene fumed. “Ye always be tryin’ to find the good in this durned place, but let me tell ye, there ain’t be no good in that awful soup.”
“For once I have to agree with the annoying gnome,” Margaret chimed in. She stood in her cage, pacing back and forth like a ravenous wolf, her eyes gleaming with hunger. “This food is hardly what I’d call edible.”
All around the other companions nodded in agreement, except for Fasto, who was frantically searching the floor for something. Ro studied the others, his draconian eyes having little trouble seeing them in the gloomy light. He shook his head slowly, a faint smile on his face.
Always the same, every day.
Clearing his throat, SmibSmob looked up at his brother, a look of excitement beaming on his face. “You know brother, I reckon if we were able to get these magical shackles off, you’d be able to fix this food.”
“Bloody hell, by what, waterin’ the durned thing?” Nalgene snorted at SmibSmob. “Sometimes I be thinkin' that ye got a mighty fine noggin on yer head, but other times, this be all that comes out o’ it.”
SmibSmob stammered for a moment, at a loss. An injured expression darkened his face, and his usual bright attitude crumbled away.
“As if you should be the one talking about ‘fine noggins,’” Margaret jabbed at Nalgene, an irritated scowl shadowing her attractive face. “Did we not just discuss this?” Nalgene’s face turned red, and he turned to the orc, an insult ready on his sharp tongue.
Ro shook his head, blocking out the rest of his friends’ banter.
Always the same, every day. Still, what could he mean by watering it?
He could only guess.
Suddenly, Ro heard a high-pitched squeal from the other end of the room. Whipping his head around, he saw Fasto gripping a plump rat tightly in his hand.
“Now friend, drink soup,” Fasto said while dunking the struggling rat into his soup, sending the brown broth splashing all over the cold cell floor. “Fasto want to help friend. Now drink, be full.”
A Land in Shadow Page 2