They left. Only the blood and gore from Seline’s ordeal remained. Calvin took another bite of bread and thought about Malcor. Since seeing him dangling in the air at the Temple, he had heard nothing about his friend. Clearly, Mal had joined an Order but not one that studied with this group. He made a note to find Malcor as soon as time allowed.
After they left, the instructor gave them a break. Calvin waited till most had left and asked the instructor, "I wish to be chosen for whatever comes next."
The old man grinned at Calvin. "After seeing that, you want to sign up huh? Let me give you some advice." He looked at Calvin squarely and continued, "Your mentor has a reputation for being harsh, but those who survive not just the Rites but him too, they do very well. Tell me, do you know of the River?"
Calvin shook his head, "No, but I have heard of it. I came here with a friend who talked about it sometimes with a priestess. It's the flow of magic. At least, I think it is."
"It is the course of created energy and matter flowing through our world to destruction and chaos and inert oblivion. While it is magic, and you are correct there, it is specifically Time that is flowing. If you can access the River, bend it to your will, harness it, you'll do very well."
"My friend, when he fought, he moved so fast I could barely see him. It was like a blur. Is that what you mean?"
"Your friend. Who is he?"
"Malcor of Klenna."
Calvin saw his words have an effect on the instructor. "Ah, so you came here with Malcor. I see. Come, sit. Relax. Let me tell you something Calvin." As Calvin sat down, the instructor took a long drink of water and encouraged Calvin to do the same. "Once in a generation, Prebirth Destiny creates a prodigy. This is your friend. I served with one of these in Bloodstone. They have a gift for combat, revelation, or something else. It is hard to know them, to see them operate on such a different level. You will be tried with envy. As a paladin, I urge you to never ever judge yourself by Malcor."
Calvin realized that the instructor knew Malcor. "You know him? Already? We've barely been here a few weeks. Tell me. I've been hoping to see him here."
"Your friend has already passed the first and is well on his way to the second rite. He currently serves the Empire in a mission of great importance. There are rumors he might even one day rule here."
Calvin's mouth gaped open. "How is that possible?" he whispered. "He was just a blacksmith's apprentice."
"No Calvin, not just a blacksmith. Remember, prebirth destiny. Remember, we each have a role to play in the Queen's grand design."
"What is my role then?" Calvin asked but other students had started coming back and the instructor left to speak with them. "Tell me," he called out to the instructor, "how many hours did Malcor survive in the first rite?"
Looking back over his shoulder, Calvin could barely hear now but distinctly saw the man's mouth form the word "days".
Chapter Thirty Two - Lich Takes in Sumo
The lich forced his face into a smile and sipped the rice wine, or sake, that these humans kept offering him. A priest of some kind in elaborate and brightly colored robes officiated a wrestling match between two huge men. The objective looked clear enough. Whoever pushed the other out of the circle of salt or knocked the other to the ground won. The leader of these strange people, the daimo, sat next to the lich, wary guards nearby on high alert.
Everywhere he looked, other members of these people looked at the lich and then looked away quickly when they felt the lich might be regarding them. Apparent to all, the wrestlers followed some kind of a ceremony for purification, cleansing through combat, and blessings to the community through honorable victory. They had a glow to them, something of the divine but the lich saw it as a forced form of magic. He smirked.
Maybe noting a change in his demeanor, the daimo asked, “Do you have any questions about the tournament?”
The lich shook his head, enjoying how his silence caused discomfort to the daimo and his guards. Instead he retorted, “Will you be endorsing any of the parties attempting to reclaim your generous tribute?”
The daimo blinked feeling off guard and forced a laugh in his reply. “We have seen the groups and several have asked for help. I have not yet decided to risk ourselves in a cause like this. Rather, I hope you will reconsider your position and move south. If territory is what you wish, most of this large island is wild. Or end this conflict. You clearly do not need treasure, or even my people. Ori is the only – “
“You labor under a false assumption. You do not know what I want.”
The daimo bowed and returned his gaze to the sumo tournament. The lower level initiates had finished and the larger and more veteran warriors performed their warm up ritual. “These paladins have each endured combat and trials for the Great God Imperius and have mastered basic tenets of our faith. This tournament is like a prayer to Imperius.”
The lich watched the warm up and withdrew a scroll from his robes. He opened it and then passed it to the daimo, through the hands of an over-eager monk who inspected it first. “This is a list of the names of those who have organized parties and responded to my challenge.”
The daimo reviewed the list and the lich asked, “Do you notice anything about these names?”
“Only two of these are known to me…”
“That is correct. Neither you nor your people take my challenge seriously. Tell me Lord of Ori. How long will you be able to continue purchasing this cease fire? Rather, how long do you think I will be content to take your wealth before I take what I really want?” The daimo stared at him, unsure of a correct answer or intentionally choosing silence. The lich stared at him and when the daimo missed a signal from the priest, everyone turned to watch the two of them staring at each other. The lich felt a ripple in the fabric of chaos all around him and sensed the daimo’s gaze represented some kind of a challenge.
Intrigued, the lich called his vampire servant Shiniba to mind and telepathically asked, “What is this that is happening?”
The daimo is gauging your will in a spiritual way. It is part of this people’s tradition that through the eyes, the true mettle of a warrior can be seen. If you watch, the sumo do it as part of their face off just before the fight begins.
The lich continued his gaze with the daimo but felt no challenge at all. He smiled at the daimo, never breaking the gaze and for just a moment, the lich opened his soul to the primal chaos that rages through any of the eldar. The daimo flinched when that raging storm hit him but maintained his gaze. How interesting, the lich thought. He let the chaos bring forth images of the eldar world, the time when there were no gods, or at least the time before the gods knew they were divine. Sweat beaded on the daimo’s head and in the entire arena, no one made a sound. The lich felt several of the priests lend strength to their daimo but it hardly registered.
“You see my world Lord of Ori. There is no Imperius in it. I have made a decision,” the lich said holding the daimo and those now lending the lord their strength in the challenge of wills. “You do not take my challenge seriously. As such, I am going to increase the stakes of the treasure.”
The daimo trembled feeling the gathering of terrible energy within the lich. Others felt it to and protective spells flooded the arena. Those nearest the daimo drew weapons. “I will take your soul, and the souls of any who attack me.”
A monk hurled himself in a flying kick at the lich. The kick slammed into the lich’s armor and jostled the lich. Hissing steam from the lich’s armor and the monk’s foot sizzled and crackled in the room. Then, like a branch in a hot fire, the monk’s foot and leg withered into dust, rushing away from the lich in a breeze of power. The blowing ash of the monk’s foot ate up into the monk’s leg and then a sharp katana cut the monk’s leg. The lich opened his hand at the monk and the samurai and a force explosion blew them backwards into the arena. Though one of the sumo caught the monk, the lich spoke an eldar word, “Yinta’ryx kor!”
Whiplash tore at the monk and all there bore wi
tness to the shattering of the arena’s sacred circle as the monk’s soul ripped free of its body and howled in agony into the lich’s hand. A second later and the daimo’s soul began tearing free. Priests, holy knights, mages, warriors and all others present rushed to the daimo’s aid… some by lending strength and power and some, like the daimo’s family, grabbing to his body and crying out for mercy.
Armor befitting paladins swirled in around the sumo who leapt and attacked. Their large size belying their fast charge to aid their lord. The lich seized control of time, the eldar’s most potent and dreadful power. Of all those present, the daimo, several priests, and a handful of warriors shifted themselves somehow and retained freedom of movement. All the rest froze into barely noticeable movement.
The lich turned his attention to those still resisting. “Yinta’ryx kor!” and the daimo’s soul swarmed into his hand. A samurai cried out for his lord and spun a dancing attack of razor cuts at the lich. Barely thinking, the lich deflected the attacks when a sumo berserked into him. The strange armor worn by these over-sized warriors stuck to him and the lich felt himself lifted and then slammed into the floor. The part of his mind that registered this affront filled with horrible energy. The lich breathed into the sumo’s face, which iced over. The cold-induced blindness did not stop the sumo from slamming the lich into the sword of eager samurai.
Somewhere, off to the side, a priest held forth a symbol of Imperius and screamed something about being banished. The feeling that came with the command felt annoying and the lich ripped that priest’s soul into his gauntlet. The samurai’s sword chunked into ice that then froze up along the blade towards the warrior’s hand. He let go and reached for another weapon. The scream of the priest’s soul as it passed through his form sent dread chills down his spine.
The samurai grabbed his short sword and summoned a shield, a bright flash of light caught his attention. In a blink, the blind sumo held only armor and the lich appeared on the other side of the room clad in sorcerous robes. Still unable to see, and apparently breathe, the samurai stabbed the ice near the sumo’s mouth and winced as ice tore flesh from his friend’s face. He had been correct though when he heard the sumo wrestler take deep bellows of air.
“Return our king!” the samurai firmly commanded the lich. A quick glance around the room showed that only he and the sumo remained standing though reinforcements would no doubt arrive any second. A second that would never come as frozen Time held everyone motionless.
The lich swirled his arm in the robe and brought up the strange gauntlet used for capturing souls. “I think, hmmmm, no. Organize your heroes and come take him.”
The samurai firmed his resolve and readied to attack again. As the samurai charged, the lich’s gauntlet flashed and then a cold icy hand grabbed the samurai from behind. The attack already started, the samurai swung around and tried to strike behind while calling on his god’s might for aid. “Too little, too late,” the lich hissed.
That icy hand snapped and cold seared through his neck. All was pain and then nothing. The samurai’s momentum carried his legs up and forward and then he fell back on his back. His vision bounced and swam but he felt nothing at all. Somewhere a fire burned and cast flickering lights all around. Then two pits of chaotic purple looked down at him. “I’m sure your fool god can mend that wound. My message – your lord and priest and three others are added to the spoils offered. However, if they are not recovered by the full moon, I will add them to my armies and renew my conquest of this land.”
The samurai tried to move to say anything but could not. Those eyes! He felt his body and will teeter on the edge of the abyss, and then he passed out.
Chapter Thirty Three - Countermeasures
Rojo entered the empty throne room and ordered maps, histories, and Tania’s generals to attend him. His battle priestess Dar Jeri, loyal and faithful to him since that first Bloodstone campaign years ago, noted the dark haunting in her lord’s eyes and saw how his hands trembled. “My Dar, how long has it been now?” Rojo sat at the base of the throne and leaned his head back, “Three, four days now. I think Jeri.” He met her concerned eyes and smirked. “Does it look that bad?”
She took his hand and let it rest on her own. “My Dar, to me it does.” She leaned back and smoothed her silver white hair. Her eyes betrayed the only other visible sign of her tremendous age. “We have been through too much together my lord. Please, let this wait…”
Rojo laughed, the sound hollow and exhausted even to him, “There is no time. Something strange moves in the south. Destiny calls us and the Queen will sustain me.” She handed him an herbal tea laced with calming herbs. It often removed the trembling in his hands. This time it barely worked and he asked for more to be prepared. “This foul-tasting drink and the Queen, day after day.”
A general and his aides entered from the far chamber and bowed, moving to take their place. Others began arriving and gave the king no special regard. Rojo often sat on the stone table at these meetings with his battle priestess nearby. Servants brought in the maps and books requested and arranged them before the throne. When all summoned had arrived, the greatest of the generals stepped forward, “My Dar, we are present as you requested. How may we serve Tania?”
Rojo cocked his knee up and rested his hand and tea there. “General D’Rath, do you feel Destiny calling us this glorious night?”
Shak D’Rath, Lord of the Griffin Riders, nodded. “My king, I felt something amiss several hours ago and came here anticipating your summons as did the others. It will come as no surprise to you that Daryx had sent a messenger as well. I have pondered this in my heart but cannot yet see the meaning.”
Rojo looked them over. The seven commanders of Tania, men and women, knights and professional soldiers, even some heroes of renown, and so far as he could tell not a single one of them resented him the position he held. “Very well. Let us begin. There is much to do tonight. The emperor has shared a vision with me. We will start with that. Then, we must discuss the situation in Ori. Lastly, the heretic dragons; we must set a plan for them.”
Rojo slammed his fist on the table and suddenly, all of them stood in the vision the dragon emperor had shown Rojo earlier. It played out… the small boy with the bundle, the high priestess, the attack, the titanic cloven hoof slamming into the valley of the city, the emperor’s howls of grief that so many of his children had died. As the final image faded, Rojo spoke, “I command that this be added to the Book of Generations, in the appropriate timeframe of the first Dar Priestess. You shall all bear witness that this revelation came to me, freely given by the emperor and confirmed by inspiration to each of you.”
They moved to the banks of the River, each of them taking on a younger-stronger aspect. The grizzled appearance and snow white hair so characteristic of General D’Rath became more colorful as red hair replaced white and his frame filled out with youthful vigor. The stone table remained, the River lapping up against it. Rojo, in this place, hurt to look at. His exhausted and grim demeanor became blindingly bright here like sunlight filtered through a prism. The somewhat lethargic anger of his voice here became a roaring cascade of confidence.
“My generals, we stand here to review Destiny.” His hand swept open the maps and a single tome fell open. The markings on the map and the open pages bore the insignia of the Darkhold, a fell book of the Abyss that recorded the mighty magics of all realms, no matter where they lie. Rojo opened the Darkhold. The left facing page had a lifelike drawing of a human sorcerer touched with a priestly affect but twisted by chaos and undeath. The image moved from side to side as if impatiently waiting. Rojo covered the writing on the other page with a blank piece of paper. To read the Darkhold gave it claim to the reader’s soul.
Each of them noted the familiar figure of the drawing on the page. “Bomoki,” Rojo spoke. “Destiny brings us another chance. The boy in the vision, the one with skull and brown robes, and the hellhound we saw. That was Bomoki, the first of the hounds. His page in the D
arkhold has updated. The reader noted, in usual Darkholden style, that Bomoki is undertaking a great quest to seize something called the “blood sceptre”, that he would be confronted by the unseen dragons, that he would triumph except for the “sleepless king” and the “rageful knight”.
“This prophecy notes certain conditions for Bomoki’s success, or our success. We do not know what the “blood sceptre” is. The “sleepless king” could be myself, but could also be any king in a state of sleeplessness, for example, the daimo of Ori; his soul was taken by the lich. It might also be my successor as of yet unaware that he is to be the next king. That disturbance we all felt earlier, that was the lich attacking the royal family. We suspect the “unseen dragons” are either humanshifted dragons or Tanians able to dragonshift –“
Dar Kell stepped out of the shadows twisting around them on the River’s banks and interrupted, “Or it could be the shadow dragons. I believe you planned to discuss them as well Rojo?"
Everyone startled and nodded to Dar Kell. The high priest walked up to the table and turned the Darkhold to a different page, “I have read this page. Cor’tanos. Patriarch of the Shadow Dragons.” His finger trailed the text and tapped towards a new inscription at the end. “I will have to consider this. The shadow dragons are noted as “dark wyrms” rather than “unseen” but there is a new reference here to the “blood sceptre”. I will study this more. Please forgive the intrusion and continue.” Kell stepped back from the table and watched.
Dar Rojo bowed and gestured for the generals to give Kell room. “This other reference to the “rageful knight” can only mean my successor referred to by the same term in that revelation. If the shadow dragons are somehow involved with the blood sceptre?” He leaned back and stretched. “So, if we get this sceptre first, or if we place the sleepless king and rageful knight in Bloodstone near the gate to thwart him, we win. A tactical victory continues the war, but I’d rather be skirmishing with the Jade God than waging outright war, as we saw in the emperor’s shared vision.”
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