Oran held the older Warlock’s gaze, having heard his criticism, surmising he had not changed since their last encounter—nor had he any wish to recall it.
Tuan’s thick, straight, grey hair rested on his shoulders, its colour almost in contrast with the long, burnished silver tunic he wore. Made of fine, Muga silk, the luxuriously pleated, long-sleeved garment fell to the floor, covering his feet. And beside him, two other figures stood, regarding Oran with apprehension, sensing his inner resistance.
All three wore the same fine clothing, save for the elaborate silk black belts about their waist, on which their individual nomen was embroidered, in gold thread, displaying their place within their council. And on their person, in full view, hung the same precious item Oran concealed beneath his shirt. Seeing them now, he could not help but notice the pale, yellow stone, glowing within their centres.
Five Warlocks made up the Elliyan—each a ruler of their given Realm. Oran observed them in turn. As with Tuan—Lothian, the ruler of the Southern Realm of Ockram—shared his title of, Great Warlock. Both were of similar age, give or take a century. Tuan, who had served alongside the Magus, presided over the Realm of Saó, declaring himself the role of Advocate.
Slight in frame, Lothian was quiet—paling in comparison to his collaborator. His lined, oval face still held its warmth and colour. His eyes sparkled like Amethyst. Where Oran had always seen kindness in them, there were those who considered it a “Warlocks’ weakness”. Unlike Tuan, Lothian’s fine, white hair was kept tight, preparing for the day when it would finally lose its battle against time, and disappear. Tuan, however, lacked Lothian’s gentleness; it was obvious in his features—his long, pale face displaying a hardness, devoid of compassion. Despite his seniority, he matched Oran’s height, and though lacking in physique, Tuan’s powers were far superior to that of the younger, High Warlock’s.
Standing alongside the Great Warlocks, the small features of Greer—High Warlock of the Western Realm of Kah-luan—kept his eyes firmly on Oran. Lacking in height, his broad, but compact frame showed strength and prowess. Dark-brown facial hair crowded his great round face, making up for the lack of it on his crown. A distinct, gold band—inlaid with sapphires, matching his intense blue eyes—rested on his head. The display of personal vanity irked Tuan and, despite several disputes, Greer simply chose to ignore his superior’s distaste for it.
Quiet and secretive in his demeanour, Greer excelled in the knowledge of things unknown to the Elliyan, refusing to share his gift of insight, unless the circumstances were exceptional. Although his powers did not match that of his two elders, it was, however, the one advantage he held over them—and none more so than Tuan, who realised its importance, especially during challenging times.
Oran had rarely held much conversation with Greer in the past, his fellow High Warlock choosing only to speak when there was something worthy to discuss, and, at times, keeping to himself—for reasons unknown. Yet, when in his company, Oran noticed Greer’s intake of all that occurred around him. It showed in his eyes; they danced with excitement, absorbing all he needed to know, keeping it locked inside his learned mind.
Knowing he was under deep scrutiny, Oran kept his wits about him; after all, he had been detached from the Elliyan for far too long, choosing to lock away—in the vaults of his mind—the thoughts and memories of their history. But now he would have to turn the key and unleash them, to answer to his council. His mind raced in desperation.
‘We have spent some time waiting for you,’ said Tuan, maintaining his poise.
‘I lost my way,’ Oran replied sharply.
A faint curl appeared on the corner of Greer’s mouth. This will be interesting, he thought, reminded of Oran’s wit and stubbornness.
‘Where is this place?’ said Oran, letting his eyes wander about the Great Hall.
Tuan frowned. ‘I am disappointed in you, Lord Oran.’
‘In what way… Lord Tuan?’
‘That you should not recognise a vital part of the very Realm that is yours.’
Oran glanced round once more. Nothing came to mind; he had never been to such a place before, making him suspect the Great Warlock was playing with his thoughts.
‘This…’ Oran stated, with certainty. ‘Is not Urquille.’
‘See it as you may,’ Tuan persisted, acknowledging the Hall with his hands. ‘But I assure you of its place in our world; each Realm has its own “Elboru”, secretly waiting, hoping theirs will be the chosen one, to house its Magus. Surely you knew that.’ Tuan hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘Or perhaps… chose not to.’
The one thing Oran had dreaded, and hoped to avoid, now stared him in the face. Inside, he was panicking. Deny everything! While, on the outside, he casually shook his head, his cool exterior, feigning any knowledge.
‘This…’ Tuan sighed, rolling his eyes. ‘Is your “Elboru”, Lord Oran.’
Oran grunted, sneering at his elder. ‘Mine?’
‘Or perhaps you failed to notice its existence, while otherwise… pre-occupied.’
‘Impossible!’ cried Oran.
‘And why would you think that?’
Tuan’s smug approach began to grate on Oran’s mood. ‘Why do you taunt me?’
‘The time we live in has become unsettling, to say the least,’ Tuan replied, his jeering tone gradually altering to one of seriousness. ‘Do you think, for one moment, I would waste any of it mocking you? Do you not know the reason why we have come to this place? The reason why we have resided here for years… waiting? When we speak of “time”, Lord Oran, we refer to the day your son was born. Or have you forgotten?’
All eyes stayed fixed on Oran’s vacant face, as Tuan regarded the High Warlock’s lack of response, through his cold, rigid calmness.
Deny everything! With shame in his heart, Oran kept his stance before replying: ‘I have no son,’ he lied, instantly feeling the stab of regret in his own words.
Lothian and Greer shared a worrying glance between them.
‘Lord Oran, to deny your son, knowing his fate, is enough to ban you from the Five Realms.’
Tuan’s words spewed hate and disgust at the High Warlock’s renounce of his son. Closing his eyes, Tuan raised his hands, hell-bent on teaching the reluctant Warlock a lesson.
‘No—wait!’ cried Oran, in defence, feeling the swell of immense heat being inflicted on
him, deep inside.
Tuan hesitated, opening his eyes.
‘How did you—’
‘Know he was yours?’ Tuan retorted, taking a menacing step towards him. His penetrating eyes glared at the High Warlock with intensity, forcing him to recoil. ‘We have known for some time.’
Oran shook his head in denial.
Tuan raised himself to full height, standing tall, as a reminder to all present of his reigning authority. ‘Your son is a fine young man,’ he stated. ‘You have taught him well. The girl too… considering she is not yours.’
Oran glared at Tuan as the Great Warlock proceeded to give a detailed description of the life he had led, including that of his family. He had always been thorough, as regards to their safety, especially his son’s. It was the reason he had moved them to the quiet, and well-hidden village of Balloch, after discovering the child’s fate. If suspicion had been aroused among the locals, he would have known it. But as more unfolded, Oran was left speechless, hearing the detailed descriptions of the life he had been leading, away from the Elliyan—some, even too much to bear.
Silence took hold of the Great Hall as Oran struggled to absorb what was being relayed. Feeling violated by their deceit, his face turned dusky-red, his eyes flaring as anger soared inside him.
‘You had no right!’
‘We had every right,’ Tuan retorted. ‘And still maintain it! Our future now depends on him.’
The weight of defeat began taking its toll on Oran, as he felt his peaceful life slip away, into the clutches of the Elliyan, reminding himself, his own powers and strengt
h did not match theirs. It was no secret his skill in weaponry far surpassed his superiors, but against the force of their might, he felt small and incapable—unable to protect his own. Now, in his mind, he saw the face of a young, innocent boy—not yet a man—and wondered how he would cope—how he would survive the immense task facing him in the coming years.
It was inevitable.
Suddenly Oran felt the huge debt of responsibility fall on his shoulders.
Sensing his pain, Lothian stepped forward. ‘We have been watching you from a safe and protective distance,’ he began, his soft, assuring voice inviting Oran’s attention. The elderly, Great Warlock smiled kindly at him. ‘He makes fine progress. It is clear to see where his gift of swordsmanship transpired.’
And more superior, Greer nodded in silent agreement.
Oran managed a smile, silently accepting the rare compliment. ‘Forgive me, Lord Tuan,’ he implored, bowing his head. ‘You must understand… he is my only son. I don’t wish this burden to be placed on him. True—I confess to knowing his fate when he was born into their world. Therefore, I chose to conceal him, as best I could, from ours. It was my duty to protect my child. I could not abandon him’—he hesitated, maintaining his stare— ‘nor will I.’
Tuan looked at Oran, bemused by his honourable plea. ‘Quite noble, Lord Oran,’ he replied, with a contemptuous smile. ‘Quite noble of you, indeed, but… have you not already abandoned him? And your… daughter? As for your beautiful wife, Rosalyn—’
‘How dare you!’ cried Oran, feeling his blood rise again. Tuan’s words had reeked of menace. ‘You should be mindful of your false accusations.’
‘Or you shall do what?’ said Tuan.
‘I would never abandon my family!’
‘Your memory is short, Lord Oran. History has a way of repeating itself or… has that also slipped your mind?’
Oran opened his mouth to protest, only to be cast down by his elder.
‘Apart from your wife… do your children know where you are, or how long you will be away from them?’
His eyes narrowed at the looming threat in Tuan’s latter question. Fear slowly gripped him as he surmised the truth behind it.
‘If they do not feel abandoned by you now,’ he persisted, ‘I should imagine, in time, they will, and perhaps… even think you… dead! They will simply move on with their lives… for the short time they have left.’
Oran lost all sense of decorum as rage took its form, his face hardening as he clenched his fists. No one, not even the Elliyan, would threaten his family. Without thought, he lunged at the Great Warlock. Pre-empting the attack, Tuan raised his shield, sneering at the High Warlock’s weak attempt.
Feeling the force of his elder’s powers, Oran dropped to the hard floor—the shattering impact forcing him to cry out.
‘What is the purpose of punishing one of our own?’ said Lothian, turning to his peer. ‘It achieves nothing but contempt. Surely, Lord Tuan, you should know that.’
‘We cannot dwell on what is done,’ said Greer, intervening. ‘It is time we proceed.’
Tuan remained staunch as he watched Lothian guide Oran to his feet. It was evident he held no pity for the High Warlock.
‘You have no choice but to face reality, and your fears, Lord Oran,’ he said. ‘It is because of your selfishness that too much time has been wasted. Had you accepted the boy’s fate from the beginning, by offering him to us—’
‘Like a lamb to the slaughter?’ Oran returned, through gritted teeth.
Tuan breathed deeply, composing himself. He despised being cut short. ‘If you had brought the child to us, in the first place, he would be well prepared, and more accepting of his vital role. But most important… he would be mindful, and in more control of the Shenn.’
The Great Warlock’s words resonated with Oran; there was truth in them. Despite his reluctance to accept it, he knew his elder was right. He had failed his son. Oran now realised the enormity of his grave mistake.
I’ve sentenced the boy, he secretly admitted, before he even begins to truly imagine the normal life he will never experience.
A sudden thought entered his mind. Oran raised his head, contemplating Tuan’s words. No—he was not ready to give up his son… not without a fight.
Intent on returning the blame, Oran’s confidence gradually crept back. He paced back and forth before the three Warlocks, aware of their eyes watching him, then stopped abruptly, returning his attention to Tuan.
Time to call your bluff, my friend, he thought, regarding his elder with curious eyes. ‘If this is so… my Lord,’ he said, with an air of arrogance, ‘why then, did you not come for the boy? Have you not failed in your duty?’
Tuan’s eyes slid from the High Warlock’s taunt. Choosing to remain silent, he felt the penetrating stare of Lothian and Greer, as they waited with interest, to see what he would say. Lothian caught his eye.
‘It was agreed we would not interfere,’ Tuan falsely admitted.
Oran felt compelled to mock him further but changed his mind. The distaste of Tuan’s inability to admit the truth, was visible on his hardened face: they simply could not take the child. He knew it… and so did they. No—the boy had to be given up.
‘Had those words come from another,’ Oran replied, ‘I may have believed them, and yet I have difficulty in understanding your conviction.’
‘Then I shall explain.’
Oran casually folded his arms, irritating the Great Warlock further.
Tuan’s stale features glared at his smug display of self-satisfaction. ‘After the death of our previous Overlord,’ he commenced, ‘peace prevailed, and continued to do so. And, as you are aware, it was for this reason we granted your leave of us, until such time you would be called upon. Was that not the agreement, Lord Oran?’ Faced with the High Warlock’s wall of silence, he continued. ‘I, however, had my suspicions. Therefore, I had the Servitor keep a keen eye on your… antics.’
Oran’s mouth fell. ‘You had those traitors spy on me?’
‘They are willing and loyal to us,’ said Tuan, defending them.
‘They are nothing but traitors to their kind!’ Oran blurted. ‘And as for the one you sent—’
‘Far from it, Lord Oran. I simply had someone…watch over you. And I must admit,’ Tuan added, smirking, ‘you certainly took great advantage of the spoils of mortality.’
Images of his hedonistic lifestyle, linking him to several promiscuous rendezvous, came back to humiliate him in his present company. Oran diverted his eyes, embarrassed.
‘Do not be ashamed, Lord Oran. You were not committed to another. Why deny you those pleasures?’
‘Those times had long passed when I married,’ said Oran, reminding them of another life he had led.
‘Indeed,’ said Lothian, feeling sympathy for the High Warlock. ‘But then we knew nothing of your whereabouts, after… Sahraya and Raya’s deaths.’
The pain of hearing their names stabbed his heart in a brief moment of grief; he had not heard them in more than a century and a half. Oran closed his eyes, recalling the young, warm-hearted, beautiful woman from the Southern Realm of Ockram. With eyes the colour of onyx, and hair as black as ebony, his wife’s sienna skin had reminded him of the desert home he had taken her from. Sahraya would have travelled to the end of time for him.
Four years were all they had shared as husband and wife. Both she and Raya—their two- year-old daughter—were cruelly taken from him by the ocean, when they travelled to be with him, rather than be parted, during his campaigns, which had kept him from their home for long periods of time. An air of suspicion arose, revolving around the unexpected deaths. However, as time passed, any notion of foul play was dismissed, due to lack of evidence—the final outcome deemed as a Freak of Nature. Oran’s despair after their loss, sent him to the deepest, unimaginable desolation, making him forget all sense of reality.
‘Grief has its way of taking hold, if one should let it,’ he muttered.
‘As you chose to,’ Tuan remarked, lacking sympathy.
Oran cast a deceitful glance at his elder. ‘And, in my choosing, I gladly removed my amulet, sealing it away from the outside world,’ he confessed, with satisfaction, observing the glare of dishonour shadowing Tuan’s face. ‘I detached it from all I knew, blocking its connection to me. However, its persistence in refusing to separate from its master was daunting. And so, I placed it where no light of day could find it, until all memory of it melted away with time.’
Oran looked from one to the next, imagining their dissatisfaction. While Tuan continued to stare down his nose at him, with disgust, he detected signs of understanding and sympathy from
Lothian, while Greer’s piercing blue eyes were distracted, appearing to show a lack of interest in his peers’ admission.
‘I was happy to be rid of it,’ Oran continued, grinding on Tuan’s aggravation. ‘I wanted to forget its existence!’
Tuan’s face twisted in rage at Oran’s rejection of his amulet. ‘How could you forget the bond it shares with you?!’ he roared, eventually giving in to his fury. His eyes burned with hate as passionate, pulsating veins of anger appeared on his forehead.
Oran’s eyes glided towards the Great Warlock. ‘Do not underestimate the ill effects of one consumed by anger and grief, Lord Tuan,’ he said. ‘It is enduring.’
‘I have no care for—’
‘Do you not see?!’ yelled Oran, interrupting him again. He dared to move closer, letting his voice carry throughout the great space surrounding them. ‘Am I not wearing it now?! See how it hangs from my neck! The constant reminder of the day my son was born, preys on my soul. Aye, I did forget it—until that day. It was then I chose to reveal its purpose to my wife, Rosalyn. Together, we decided it would remain hidden. It was a great risk—and one worth taking. I feared, during his first years, we would be sought out, and forced to give him up. Every day of his life was spent looking over our shoulders.’
‘You thought you had outsmarted it,’ Lothian stated, concealing his admiration for the High Warlock.
‘How did you find us in the end?’ Oran enquired.
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