Exiled

by Blake Arthur Peel

As I channel and throw magefyre, adding my efforts to those of the rock throwers, the situation gradually grows more dire at the gap. Unable to pierce through my radiant shield with weapons, the demons have taken to using their brute strength to push the young defenders aside, knocking away their spears and shoving them hard to the ground. Even as several of the gorgons die, their overpowering numbers and strength quickly pushes on the youths. They begin to inch backward.

  Owyn fights like a whirlwind, lashing out and drawing blood with reckless abandon. He takes many hits, but of course they do little to harm his body. He has even managed to pick up a sword from the fallen demons, using it with expert skill to kill and maim.

  Despite his best efforts, however, the attackers manage to press their advantage. A handful of the demons spill through the gap and begin rushing up the backside of the earthen walls, slaying unprotected rock-throwing people as they go.

  I let out a snarl and begin launching radiant bolts at the gorgons, shooting the energy out of my palms and blowing holes clean through their armor.

  Many fall, but it seems that with every demon that dies there is another to replace it, their glowing red eyes wild with bloodlust as they begin to spread into the camp.

  Panting, Owyn falls back and commands his warriors to follow him, his skin still shimmering with the translucent blue light of the radiant shield. The spearmen shakily obey, edging back to the line of tents with their handmade weapons held up defensively. The rock throwers, though, are not so lucky. Many of them remain stuck up on the dirt walls, their eyes wide with horror as the demons begin to cut them down.

  “Fall back to the tents!” I call between spells, shouting to the wastelanders in their tongue. “Quickly! Fall back!”

  They begin to obey, though not quickly enough to save their lives.

  Desperately, I raise my hand and point toward the gap in the barricade. Scores of gorgons are now pouring through, their way unobstructed as they gleefully race forward to begin the slaughter. Reaching deep into myself and every one of the initiates I am connected to, I begin pulling in as much source energy as I can, gathering it all like a tempest raging beneath my flesh.

  “Cruthaich balla mòr de lasraichean!”

  A torrent of magefyre erupts from my fingertips and arcs in the air toward the barricade entrance, filling the gap with an enormous wall of magical blue flames. As the energy seeps out of me the fire grows higher, until it is even taller than the barricade itself, reaching hungry tongues of flame up into the sky. The inferno rages, consuming a great number of the demons, and their screams become so intense that many around me reach hands up to cover their ears.

  When the last of the flames leap out of me I collapse, falling hard to my knees in the dirt. Everything grows dark as I nearly black out, my ears ringing painfully from the exertion of casting such a spell.

  It takes a moment, but when I am finally able to look up, I see that every one of the mage youths is on the ground as well, looking pale and sick. Beside me Liyaa lays unconscious, her pallid skin drenched in sweat and her dark hair askew.

  Light, I think dizzily to myself. I could have killed them! That was an extremely stupid thing to do.

  Still, I can’t help but notice that the gap has been temporarily sealed by magefyre, preventing any more gorgons from getting through. My stunt may have bought us a few minutes, though it also may have cost us the ability to use more magic.

  “Watch out!”

  In an instant, Owyn is at my side, blocking an attack I hadn’t even seen coming in my daze. A green-faced gorgon stands just two paces away, its sword raised in a charge that would have no doubt killed me. Owyn quickly dispatches the demon, slashing its throat with his new curved sword and sending its body toppling to the ground. Then, he is beside me, concern plain in his forest-colored eyes.

  “Light, Zara, are you alright? You look like you are about to pass out!”

  I nod my head, though in truth I feel like curling up in a ball and crying myself to sleep. “I’m fine... though I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that again.”

  Owyn glances over his shoulder, looking at the massive wall of blue flames. “That was quick thinking. The bastards won’t be able to get through that any time soon.”

  “It won’t last long,” I reply, my voice sounding like it is coming from far away. “In a few minutes the magefyre will start to dissipate, and then they will start coming through again.” I look at him, feeling tears start to sting my burning eyes. “Owyn... I’m not sure that we will be able to hold them.”

  He curses under his breath then looks around, taking stock of the situation. “We’ll flee toward the Arc,” he says, expression becoming hard. “Then, we’ll do what we can to keep them back. Zara... I know that you’re exhausted, but we need you to try one more time to open a portal in the Arc. It’s our only chance.”

  I nod, though the thought of channeling any more source energy makes me feel physically ill.

  “Let’s start getting everyone out of this area,” he continues, bending down and scooping Liyaa into his arms. “Then we can start marshalling a defense. Come on.” With that, he begins motioning for his beleaguered spearmen to follow him into the sea of tents.

  Turning to the tired-looking mages in training, I begin speaking quickly in their language. “To the Arc! Follow Owyn! Bring as many people as you can with you! Now!”

  They scramble to do as they are told.

  The gorgons on this side have all been dealt with, and now the rest of the defenders are milling about in fear and confusion. I lift my voice and begin shouting for them to flee to the back of the camp, and fortunately, most heed my calls. Even so, it takes a painfully long time for the area immediately behind the barricade to fully evacuate.

  In the gap, the magical flames have already begun to grow smaller.

  Panting, I weave through the tents, moving with the tail-end of the evacuation until finally, we reach the glowing wall of the Arc of Radiance. There, Owyn has set up a line of spears protecting the large mass of frightened-looking former slaves.

  It is a sad defense indeed, a last-ditch effort to save everyone’s lives.

  And hope rests on me to save them, I think to myself, feeling the crushing weight of responsibility bear down on my shoulders.

  Owyn approaches me as I walk past the line.

  “We’ll hold them for as long as we can,” he says, projecting confidence that he probably doesn’t feel. “I love you, Zara. I know that you can do this.”

  Forcing a smile, I reply weakly, “I love you, too.”

  Then, we part ways, him going to stand at the front of the line and me going to the back to stand before the Arc. As I depart, I can’t help but notice that his skin no longer shimmers with the glow of my radiant shield. The realization makes my stomach drop, but I push my worries to the side, focusing instead on the monumental task ahead of me.

  I approach the massive wall of light and pull out my talisman, holding it in sweat-slicked fingers as I rack my brain for something – anything – that could possibly open up a hole.

  The other young mages, those who had not passed out from exhaustion, step up beside me and join hands, grimly lending their own waning strength to my own. I feel a sense of pride as we connect, grateful for their courage in helping me attempt this feat one last time.

  Behind us, we can hear the roars of the gorgons as they begin making their way into the camp, their booted feet thumping on the dusty ground.

  The wall of flames has at last died out.

  Taking a deep breath, I reach into the well of power within me, using the help of the others to channel as much source energy as I can. The effort is nearly overwhelming, but somehow I manage to stay on my feet as I raise up a hand to begin casting a spell. The words that come to mind are simple but powerful, a complex spell of dividing that I have not yet attempted on the dome of energy.

  Sounds of battle begin to ring out in the background.

  Opening my mouth, I begin to speak
the words of power. “Roinn am balla draoidheachd romham!”

  Radiant magic leaps from my hand in the form of a long, flat spear. The blade-like manifestation grows large in size, becoming longer than I am tall, and collides with the Arc itself. Sparks fly, and a whirring noise fills the air, mingling with the sounds of fighting and distant clang of metal. I close my eyes to avoid being blinded, and as the energy comes out of me, I can feel myself swaying, my stomach lurching in a wave of nausea.

  By the time I open my eyes, however, the sparks have all dissipated and the Arc rises before me, complete and bearing no signs that I had harmed it at all.

  I scream in frustration and stumble forward, dropping my talisman to the dirt as I approach the wall of light. I begin beating my fists against it in anger and defeat, tears pouring down my face, but it is as if I am hitting solid stone, my attacks bouncing off ineffectually. Sinking to my knees, the despair of the situation finally takes over.

  The mass of frightened people presses in around me as the cluster toward the Arc to avoid being caught up in the fighting. Mothers cry out and clutch their children as people weep in terror, panic surging in the crowd.

  Sobbing, I push myself up to my feet and push my way through the crowd, my exhaustion so great that I feel I might collapse. Finally, I reach the battered group of spearmen as they attempt to fight off the demons. Many of them have already fallen, their bodies bleeding on the ground as Owyn desperately leads them in a losing fight.

  As he breaks away from a dying gorgon, I can see that he is limping, a deep, bloody wound marring his thigh. He sees me and stumbles away from the melee, his eyebrows pinching together in both pain and concern.

  “Zara, what–”

  I rush into him, burying my face into his chest as my emotions get the better of me. “Owyn, I’ve failed. My spell didn’t work and I can’t channel anymore without killing them. We’re all going to die because of me.”

  He seems taken aback by uncharacteristic sobbing, holding me in stunned silence and patting my back. Around us the battle rages, prodding spears holding back an ever-encroaching tide of snarling demons. Nearby, Yari brings down a gorgon single-handedly and then moves onto another, a nasty gash on his forehead dripping blood down his face and into his eyes.

  “It’s alright, Zara,” Owyn says softly into my ear. “You did your best. Everything is going to be okay.” His voice, gentle and not in the least judgmental, soothes my conscious and helps put my heart at peace.

  More and more of the youths and men begin to fall, the defense buckling and collapsing in a matter of seconds.

  “Zara, I want you to know that I love you and that I have no regrets.”

  Voice quavering, I look up at him, tears brimming in both of our eyes. “I love you, too, Owyn.”

  Then, the last of the defense crumbles and the demons descend on our huddled group, murder in their glowing red eyes. The two of us hold each other one last time, tearfully awaiting our deaths.

  Epilogue

  The Prophet

  A din of voices fills the grand hall of the Pillar of Radiance, reverberating off the polished stone while concourses of mage folk gather in large groups. It is a business-like cacophony, replete with haughty voices and the sound of hundreds of slippered feet on marble. Many people flow from the assortment of large, fluted columns located at the chamber's center, hurrying from one appointment to next in the corrupted heart of the capital city.

  I follow the blue-robed men in front of me with a handful of my associates, unassuming as we make our way to the lifts. My face, uncovered by my usual vestments of hood and cloak, fully takes in the majesty and grandeur of this place – the sights and the sounds that would fill ordinary men with a sense of awe.

  More than anything else, it makes me feel sick.

  Sinners and charlatans, one and all, I think to myself as I pass through the crowd unnoticed. They cling to their ways like leeches, sucking the life out of a city that lifted them up as gods. A small smile graces my lips as a new thought strikes me.

  At long last, the time for new gods has come.

  We pass through the crowd, blending in perfectly as our group approaches the lifts. One of the central columns, large in comparison with the others, rises up before us like an obelisk, arcane symbols painted up its side.

  "This is the lift to the Circle," the bearded man standing in front of the lift says, crossing his arms. "Only authorized personnel are allowed access."

  The man in front of our group, a Harbinger by the name of Selik, reaches into his stolen mage robes and pulls out a sealed letter. He hands it over to the guard, who reads it with a surprised expression. The script is a clever forgery, penned in the hand of the High Magus herself. It is a flawless ruse, but even so, I cannot help but hold my breath as the mage reads it and considers.

  Finally, he hands it back to Selik and gives a slight shrug. "Everything seems to be in order, Evoker," he says, stepping to the side. "Please give the Circle my regards when you meet with them."

  With that, he grasps his talisman, using his other hand to touch the side of the column. This causes a pair of magical doors to open up, granting us access to the interior.

  We shuffle inside without a word, the doors closing behind us and radiant light shimmering beneath our feet as the lift begins to bear us up.

  Anxious silence fills the inside as we ride, and my hand cannot help but stray to my side, where the Prince's great gift is hidden away.

  Soon, I think eagerly, forcing myself to take a deep breath. Soon I will be able to finally prove my worth to Asmodeus the Great.

  The lift comes to a stop, the doors opening before us and depositing us on a floor near the top of the tower. Fortunately, the way is clear and no mages stand immediately before us to bar our way. The golden-haired secretary who usually greets guests on this floor is away, no doubt spending the large amount of gold that was given to her as a bribe.

  Stepping out in front, I lead the disguised Harbingers out of the lift and into the wide hallway, passing offices and large windows granting a breathtaking view of the city. Even in my haste, I cannot help but glance to my side and marvel at the great distance between the buildings below and where we now stand.

  For the barest instant, it fills me with the icy grip of fear.

  Steeling myself, I press on, striding forward with my loyal band of followers in tow. The move nervously, hands straying to concealed weapons as we draw nearer to our destination.

  Suddenly, an elderly mage woman steps out from one of the offices, eyes down on an unfurled scroll in her gnarled hands. She glances up, surprise plain on her face as she sees the lot of us walking toward her.

  "Oh, excuse me... can I help you?"

  We do not slow our pace, continuing our determined march toward her position. As we bear down on her, her eyes grow wide with realization, her mouth opening to cry out for help.

  However, she doesn't get the chance.

  Knifes flash in the light of the magefyre lamps as Selik and the others leap forward, pummeling her to the ground and driving their blades into her flesh. It is a short, brutal exchange, and within seconds they are moving again, their knives wet with her blood.

  Nodding my approval, I continue down the hall, following the gentle, circular curve of the tower until we finally reach the place we have been seeking.

  It is exactly as it had been described: a solitary lift set into the inner wall of the hallway. A mage currently stands guard, with jet black hair and a puckered scar along his jawline. He tenses as we approach, and I make a placating gesture with one of my hands, using the other one to pull out a medallion from within the folds of my robe. It is a circular device, made from bronze and stamped with four-pointed star surrounded by a circle of intertwining lines.

  The symbol of the Harbingers.

  He glances down at the medallion and nods, relaxing his posture and turning around to activate the lift.

  Grinning wickedly to myself, I replace the symbol and wait
to stand with the others before the lift. It had taken us months to plant one of our own within the Conclave, and almost the entirety of our considerable resources of gold. But apparently, our efforts had been worth it. We are now being granted access to one of the most important places in all Tarsynium.

  And it only took a few well-placed bribes and the blood of one foolish old woman to bring us here.

  The doors slide open, revealing a chute similar to the one that had brought us to this floor. We step inside, followed by the Harbinger mage, and the doors slide shut behind us, the magical platform forming itself beneath our feet.

  "This is it, my children," I say intently as the lift bring us up to the tower's pinnacle. "The moment each of us was born for. Clear a way to the Heart and stay alive as long as possible. Our success today will ensure that each of us will be granted paradise in the eternities."

  Each of them bows their heads solemnly as a sign of obedience.

  The doors to the lift slide open to reveal a massive chamber at the zenith of the tower. It stretches before us in a great circle, its dome ceiling open to allow an enormous shaft of light to shoot up into the heavens. Hovering in the center of the room is a great crystal of the purest blue floating several feet off the floor. The crystal is the source of the light, and it thrums with a pulsing sound that fills the entire chamber.

  The Heart of Light.

  As a group we step out of the lift, startling a handful of mages cloistered with their instruments at the base of the Heart. An elderly, self-important man steps forward with a look of confusion on his grey bearded face. He takes in our robes with a frown and looks to me as we approach.

  “Can I help you?” He asks uncertainly.

  “What is your name?” I ask in turn, refusing to answer his question.

  His frown deepens. “Evoker Jora Laramie,” he replies, clutching a sheaf of parchment to his chest. “I’m in charge of researching the problems with the Heart. I don’t recognize you. Why are you here?”

  I smile, which only seems to unsettle him further. “I am here to do my master’s will.”