Beyond the Sapphire Gate: Epic Fantasy-Some Magic Should Remain Untouched (The Flow of Power Book 1)

by R. V. Johnson

  Satisfied of his safety for the moment, Crystalyn searched for the others.

  Lore Rayna’s great size made her easy to spot. Positioned near the top of the left side hill, the big woman fired arrows into two ranks of Dark Users stationed behind the armored main force. The Users appeared to be attempting to create a shield as they died.

  One of Lore Rayna’s arrows broke apart on a smoky translucence inches from a black robe, disintegrating in midair. The next arrow dropped the Interrupter standing behind him. A third arrow sank into the black robe’s upper torso, her original target. Two out of every three thinned their numbers, but eventually she’d run out of arrows. Lore Rayna ignored the armored ones, picking off the robed ones, so that the shadowy translucence of the magical barrier was spotty, but it was growing rapidly.

  Cudgel stood below the big woman, battering a company of black-armored soldiers working their way up the hill. A pile of corpses ringed him. The two of them had likely garnered many of the Dark Users’ attention away from Hastel, for which she was grateful, yet fearful at the same time. Cudgel was tiring. He would soon be in big trouble. Hastel couldn’t reach him with his crossbow, even if he was an expert shot, which she doubted.

  Movement behind the User ranks caught Crystalyn’s eye. Lore Rayna was decimating the Dark Users’ with her long arrows and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. The bow infantry was mobilizing toward the main front lines. Crystalyn swallowed hard. Lore Rayna and Cudgel couldn’t withstand a contingent of arrows. She sent two of her wall symbols speeding to her companions. Stretching them to protect her friends while maintaining her own shield was taxing; she wasn’t certain how long they would last. Without the black candle, it wouldn’t have happened at all. Thrumming with a faint vibration, the candle began to feel warm in her hand.

  Her two largest companions safe from projectiles for the time being, Crystalyn looked for the oldest. The Lore Mother stood behind the wagon, Drumn unharnessed next to her.

  Beyond her, the protection dome of the couple holding hands had thinned to the point of bursting, shrinking to nearly the top of the woman’s long, auburn hair. The woman held one hand toward the dome’s peak while bending at both knees as if she could strengthen the collapse by sheer force of will.

  The Lore Mother’s eyes suddenly shone with a brighter luminance. A glowing bubble matching her eyes sprang up around her, moving outward. A moment later, the Lore Mother’s glowing dome encapsulated the thinning bubble surrounding the couple.

  Crystalyn staggered onward. The Dark Users’ attack progressed with thundering bursts, bombarding her roofed wall with abandon. The black candle vibrated, growing warmer in her hand.

  Hastel had five of the glass vial-tipped arrows lined on the bank near him as he poured a thick, brown liquid from a well-padded flask into a sixth. Cable already cranked back, he set the shorter, but thicker arrow in the crossbow’s channel. Deliberately, he raised the tip to the sky, aiming for the right side group of Dark Users, untouched as of yet.

  He pulled the trigger. Streaking toward the target, the arrow struck near the group’s center, detonating with a thunderous boom. Black smoke and red flames balled outward, burning trees and humans alike.

  Stunned, she looked away, toward the main force at the bowl’s exit. So much destruction on the hillside had to cause a reaction. A commotion broke out at the rear. Broth tore through the back row, flinging Users high in the air with his powerful jaws and massive neck. Surprise enabled the Warden to take down many, but they were seasoned soldiers. The rear lines immediately began to close ranks, surrounding him.

  Crystalyn reached the wagon. Under the shelter of the Lore Mother’s dome, she sat on the ground, cradling Atoi’s head in her lap. The black candle cooled slightly. Dissolving her wall, she focused on aiding her companions. Now she could mount an offensive as soon as she decided where. The shield wall the black robes had died to raise was in place, protecting the longbow archers. Lore Rayna fired upon the front row of soldiers, Cudgel had moved below her hillside vantage point, but his swings were slowing. Surrounded on all sides’ six rows deep, Broth’s escape path had closed behind his enraged attack.

  A concussive wave rippled through the middle front two lines. Crystalyn had only a moment to marvel before Hastel’s third arrow struck. Falling slightly short, the arrow landed near the center of the right rear, thankfully far enough from Broth to save him from damage. Fully half the leftmost line blew apart, hurling bodies high in the air. The black shield wall in front of the longbows winked out.

  Crystalyn struck as the focus of the battle shifted toward Hastel. Her smoky garland symbol ripped apart a wide, fiery circle where the shield had been moments ago.

  A hailstorm of arrows, dark cones, and missiles fell upon the one-eyed man. Hastily launching a final arrow, Hastel vanished in a cloud of dirt and debris.

  Hastel! Preparing another symbol, then another, Crystalyn sent one into the enemy force toward the hailstorm’s origination point, and one behind where she’d seen her Do’brieni last, in rapid succession. Her vision dimmed with each release, the throb inside her head expanded. Broth? Do’brieni? Are you there?

  No response, she wondered if she could even hear her link mate over the throbs in her head. It required some of her dwindling energy to maintain the link, so she dropped it, feeling like she was abandoning him. A weak feeling of betrayal echoed through the outskirts of her mind. Anxieties rising as high as her fear for her companions, she tripled the size of her garland symbols, sending two others into the midst of the opposing army, not caring where they struck.

  The black candle flared with heat, enough she felt it through the raging torrent of pain in her head. Her hand burned. She dropped the black candle as Drumn galloped by, carrying a rider. Who would be riding the horse?

  Crystalyn found she was sedentary on the ground, Atoi draped across her knees. Looking down at the small, innocent face of the girl four hundred years in the making lying cold in her lap, Crystalyn’s heart jolted. “I’m sorry, little one. I should’ve been stronger,” she said, her voice a croak.

  Atoi’s open, glazed eyes, stared up at her as the last of her strength fled.

  NO MIRTH

  Light surrounded Garn. Gratified, he absorbed some of its pure white luminance, drawing it deep within him with one long pull. Details emerged from around the light’s ragged edges: a pale, shaved log beam overhead, a glassless window cross-trimmed with bars, a sanded bedpost. Wood joists spotted with dark brown stains, designated leaks from above, the source of a stale mold scent. Mold wasn’t good. He’d break out in hives if forced to be around fungi too long.

  He pulled light in, imbibing deeper. With each pull, his thoughts took on coherence, establishing a firmer link to his sense of who he’d been, who he was, who he strove to be. He had a mission.

  He sat up, looking for the way out. The small room was barren except for the large bed, a small vanity, and a matching wardrobe. A rough-cut wooden door with an oval, iron-barred window was the room’s sole exit.

  The flight from the alley flooded into memory. Briefly, he wondered how he could still be alive, but it didn’t matter. He had a mission.

  He stood. Gripping the door latch, he twisted until he met resistance. The door was locked, no surprise there. In the room adjacent to his, two men sat in silence at the far end of a long, scarred table, sipping tankards filled to the brim with an amber liquid. Two men he recognized. One wore a red-robe, the other, a leather hood ending at the sternum. A woman joined them, taking a seat demurely next to the black-hooded man sitting at the table’s head. The woman, too, was familiar.

  “How long is he going to be here?” Corteezsha asked. Setting a delicate glass on the table, she poured a red liquid from a bronze-colored bottle.

  “When you refer to he, I assume you mean me,” Malkor said. He took a long pull from the tankard, wiping foam from his goatee with the back of his bronzed hand. Plopping the tankard down, he belched. “I would’ve departed hours ago, if not fo
r you.”

  The blonde curls draping under Corteezsha’s chin shook slightly as she locked eyes with the red-robed man. “Me? I would be the last person to detain your departure. You may go now, if you’d like.”

  Malkor scowled, narrowing his oval brown eyes. “I delayed to attempt a final heal to your pet mark for you. I’ve expended much effort to provide the Flow for a rapid heal. The fool won’t draw upon it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have repaired his blood circulator. His death would have come quickly, and I wouldn’t be here expending my energies for you. It’s not as if I do not have other duties elsewhere.”

  Slamming his tankard on the table with enough force foam rose to the top and spilled over the sides, the Hooded Man leaned forward, his voice soft and ominous. “You healed him at my command, not hers. You would do well to remember that.”

  Malkor quavered. “Yes, Great One. May I ask, why have the fool healed?”

  The black hood swung slowly toward Garn. Their eyes locked. Garn’s breath caught in his throat. Dark amber, feline eyes glinted from underneath the hood. “The fool tore through seventeen of my strongest, nearly escaping the alley trap,” the hooded man said, still looking at Garn. “No, he would have escaped if not for the defect in his heart. I shall decide if there is merit to this, or merely desperation providing undue strength. Should there be potential, a place with us shall be found.” The hourglass eyes under the hood glinted brighter. “Provided, such a one as him can be trained to the higher quality. If not, you may remove his circulator for your own dark experiments, Malkor. At present, you may continue your other…duties. The fool…has accepted your heal.”

  Corteezsha glanced at the Hooded Man before turning to look at Garn. Her large blue eyes glinted as a smile tugged at her lips before vanishing so fast he wasn’t sure it’d ever been there.

  Malkor was slower. “I checked on him before we sat down,” he said, frowning. “As I tried to say, the blasted fool won’t take what’s placed right inside his...” He spun toward Garn so fast the red hood on his shoulders flapped. “Oh! Blast you!”

  Springing to his feet, Malkor strode across the room, kicking two chairs aside as he went. Halting at the doors threshold, his brown eyes glared through the bars. Garn could have punched him in one of those eyes had he wanted to, but the situation hadn’t fully developed yet. “How long have you been standing there? Do you know who your benefactor is, fool?” Malkor asked. His hot breath smelled of stale ale.

  Garn said nothing. He’d come across men of Malkor’s type somewhere in his past, though he couldn’t recall where. Short and spoiling for a fight, Malkor believed he had something to prove. The shorter man was looking for any provocation, however small, to take on someone bigger than him. Such men were dangerous. Sureen had called it short man’s syndrome, but then she’d been a psychology instructor. There had been supplements to the conversation, but he couldn’t recall the specifics. Large gaps in his memory had been with him much of his adult life—particularly when he tried to recall some tiny detail involving his wife, or his life before he met her—and he hated it.

  He had only vague memories of his parents in Low Realm, but he did retain a vast knowledge of certain survival skills there. Sureen had never pressed him on it, though she’d had him see one of her doctors every few months, though nothing had come from it. Now he was past caring of that life. The most important was retaining memories of his wife. His newly repaired heart lurched.

  Malkor pressed his narrow face close to the barred window, blocking Garn’s view of the room outside, his thin lips pulled back into a practiced sneer. “Well, fool? Have you nothing to say to your benefactor?”

  Garn spoke loud enough for those in the other room to hear. “Yes, I do.”

  Malkor raised his smug, haughty face.

  Garn straightened to his full height, looking down at the red-robed man. “My benefactor…won’t be disappointed with my training.”

  Thrusting his face against the bars, Malkor snarled, his beady eyes wild.

  Garn held his ground, keeping his gaze steady on the shorter man.

  A low laugh sounded from the room beyond. “There you have it. What do you think of your fool now, Malkor?” the hooded man’s soft voice asked. “He has passed his first test well by showing how much you are feared.”

  Giving the bars a final shake and a hard glare, Malkor turned and stalked from the room, raising his hood as he went.

  The Hooded Man laughed softly again, his teeth bright and uniform under the hood’s shadow. “You shall reclaim your room, Corteezsha. Go inform Codar he has a new…volunteer for his…loving ministrations.”

  “Codar is too brutal, Great One. I don’t think he likes training. There are far too many ‘accidents’ under his tutelage. Won’t you command Braith to do it? He’s quite good.”

  The Hooded Man’s voice was softer still. “Go. Do as I say.”

  Corteezsha rose, and left the room gracefully, without a backward glance.

  Sliding sinuously to his feet, the Hooded Man regarded Garn with his yellow eyes. “Continue to prove your worth to me by mastering what Codar has to offer quickly. Monumental…events are about to happen. Do so, and you may yet survive your…apprenticeship,” he said, his voice low enough Garn had to delay drawing a breath to hear. His vibrant, hourglass eyes regarded him for a while in silence, and then left the room through the same wide door the two others had used. Garn suspected it was the only way in or out, though he could see a door to his left. It likely led to a storage closet or pantry.

  His suspicion was confirmed when a beefy man shouldering a monstrous hammer entered through the door a short time later. Inserting a key into Garn’s door, he swung it open, using his broad frame to block any chance to run past. “Pay attention, you learn; give trouble, you die,” the man, presumably Codar, said. His language was comprehensible, though he spoke with a thick, unrecognizable accent.

  Garn detected the arrogance of confidence in his words but no malice. Still, he planned to watch for an accident since Corteezsha had warned about it, should he decide to go along with his captors. The big man was alone. He could kill him and take his weapon. But he suspected such a move to be...expected. Besides, the inhabitants of this world had shown him they were capable of healing by some sort of magical source. What other powers might they have? “Perhaps you’ll find it relevant to inform me what you consider trouble before it comes to that,” Garn said.

  Codar blinked. “Do not speak to me, or anyone, unless I give permission. Or you die. You follow me. Do not stray, or you die.”

  Garn followed, electing to not speak or stray. Discovering how things worked was his best course of action for now.

  The area outside the two small rooms wasn’t what he expected. Codar led them into a hallway with dirt flooring. Rooms branched from each side, four on the right, and three on the left. Barrels crowded the rooms, with the exception of the first one where racks of dark bottles gleamed. A musty fragrance wafted up as they climbed a single story of wide, rough-cut wooden stairs.

  At the top, Codar set a steady pace across a large warehouse buzzing with activity. Men and women in leather aprons sweated over fires built under metal bands that ringed curved slats of wood soaked in water. As they went along another group of workers pounded the top band over the slats upper portion. Using wooden mallets, they worked wide iron bands around the slats in a circular pattern, and then pounded end caps in place on both ends. Other workers marked finished barrels with an inked stamp. Many others in the busy warehouse carried empty barrels to storage, or rolled full casks through a massive set of doors to a dock where wagons waited to be loaded. The workers kept to themselves, or worked in small teams, going about their business in silence. Every eye he tried to meet slid past without a hint of curiosity on each sullen face.

  He followed Codar down a side stair that passed a windowed room built to the dock’s end while providing a panoramic view of the warehouse inside. The guards inside the room wore dark plate armor and
stood with weapons drawn, keeping watch both inside and outside of the bustling warehouse. Garn glanced through the largest window facing out onto the docks. Seated behind a counter, he thought he glimpsed a dark hood and the glint of a gold band clamped around a muscular arm, but he couldn’t be certain. A second look wasn’t worth the risk of being cut down, well, bludgeoned down, in this case. Codar’s hammer was massive, and the big man would know the instant he slowed. Now wasn’t the day to die. He had to bide his time until he discovered enough to move out on his own.

  From the dock, Codar set a fast pace through a jumble of back alleyways. Climbing over fences using wooden crates stacked into makeshift staircases, he suddenly veered into a decrepit shack without slowing, and then popped out into another back street lined with ominous-looking shanties. After many such ventures, Garn supposed Codar didn’t want him to find his way back to the warehouse or his ultimate destination, likely both. The broad-shouldered man had done a masterful job so far. For a man his size, Codar strode easily at the pace he set, which was one-step shy of a run. Garn concentrated on maintaining the same pace as the taller man. Still, he managed a furtive glance to one side now and then. They marched past bustling smoke-filled back entrances to two different smithies, past a seedy tavern, and beyond several busy structures with no obvious clues revealing the types of services they provided for the community, good or bad. A brightly painted house sported several women in scanty lace, leaning provocatively from a second story deck railing. The women refused to look in his direction upon noticing the brute he followed. Codar was obviously notorious in Gray Water, which meant the Hooded Man must run much of the place, if not all. Things were not looking good, so far.