Kambor knew he had the advantage, and he decided to press it. “Oh, you don’t know. Kimala is not Gondolar’s child. She is yours.”
“Gondolar told me she lost the child I was forced into conceiving.”
“And you believed him? How did he explain the birth of Kimala?”
“She is elven. Stop telling lies!”
“A trick of magic while the child was still in the womb. Kimala is not as youthful as you were lead to believe. She is your daughter.”
Kambor changed into his human form. He said the words to make the spell to activate the containment chamber.
“I know why we are here. You chose By’temog because of the curse. If you trap me here, Sythril will patrol the streets, sealing me here for an eternity.”
Kambor was taken aback but recovered. “Look at this land, Veric. Magic has made it a hollow shell. I have to save this world. I have to get rid of wonton magic. Only those who may use it responsibly should have it. All of this could be over if you would join me.”
“I am not sure you understand who should use it and who shouldn’t. You are the Oracle. Surely you can look to the most prominent future as I have. When your army confronts the armies of the wielders, magic will do far more damage than it would have had you not began this crusade of yours. You have made things immeasurably worse. I will not join you. I must stop you at all costs.”
“Nothing will stop the war now. You are not looking far enough into the future, Veric. This war will eliminate a multitude of wielders, but the next one will wipe them all out. War is terrible, but in this case, it’s worth it.”
“Two wars! How many are you planning to kill?”
Kambor watched Veric near the chamber from behind a bookshelf. “When it comes to wielders . . .”—he leaped out and cast his spell, knocking Veric into the invisible cloud of dragon magic directly behind him—“ALL OF THEM!” Veric’s arms, his daggers still in hand, crisscrossed his chest as the dragon magic darkened into a black flame suspending him in the trap.
Kambor strolled up to the suspended Veric. “I may not be able to kill a man with the soul of a god, but I can trap him where no one will ever find him. Enjoy your eternity. I have foreseen it. This city with crumble and decay all around you and one day bury you beneath it. No one will ever find you.” He took out a Lora Daine and was gone in an instant. The library went dark.
Kambor left the library to find Jot and Aela waiting for him. “It is done. But in the course of the fight, I saw a new vision. We will fight this War of the Oracle, but we will not finish it. We will let the filthy wielders destroy the land and themselves, and we will let them believe we are defeated and retreat underground. Come, we must build the Temple of the Oracle in central Symboria. That is where the war will take place.”
“But, my lord, why will we not defeat them now instead?” Jot asked.
“Because by destroying the land, they will destroy themselves. When the land regenerates its power centuries later, I will be waiting there to seize it. What wielders remain after all the seasons will face me again, but I will be greater than ever. That will be the end of the wonton use of magic and the end of the wielders! Dragons and dragon knights will be the only manipulators of magic from that point on, as it should be, always.”
“Wait. Why doesn’t Morgoran and the others know these things?” Dorenn said as he woke again.
“They do know some of it. Remember, Morgoran was Morgoran Cleareyes, cursed himself. He tried to warn people, but through his prophecies. Although the scribes have managed to record most of them, many of them were not taken seriously. Toborne wouldn’t have known, nor would Ianthill. Some of it they have put together after the War of the Oracle, but not all of it, and they would be tight-lipped about this sort of thing until they were certain of the truth, wouldn’t you think?”
“I suppose so.”
“Don’t dwell on who knows what so much. What your mentors do know is enough, and now you can fill in the rest.”
“They won’t listen to me.”
“You make them listen!” Oria’s voice made Dorenn sit back again. “Fawlsbane Vex is not showing Morgoran or Ianthill the truth; he is showing you!” She got up and went to the kitchen and began to pump some more water.
“That’s all? I thought we were going to be in that vision for quite a while,” Dorenn said.
“Get ready for supper. I have one more session to take you to and you will be sent home, and not soon enough. I am as tired of this now as you are.”
“Gladly!” Dorenn said.
“The next vision will be a bit different. It will be the disjointed thoughts and interpretations of Veric and Aedreagnon as Fawlsbane Vex sees them. You will have to pay close attention.”
Part 4: The Madness of Aedreagnon
Chapter 10: The Sands of Time
A dry, cold breeze seeped through the halls of the great library in By’temog, Ishrak, but Veric Namear could not feel it. He could perceive the faintest hint of a magical essence surrounding the library, though—a slight taint of dragon magic. His body immobilized, he reached out with his mind, trying to alert Sylvalora of his presence or maybe even his daughter, Sheyna, but he had no luck. As time passed unfathomed, he began to reach out to anyone who might understand his plight. The burning soul of Aedreagnon tugged at him, and he tried to fight it, but after a while he became more desperate and he let the mad god to the surface. A duality formed in his mind between the voice of the god and Veric himself. Kambor had made sure that no one but ghosts would remain within any kind of reach of his mind or body; even Aedreagnon could not muster the strength to touch another soul. Over time, however, the two began to work together and reach out into the darkness.
Without the perception of time or distance, the moment did come when contact was made. Someone devoted to Aedreagnon had made the connection possible through diligence and determination. Both Veric and Aedreagnon tried to take the lead and control the mind of the devoted. Even after Veric felt the taint he had unleashed on the world overtake the devoted and eventually kill him, he managed to force the acolyte to contain his essence in a vessel so that he would not lose the precious hold on life that slipped from his body.
Aedreagnon began to dream the future, and Veric was shown what he had done to the acolyte so far away from the isolation of the library in By’temog. His new, accidental creation had destroyed the village around him and become little better than General Sythril, the ghostly shell of a man who prowled the dead streets now surrounding him.
It was the realization that the acolyte would not be able to travel to his location and free him that prompted him to allow Aedreagnon to look into the future for the right place and time to entice the right person with the task of finding Aedreagnon. Veric would not interfere with the god if another suitable acolyte ever re-appeared. And so he waited, forced to relive his most horrid mistake . . .
“Daethel! Daethel Rast, get over here and bring the candles with you. Our mistress demands our sacraments be performed precisely.”
“Forgive me, High Priest Brinlan. Here are the candles.” Daethel handed the candles to the man before him dressed in white robes trimmed in gold. The high priest of Loracia, the head of the temple, had always been kind to Daethel, a poor orphan from the mean streets of the village of Fariq in the kingdom of Darovan. He took him in and clothed and fed him.
“Good, thank you, Daethel. That will be all for today. You may continue your studies in your bedchamber.”
“Thank you, High Priest,” Daethel said. He hurried through the temple and out into the courtyard and to the village where the sun warmed the summer grass of the village square. Fariq was an arid village located over a vast underground lake just east of the Vashian Desert. Technically, Fariq was part of the Obsidian Steppes, not quite as hot and harsh as the desert, but still hot and arid enough. Fariq and the western half of the Obsidian Steppes through the city of Shezuris and onward to the ocean was sometimes called the Great Plains of Darovan. To the no
rth of Fariq were the great mountains and to the south were forests and even jungles at the southernmost reaches of the continent.
Daethel stopped briefly at the fish market to purchase dried fish, fish sauce, and wine, his favorite meal, before heading home. He was lucky the Saleed inlet, just south of the city of Saleed, insured Fariq would always be well-supplied with fish and seafood from the ocean. He was equally lucky, he thought, that the valleys and mountainous regions up north were ideal for wine production.
His bedchambers in the dormitories of the monks near the temple grounds was a modest room with a small bed, counter space he used as a kitchen, and sparse furniture. The aqueduct high above the village supplied a steady stream of water to each room. A simple turn of the spigot at his private sink and the water flowed. The indoor public bath and even the sewer works outside the dorms worked similarly. All and all, Daethel felt very lucky indeed to live in such a wondrous and modern place.
However, he did keep one secret, a secret that may get him expelled from the Temple of Loracia if anyone ever discovered it. He wore the robes and practiced the rights of the clerics of Loracia, but he secretly prayed to his god, Aedreagnon, instead. Every prayer his superiors thought he prayed to the goddess was really, secretly aimed at Aedreagnon. His mother, before she passed away, leaving him an orphan, taught him to worship her god. He would honor her and never deviate to worship any other, even if he had to deceive to do so. He kept an amulet dedicated to Aedreagnon that his mother had given him.
Daethel ate his supper and then hastily prepared his prayers. Of late, he thought he could hear the voice of Aedreagnon try to speak to him. At first, it was just a feeling, but then it became a voice in his head, beckoning to him. There were no priests of Aedreagnon to speak to, and he certainly couldn’t speak about it to the priests of Loracia, so he tried each night to pray harder so his god could get through to him. He thought that perhaps the strength of his faith might have had something to do with it. It was his hope that this night might be the night.
Fitful dreams weaved their ethereal tentacles through his mind as he slept. Daethel dreamed of a man with shiny daggers, an assassin, trapped with the god of his devotion, Aedreagnon. Daethel felt the struggle between the two, vying for his mind. He could hear them fighting and trying to communicate with him. They were trapped in Ishrak. Daethel couldn’t make head nor tails of it. How could they be joined?
The following morning, Daethel said his secret prayers to Aedreagnon and went to work with High Priest Brinlan as usual. Against his better judgment, he decided to ask Brinlan about the possibility of a god being trapped within another soul.
“Such things are not known to us, Daethel. They are better left to the philosophers of the world. I personally have never heard of such a thing. Our goddess, Loracia, would certainly never allow it,” Brinlan told him. “It’s best not to dwell on such things.”
Veric faded in and out of the ability to grasp the concept of time. His conscience continued to be tormented by what he did to Daethel Rast. Aedreagnon sometimes forced him to remember, forced him to look at what he had done . . .
Each night, Daethel encountered the one called Veric in his dreams and he worshipped his true god Aedreagnon when awake, and each day he worked in the office of the high priest of Brinlan. Daethel could feel the assassin trapped with his god becoming increasingly impatient. He wanted Daethel to run away and travel to Ishrak to free him. Soon, Daethel could no longer feel the presence of Aedreagnon and the dreams of Veric were becoming maddening. As time passed, Daethel felt his grip on reality slowly slipping from him. He was having trouble distinguishing between his dreams and his waking life.
An invisible force called Kymlie began to speak with him at night, saying it was a disciple of Veric and that it was there to take Daethel to his master across the sea in order to free him. Daethel fought off the influence of the unseen voice, but it eventually convinced him to leave. Brinlan would not allow him to go, and Kymlie convinced Daethel that he must kill the high priest to truly be free of him. Daethel only vaguely remembered murdering every monk in the monastery of Loracia. He laid in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, covered in the sticky, crusted blood of his fellow monks. He could still hear them; they were somehow still alive. Veric had also taught him, rather at the last minute, how to contain his life essence in an amulet of Loracia that High Priest Brinlan had given him. He stayed in his bedchamber until he too passed from the world and was re-awakened by some other-worldly life force. Veric had been right. He could live forever! Daethel also began to do what came natural. He converted the entire village of Fariq into the same existences as he did his fellow monks. Anyone who ventured into Fariq would join them!
Veric, inside Daethel’s decaying mind, forced him to leave his amulet in view of some new intruders from a faraway land who had ventured to Fariq by accident. Daethel wanted to convert them, but Veric refused to let him. It seemed Veric recognized one of the intruders as someone called Sheyna, and Daethel was not to harm her for any reason. However, the one called Rikard must find the amulet of Loracia and take it. Daethel waited for the boy to enter a dwelling alone, and then he appeared from the shadows. The one called Rikard was frozen in a moment as Daethel placed the amulet for him to find. The boy took the amulet, and Daethel let him go as instructed.
The peoples surrounding Fariq called Daethel Na’Ne’Den, or ghost of ghosts. Now he saw that the one called Rikard would be called Naneden in the future, and it somehow upset him. He wanted the boy to die. He sloughed off the influence of Veric and Aedreagnon. He would not let this new acolyte take his place. He was devoted to Veric and Aedreagnon. He would pursue the boy and take back his amulet!
As a veil of darkness tainted his soul, Daethel felt the cold confinement in which Rikard had managed to trap him in forever, close over him. The boy had the ability to manipulate the essence of all life, something Daethel could not do without the powers of the unlife. It was no wonder his masters had wanted Rikard instead of him. The boy had a tricky, powerful, magical mind.
Time passed . . .
Daethel opened his eyes to see that he had become the possession of the leader of Darovan, the Great Pryus. This was his chance! He would take the soul of the Great Pryus and all the souls of the Darovan capital city of Shezuris. He would corrupt them all!
More time passed . . .
Daethel first felt the pull of Rikard, now called Naneden, after he had taken the whole of the Darovan capital. Naneden told him that he could now fulfill his destiny and travel to the Sacred Land where he would meet Veric and Aedreagnon and be freed. Daethel complied. He began to command the unlife to filter out of the city into ships to travel to Naneden’s aid. He would go there as Veric had commanded him so long ago. He would go there to be freed.
Veric’s suspended body in the library twitched at the words Aedreagnon forced him to listen to over and over: “He married Sheyna. You made him the atrocity, and he is forever linked to your daughter. Naneden is married to Sheyna!” Aedreagnon said tormentingly. “And he will forever corrupt Kimala, your other daughter, and make her into an abomination! Your impatience and your creation has destroyed your family!”
“No! I will break free of this one day. One day I will break free and I will purge you from my soul! One day I will redeem myself and I will save Kimala and Sheyna!”
“No.” The mad god began to cackle. “You won’t!”
Chapter 11: Awakened
Veric felt the surge of life course through his body. He had no sense of time or space, and he could not open his eyes. The dark god wrapped around his soul also stirred to life. He knew instinctively that he could still control the darkness of Aedreagnon within him. His hazy memories became sharper as he awakened. He could see Kambor in his mind’s eye, trapping him in the black flames of the dragon magic. How long have I slept? he thought. Suddenly, and almost deafeningly, his ears picked up a voice. He could also feel her now; Sheyna was close by. A pang of excitement and regret stirred th
rough his being. Had her presence awakened him?
“What is it, Dorenn?” Veric recognized the voice of Morgoran.
“Who could this be and why is he trapped in a dragon-protected library?” Dorenn asked. When no one answered his question or said anything, Dorenn looked back to see Lady Shey wiping away tears and Morgoran with his hand on her shoulder. Ianthill took a deep, sympathetic breath.
Shey wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and sniffed. “His name is Veric Namear. He is my father.”
Veric felt her sadness coupled with a sense of relief.
“Oh, didn’t you say you were orphaned?” Dorenn asked.
Veric’s open eyes began to see light, and then he could make out the figures before him.
Lady Shey sniffed again, and Morgoran handed her a handkerchief to wipe her nose. “I was left by my parents as a child, it’s true. I didn’t lie. I was unaware of my parents until I was at least fourteen seasons. I was a child of the streets of Old Symbor.” She broke her sadness with a quick snicker. “We really should have that talk soon.”
“Aye, we should,” Dorenn agreed. He examined the black flames. “What is this?”
“A form of blackfire,” Morgoran answered. “Don’t touch it!” Dorenn drew back his hand. “I should think it’s a dragon magic version. Instead of doing damage, it appears to preserve.”
“I don’t mean to be indelicate, but didn’t you wonder where your father had gone all these seasons? I presume you have met him before, haven’t you?” Dorenn asked.
Veric felt anger at the boy’s question. Who is this impetuous child? he thought.
Shey looked at Morgoran. He held up his hands. “It’s up to you. You can tell him now or later; I don’t think it will matter much either way. He needs to know the truth sometime.”
Battlefield of the Sacred Land Page 8