* * * * *
When dawn finally broke, Gnert was nowhere to be found. Elryia was rocked out of her slumber by a jolt, and finally a violent shaking. She thought it was Graham again, but when the first thing she saw was an angry, glaring dwarf shaking her with one hand and pointing to his mouth with the other, she knew just what had caused the distress. She yawned, rolled back over and waved a hand towards his mouth.
“…I don’t know why ye feel tha need ta do that ta me, when I’ve told ya I hate it. What if I had to call ya in the middle of tha night ‘cause I was being attacked…”
Elryia’s face quirked as she listened to the rambling, then a devious, yet charming smile perked the corners of her mouth and she waved her hand again.
Silence.
She stood, grinning down at the Dwarf kneeling at her bedside and glaring up at her. Bounding, she patted him on his gray-haired head. “You’re almost cute when you’re quiet…” she complimented, still beaming and staring him in the eyes.
The Dwarf growled deep in his soul, one that almost broke through the powerful spell. His anger however wasn’t aimed at the woman, but at himself. Despite his stone exterior and gruff nature, she was too charming for even him to stay mad at. When his mouth finally stopped moving and he looked at her with bright eyes, she waved her hand one last time, then held it out to help him up and off he went to make breakfast.
“Jer, have you seen Gnert?” El asked, once the white Mage was up and about.
“He left early this morning. Given the look on his face something is up. I’ve only seen him act this eager and sporadic when he had his GOmobile in the works. I think he’s excited about something. Most likely he’s off collecting supplies for whatever it is he’s building.”
Elryia nodded slowly and sat down to eat, the rest of them following her action.
“Any plans today?” Carsis asked, looking at Elryia.
“We ride. It’s another three days to the boundaries of Sharia and with any luck we’ll only spend a day on the trials.’
Jeralyle perked and Gort grumbled, “Trials?” questioned the Mage, not having been with the group when the task was first discussed.
Elryia threw her glance at Lanyan, drawing Jeralyle’s attention as he spoke. “Sharia Forest is broken up into two parts. The first part is a large forest that was intentionally groomed with the trees too close together, and only in certain areas. It serves as one, gigantic maze. Although Sharia is protected by a magick barrier that prevents most from entering, a few still manage to get through. Originally that labyrinth served as added protection from those individuals. But the harder times became, the more people sought sanctuary from the elves and their untainted way of life. Overwhelmed with requests of people asking to see them, the council took action by forcing everyone who wished an audience to undergo the trial, and find their way into the second part of Sharia—a vast, open area under the canopy of Layanese, the oldest and largest tree in existence. I’m sure you’ve seen it from time to time.”
Jeralyle cast a quick glance to the north, and the barely-visible, jagged outline against the skyline. “It’s kind of hard to miss.”
Lanyan’s typically stern look became almost longing, and he drifted away to the same thing Jeralyle stared at. With a deep breath, and another stolen glance he eventually returned back to the Mage. “It’s that tree that has been the home of my people for thousands of years. Directly underneath it is the council we are so desperately seeking. Though in order to get there, you must travel through the maze, unguarded and unassisted by anyone who’s been through before—including myself.”
Jeralyle looked almost cheerful. “That sounds easy enough.”
Lanyan simply sighed. “If only that were true. Anyone who is invited by the elves is allowed one week to find their way through. Fail, and you are deemed unworthy. The guards lead you out, and you’re never allowed to set foot in Sharia again.” Suddenly, Jeralye grew very pale, the weight of the trial sinking in on him. “Don’t look so distressed. At least we’re invited.”
“What happens if you’re not?”
“No one enters Sharia uninvited. Even before I was born, the forest has been protected by a magick barrier, one that keeps unwanted visitors out.”
The Mage perked, eyes growing wide as an avalanche of intrigue rushed over him. “How do you get by then?”
“Two ways. Visitors are required to enter in through the gate, in which a guard recites a spell—one known only to them—that parts the barrier for a short time. A very short time. And the second” Lan held up his finger for pause, as his other hand sunk into the opening on his tunic. From it, he pulled a pendant connected to a silver chain, one that was intricately carved, beginning with a single vertical platinum line, turquoise inlay. Above it, another line this time with inner yellow, horizontal, the left side arcing down, right sloping up. At the bottom, a third horizontal, with curled ends and green frame. “Illdensia. Imbued within this tiny charm is a very incredible magick. Each elf is given this as a birthright, which allows us free entry anywhere on the forest’s edge without worry of breaking the barrier. Because of the risk, however, it has never been given out to other races, barring three humans and two dwarves.”
Jer’s eyes lit up, resisting the urge to grasp it though—far beneath the surface—he wondered first who those five were. A flickering curiosity; one that did not last. One that was overwhelmed by the wonderment of how powerful a magick would need to be in order to guard an entire forest.
And for the rest of the morning he remained silent, thinking on it. Trying to determine even a starting point for it. So focused he was, he even failed to notice the rest of the group packing their things and preparing to leave. Instead, he had his eyes locked on his diary, oblivious to a mischievous brunette sneaking up on him.
“Whatcha reading, Darlin’?” she inquired, instantly peeking over his shoulder.
“Merial?!” He nearly leapt halfway across the clearing, then immediately tried to compose himself. “Oh. Nothing. It’s nothing, just my Grandfather’s journal.”
She peered one last time, but didn’t want to pry. “Grandfather’s? I thought people were supposed to keep their own journal.”
“They do. But he was a good man and I find it helps to keep me grounded when I feel overwhelmed…” He answered her seriously, but from the smile on her face he knew she was anything but, so he halted his analysis.
“A good man, eh?” She bade, trying to spur him into conversation.
Sadness flickered over the Mage’s face for a moment, and he nodded solemnly. “Aye. He’s been gone bout five years now.”
Merial reached out to glide her hand along his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He looked up, his eyes slightly misted. “Thank you, but he used to tell me he had a longer, more enriching life than most. He taught me a good many honorable traits and to value one’s life, not mourn their death, so I try to focus on that when I miss him. It’s why I’ve kept his journal with me so long and read it so many times. There are incredible stories in here, and it’s helped me become the man I am today, even if I don’t necessarily imagine any of them truly happened.”
She squeezed his shoulder slightly, and drew a little closer than he imagined she would to whisper, “Well, I’m starting to like the man you are today, so he did a good job.”
He turned to look at her, but caught Carsis out of the corner of his eye and shifted nervously.
She simply grinned and removed her hand, moving to face the fire-haired fellow standing behind her. “Ready?” she sought, making motion to stand up.
“Aye. Have been. Everyone else is waiting on you…us.” He was speaking to her, but he never once took his eyes of off Jeralyle.
Merial made a mock grumpy face at Jerayle—one that Carsis failed to see—then stood fully. “You coming?”
“Actually, no. I promised El since Gnert wasn’t here that I would cover our tracks. I’ll catch up though.”
Merial nodde
d, then began walking, only to twist her head and toss her brown curls over her shoulder. “Don’t be too long. We may have to start talking about you while you’re gone.”
The smile he received from her nearly prompted him to ask her what she would say, but Carsis was still looming, seeming to lose even more of his already scarce patience, so he simply bowed. “I will not.”
Once she had left, he did just that. Taking his time, and being more meticulous than was required to simply garner them a head start. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the look he received from Carsis, though his interaction with Merial couldn’t be considered anything more than harmless. He was starting to learn more and more about the people that surrounded him. Most of it—Elryia’s commanding yet gentle presence, the Dwarf and Elf always fighting yet sharing some strange sort of camaraderie, Merial’s light-hearted nature—he enjoyed. But he was also beginning to see that not all of the personalities may be pleasant, and he now had the urge to avoid them.
So much that he let his horse walk at half the speed he usually traveled with, and buried his thoughts once again in the journal, finding reason after reason to derive strength from its stories.
The day had nearly ended when he finally caught up with them, even though he thought it was impossible. When he imagined they slowed simply for him, a sudden pang of guilt washed over him, but on his approach to Elryia, noticing her distant gaze towards a wide patch of trees, he considered there may be another reason. “What is it El? We’re not at Sharia already are we?”
“No. This place is known as The Scar, but look.” She motioned towards the side of the road, and the GOmobile—without a rider—parked in front of a tree.
Jeralyle simply shrugged it off. “He’s probably inside collecting materials. I’ll get him.” The Mage had moved from his horse and headed towards the forest, but a high-pitched scream ripped from inside, forcing everyone on guard and Jeralyle to turn towards its source.
He then came to a dead stop when he saw Gnert, hovering high in the air and kicking his legs, a huge brown hand making its way out of the trees behind him, clutching the back of his shirt.
And his captor invoked within Jeralyle an emotion mixed of fear and wonderment. It was human. At least, it looked that way from neck down. A massive, chiseled bare chest wrought with scars, scratches and a strange brown hair. On either side, dense carved biceps that lead to lined, tense forearms covered in gold bracers. The same material could be found at his waist, wrapped all the way around to hold the ragged dingy loincloth below it.
Thick brown hair covered every inch of his legs, and had Jeralyle let his gaze drift further down he would have seen—instead of calves and feet—were bowed knees and dark hooves.
But the Mage could not draw his focus away from the top of it. While the rest looked human, upon its monstrous shoulders sat a bull’s head.
Its long, filed horns were chipped and cracked in several places. Two gold rings pierced through the outer edge and looped through each nostril. A wide jaw that encased a frothing, foaming maw and a dominant over-abundant brow that covered blaring red eyes. It’s obsessive gaze laid frozen on the squirming Gnert, occasionally shaking it and terrifying the Gnome even further. The monster was so fascinated with the fear he was instilling, he had yet to even notice the other companions.
Taking advantage of his inattention, Jeralyle whispered to Elryia, still mystified. “El…what is that?”
Elryia whispered back harshly. She both knew what it was and what it never traveled without, “It’s Drogan.” That was all that she said, hearing Lanyan behind her, stringing his bow quickly.
“I would not be so eager to do that Elf.” answered a voice from the forest, followed by a shadowed, small-framed figure sulking its way from the trees; long black robes, with a silver rope tied around the waist, sleeves draping well over its hands and a hood covering its face completely, both trimmed in a dismal, unreflective silver. “Lest you want to lose your little friend.”
All eyes reverted to Drogan, now holding his huge axe up to Gnert, red eyes flicking over the companions—seemingly begging one of them to move.
“Kalinies…” Elryia whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
Frail, bony hands raised as he tugged the hood of his cloak down to reveal his thinning black hair falling well past his neck and over his hollow face, tiny eyebrows stacked over jet black eyes making it appear as though he had none at all; though they twitched and turned as he surveyed the group. His mouth, and somewhat wrinkled face contorted as his black orbs stared at all of them, “You must be Elryia,” he said, finally locking his murky gaze on her.
Though Kalinies made it obvious he had no idea who she was, Jeralyle didn’t get that same sense from Elryia. Glancing over at her he saw a look that frightened even him, a look of fire and hate. Her fingers eager and dancing at her sides. Every muscle in her legs twitched. Small bolts of electricity crept along her digits, strong enough to make Jeralyle’s horse shift nervously. She was planning something catastrophic. Both Jeralyle and Kalinies knew it—could feel the air shifting around them—but the dark Wizard seemed prepared for it.
“I suggest forethought.” Kalinies stated, raising and lowering his arm. On his signal, twenty well-armed, trained soldiers filed out from their wooded sanctuary. Half gripped crossbows, all aimed at Elryia and her group. “Idimus wants you alive, but he never mentioned anything about unwounded. And I don’t imagine he knows of the gnome. That little thing could disappear entirely and I do not believe he would punish us. Drogan would be more than happy to make that happen.” The Minotaur raised Gnert—still kicking—over his mouth as though he would devour him whole.
Yet Elryia didn’t seem to care. She only became more enraged and more taut, her eyes never once leaving Kalinies.
“El, please…” Jeralyle pleaded with her, seeing the lightning still flicking at her fingertips and getting the sense that she was going to attack no matter what it cost her. Caring for both her and the Gnome dangling there helplessly he begged again, “El…it’s not worth it.”
Releasing a sigh, Elryia’s body relaxed and her magick faded. Within her pulled a hatred so defiant—so pure—that she cared not about the danger. She would have risked her body and very life in order to get to Kalinies. But it was not only her that would have suffered, and their safety was not something she would risk. Though rage and reason battled within her, logic won out. She could then only drop her hands and her guard, allowing the dismal reality in.
They had been caught.
Cast They Unto Madness
She didn’t move; even when she was bound with the runic handcuffs that made her hands utterly harmless, she didn’t so much as flinch. When fitted with a choker that rendered her voice unable to cast spells, she didn’t argue. Even when her chain was linked with a much larger one, along with everyone else, she didn’t fight back; despite how badly she wanted to.
Her hatred for Kalinies was nearly unfathomable. All the pain he’d caused, the havoc he wreaked and deception he cast was immeasurable. Her goal—theirs—was not just the fall of Idimus, but his Kingdom entirely, of which the Wizard was an integral part of. He was most likely the one to take the King’s place were he to collapse. That meant he had to be stopped. All of them did. When the revolt truly began, El’s rebellion would seek his death just as fiercely as they did Idimus’.
Elryia, however, would just as well have sought it an hour ago, but she was not eager to risk the lives of everyone else; only hers. So she would have to be patient for now. It was a task that she could barely stomach, but what settled her was knowing his time would come—even if it meant chasing him to the corners of Idimus’ huge kingdom, to the ends of time and space. If it meant her dying breath, she would take him with her.
A sense filled her, one of both anticipation and dread. Her power had increased over the years, during the time spent traveling and gathering an army. Allowing her to cast spells in seconds, rather than in minutes like most. Unlike t
he few others that wore white robes, her power was focused on more than just healing; hers was destructive as well. She could call upon any element that existed and control it however she wished: shatter the earth below someone with only a few words and a wave of her hand, lift huge boulders without touching them and hurl them with deadly force, burn down an entire forest in seconds or bring life to a long since dead one. She could even still poison coursing through one’s veins, or completely stop a heart. Not many had accomplished what she had in as few years, if ever.
But she was still terrified of Kalinies. She had fought soldiers and thieves, vagabonds and angry drunks; she’d never really battled another wizard, especially one claiming to be the greatest in existence. She knew first hand of his evil nature and the dark arts that he wielded; had seen how sinister and heartless the man could truly be—and she wasn’t quite sure how such a battle would fare.
As her mind struggled to cast such worries away, her gaze forced forward to see her friends bound and latched to the same chain as she.
With a motion from Kalinies, Drogan slung the massive bind that held them over his shoulder and began his march. Despite the constant, jerking tugs from Drogan, Elryia kept her attention set on Kalinies. The Wizard crept along, hunched over and seemingly focused. Even with the distance between them, she could feel the sparks twist the normally still wind, all the while growing heavy. Tiny jolts of electricity that teased her skin—an indication that a spell was being cast; something only magick users were attune to.
They had walked roughly a hundred yards when he finished, and flung his arms towards the sky. Between his hands erupted a silver blaze, from it flew a transparent, broken image of a Falcon—silver and black—a very real parchment attached to its illusion talon. The spell flew in the same direction they were heading, occasionally chipped away by the breeze, specks of silver wafting down like tiny cold embers.
Kalinies, Elryia believed, could have easily sent a real messenger, but that was what the dark Wizard was best at: arrogance and demonstrations.
Elryia wasn’t impressed.
Another, behind her, was.
“Wow.” Jeralyle marked, obviously captivated. “Can you do that?” Elryia simply nodded. It was one of the first spells that she had learned. “Will you teach me?”
She grinned, acknowledged she would and turned back to him. When she saw his face, her mood dampened, feeling partly responsible for getting him involved in this. As if he sensed it, he smiled gently at her to let her know that it was no fault of her own. El felt a hard tug, and she took an involuntary step forward as Drogan began to pull the chain and she was forced to follow. “El!” she heard a harsh whisper from behind her, “What is that thing?” She looked back and saw Jer indicating towards Drogan.
“That’s Drogan, Kalinies’ bodyguard and Idimus’ high-level enforcer,” As best she could, she faced the younger mage.
“Has he…was he born like that?”
Elryia shook her head; “Remember I told you about Perticus?” When she saw the quick nod out of the corner of her eye she continued, “Drogan is his creation.”
“Creation?”
“Perticus is a black wizard by trade. Although he dabbles in dark arts and alchemy, his real talent is a magick of another kind: melding one thing with another: plants, animals, humans, even elves. Perticus has bonded them all together at one time or another. Though he’s only been successful, so far, with two humans: Drogan and Rhimaldez.” Jeralyle only quirked, but it was enough that Elryia noticed it. “Much like Drogan is fused with a bull and took on some of its characteristics, Rhimaldez was fused with a ram. He has white fur that covers his entire human body, a long mouth and thin eyes. Huge round horns atop his head.”
Jer’s face turned as he tried to picture it, still in awe of Drogan. Elryia saw his distaste and debated going further, but deep down she knew that it was better that he was prepared for these things. “There’s more. Perticus has only been successful with those two, but he’s had better luck with others, and created them more abundantly. We imagine it’s because creatures he’s made were so similar, drawing from the same lineage.”
“Such as…?”
“Ever seen a Trolltagh?” and the Mage quickly shook his head. “That’s a good thing. You would never get that face from your memory. They’re large creatures with flat noses, green oily skin, yellow eyes, and rotting teeth. They’re the product of ogres—with their strength, size—and the cruel nature of trolls. Idimus uses them mainly as bullies and brutes as they’re quick to clear out any town, but they don’t tend to follow orders well—or even understand them. There aren’t many. No one has seen them for years, though I can’t imagine why. They’re very hard to kill, and quite aggressive.”
Despite his stomach lurching, he persuaded her on. He was, in his own way, planning for what was ahead, “Anything else?”
Elryia tried to look back again, “As I imagine we are going to the castle rather than being led off to our deaths, you’re probably going to see what are known as Kremises.”
A quirk.
“Monkey-like creatures with slender bodies and golden fur, sharp teeth and stout noses. They usually chatter and squeal, but I have yet to come across one that actually talks.”
“Those, I have actually seen…” Jeralyle said, thinking back to when he was younger. “When I was a teenager, playing outside the village I grew up in, Quiv. I saw it staring at me from the forest, just as you described it. I thought at first that it was a monkey, but then it stood like a man and disappeared into the trees.”
Elryia chuckled slightly, “Which is usually where they escape to; being bred of elves and monkeys, both of whom those surroundings. They are quick and agile, making excellent hunters,” and she laughed again, “but they don’t tend to return once they are let out into the forest. So generally, they are kept inside the castle.”
Jeralyle wondered if there was more, all the while he grew curious of something else, “How do you know all of this?”
Elryia’s first reaction was to tell him that Graham knew, but she held her tongue. Her mind instantly clicked on him and while she saw despair on the faces of her friends, a very strong glimmer of hope echoed. Her only concern was Graham may discover their absence too late.
So enamored, she nearly forgot Jeralyle’s question. “El?”
Elryia coughed nervously and faced forward. “I’ve done a lot of research. I wanted to know exactly what I was up against and who I would be facing before I started waging a war.”
“It sounds like a lot of work.”
She smiled again, “You have no idea, but it’s best to be prepared. No surprises.” At least…she hoped.
In A Time Of Darkness Page 12