The Three Swords (The Ways of Mages)

by Catherine Beery

  The rescue party had no idea that any of this had happened and slipped into Mortia. Altana followed after them with a vengeance causing an accident with a time/ space device that Gawin and Robert had created that sent Gawin and his daughter back in time. Father Thomas’s eyes had widened when he was told that Gawin was none other than the famous Zebendon of the First Circle. Perela was Gawin and Jewel’s daughter who went back with Gawin. Jewel had also been sent back in time, though she had been transported through space to Arathin where she has been for a very long time. Duncan had to explain to the older knight that Jewel was the daughter of King Randolph Holden and Queen Kindra. Jewel was a powerful magic user and as such was pretty much immortal.

  After escaping South Port through the portal device before Altana arrived the rest of the small company had found themselves in the Wizard City of Thioden. Since Gawin and Jewel had been sent further back in time, they never made it. Having left in such a fashion had forced Robert to leave his sword in the device.

  “Why was his sword in the device?”Father Thomas asked.

  Duncan leaned forward in his chair.“Apparently the sword is a magic sword.”

  “Really? One of those that had been forged before the Sundering?”Father Thomas replied with a scholar’s excitement.“How did he get it?”

  Trevor and Duncan glance at each other. Duncan turned back to the eager scholar and tried to remember if he had ever been told.“I don’t really know. All I do know is that he uses it to power inventions that he makes. He always has it with him.”

  “What does it look like?”Father Thomas inquired.

  “It has a black blade with a brass hilt.”Duncan answered.

  “It is like the swords back home.”Kairevasigh interjected.

  The older man gazed at her curiously.“Home?”

  “Sheyestiva.”She replied looking back out of the window at the strange green grass.

  Father Thomas turned back to the men.“What is Sheyestiva?”

  “From what we understand it is a country in Arathin.”Trevor answered.

  The good Father looked at Kairevasigh with wondering gaze. The child was from the lost continent of Arathin?“How did she get here?”He asked.

  “We are getting to that.”Duncan said picking up the narrative. Robert had been greatly disturbed leaving the sword behind so he and Bendon tracked it. Apparently Kairevasigh had arrived shortly after Altana’s attack. Kairevasigh had taken the sword to defend herself against the Sorceress which had angered Altana. Chased by Dark Sons Kairevasigh had somehow managed to flee South Port. The poor girl had escaped the Dark Sons only to run into a pack of Tree Gir who had forced her to fly farther north.

  “Wait, fly?”Father Thomas interrupted.

  “Yes.”Kairevasigh answered.“My people can change into one other form, that of the Night Eagle.”At his puzzled frown she elaborated.“A big black eagle about the size of a draft horse. Since I am still young, my eagle form is not quite that large yet. I flew out of a tree that the Tree Gir were trying to knock down. I flew till I couldn’t anymore. I fell asleep in a tree. The next thing I knew, these two older men were calling up to me. I didn’t trust them. Bendon introduced himself and Robert. They said that the sword was Robert’s.”Kairevasigh shook her head slightly.“I was so tired and scared that I needed to trust someone. So I trusted them and that is how I ended up here.”

  “How did you get here from Arathin?”Father Thomas asked.

  Kairevasigh shrugged. "I touched a pillar of Kales Amie, Timeless Glass. It took me back to meet Kaizir who first spoke the Way of the World prophecy.”

  Father Thomas’s eyes widened.“Do you mean to say that you met The Kaizir? The first king of Arathin?”Uncomfortable with being stared at Kairevasigh nodded and turned away.

  “It was a very good thing that Kairevasigh joined Bendon’s party. Her ability to teleport got them to Pershara city in time to save my life.”Duncan acknowledged. He smiled gratefully at the young girl and she smiled back. Duncan and Trevor then continued the story of how the rebel army had gained inside help from the Thieves’Guild to weaken King Raymond’s hold on the city. Then the Dark Kin had attacked with the Fires of the Damned. God had been with the rebels. He had sent Ryan a vision to warn them what would happen. They had three days to figure out what to do and prepare. For fear that the enemy would decide to surround the city with the Fires they had elected to keep their camp. Knowing that it was a suicide decision, only volunteers were asked to stay and hold the enemy’s fire while the rest were secreted away in the city.

  The Grimedian Knights were the only ones who had a fighting chance against the hordes of Dark Sons. A few other soldiers stayed as well. They all fought bravely. But they had been losing hope. Altana’s voice had taunted them. Perela had stood up in faith. Her words had inspired the men and mocked the power of the Dark Kin. Angry with her impertinence three of the Dark Council had come to destroy her, but God had intervened and sent them running with their tails between their legs. Inspired the men fought harder. By this time, there were very few of the volunteers remaining. T’Garen was the last to fall before Bendon and Robert arrived and shredded the Fires.

  “After the last of the Dark Kin had been cleaned up, we took care of our fallen.”Duncan said in a somber tone.“Where the pyre had been now stands a column of light from Heaven.”Father Thomas bowed his head and prayed silently for those who had fallen and their families.

  “And now you are here.”Father Thomas said once he finished praying. At Duncan’s nod the older man leaned back in his chair and glanced at each of them in turn before glancing out the window. The afternoon had aged while they told him their tales.“I thank you for filling an old man in on the events till now, but I have this feeling, GrimBennet, that things are going to continue to get worse. Why else are you here?”

  “I was hoping to bring the knights who remain to the City. We will need them.”Duncan replied heavily.

  “There are only novices and newly made journeymen knights here as well as we older knights.”Father Thomas reminded him.

  “I know.”Duncan closed his eyes before opening them again.“We, Pershara, need you all.”

  Father Thomas nodded gravely.“Then we will come, but there are things that need to be done first. The King’s Guard outside our door will punish the townspeople if we just suddenly disappear.”

  “Then we will talk to them. And if that doesn’t work some Grinlean technology should be here soon that could help convince them that they need to leave.”

  “Very well then,”Father Thomas said standing.“You can come with me to my weekly meeting with our newest neighbors this evening.”The older man pulled the bell again and the youth entered. Father Thomas spoke to him softly before turning back to Duncan and Trevor.“I’ve just sent for Jason. I’m sure the two of you would like to catch up.”The good Father said to Trevor.“He will also show you where you can stay for the night.”

  Chapter Four–The Retreating Sun

  Arathin- Kikel Varcressi, Sheyestiva

  The wind howled over the vast Sheyan Plain. It rubbed itself against the cliff wall, much like a cat against its master’s leg. Like any wind, it heralded change. In this case the change sent a chill down any spine that was standing in the way.

  He opened his eyes and felt the dust of ages fall into his lap. He looked down at his lap in shock. He was covered in dust. Shantév’s head snapped up as he gazed about the hall. Onyx tiles were dull thanks to the dust. The high walls were also of the favored onyx. A row of windows peered down from the safety of the heights. They were small, but many. They provided some light. As did the stone kalesameikair. A hall of unrelieved black; the perfect color for the Heart of Illusion to rule. His hall. He stood. This did not make sense. Layers of dust sloughed off of him in sheets.

  “What is this?”His question came in a hiss. This was not right. He had not been here. He had been there. There in Marlhema before the Dragon King Plarrean himself! He had been there to claim his victor
y!

  “What is this?” He asked louder. He needed answers. Shantév turned violently back to his throne and wrapped his hand over the hilt of the black sword that remained anchored in its seat beside the throne. With a jerk he yanked the sword free. Unlike everything else in this hall, it was free of dust. It greeted him warmly.

  “WHAT IS THIS!?” He demanded. Memory flickered as he remembered Plarrean standing before him. The Marlheman king held a silver blade in front him; its glittering point toward the floor. Star light brightened the silver sword. The dragon stared him straight in the eye.

  “You have not won yet, shadow.” With that the war aged monarch plunged the silver blade into the marble floor. A blinding light erupted from the floor as the blade sank into it... After that had been this. This waking in his empty throne room with dust sliding off of him. Had that weakling king somehow stolen his victory? That weakling bastard’s words echoed in his head. You have not won yet…you have not won…

  Rage. Pure rage clawed through him. Emperor Shantév Varcress of the Empire of Sheyestiva tilted back his head screamed. It was thunderous with rage’s power. The hall trembled with its might. The wind outside flinched and recoiled. Silence fell as he closed his mouth. He glared about the hall. Dust fell in clumps from the ceiling and walls. And off the door as well, he noticed.

  The door opened…

  “Sord sé doe und sezé, owlé javon yaiye cacyn.” Lord of wind and sky, how blessed your awakening. The slave said as she fell to her knees in the doorway. A cloud of dust rose up away from the onyx floor. A plaited length of white-blond hair hung to one side of her face. Cobalt silk clung to her form. A slow smile touched his lips. This was no ordinary slave. This was one of his three wives. His favorite.

  “Musigh.” He whispered. “Come, my flower.” He invited the woman. She scrambled gracefully to her feet and scurried to him. She held his hand in hers and fell to her knees again, kissing it. Musigh was beautiful and graceful as well as practical. Not to mention fertile; something highly prized in the nobility of Sheyestiva. She had born him three sons; the twins Kaishan and Sheyév, and the youngest of his sons, Reshan. Sheyév had been the weakling of the three and had long since been weeded out by his stronger twin. Shantév felt himself smile in pride. His other two wives had born him one son each and had their own charms… but nothing compared to his favorite. She understood what he wanted. She also knew how he wanted things done. She never complained. And more importantly, she never embarrassed him or showed any sign that could be interpreted as weak. The perfect Sheyestivan wife.

  The door opened wider, drawing his attention from the woman at his feet. There was a group of men standing there. The man in front was one that took him a moment to recognize because he was older by two decades then what Shantév remembered.

  Kaishan entered the room, his steps quiet despite the onyx tile. Shantév eyed him seeing how the lad had become a man. He was, or at least had been, Shantév’s most compliant son. Time had obviously gone by, so who knew how things stood now? Shantév remembered how the lad had been. The lad was strong, but he knew who was boss and it sure wasn’t him. Now, as he was then, Kaishan was tall and lithe. His body trained and honed like the sword strapped to his back. Of all his son’s, Kaishan had preferred subtle hues in clothing, unlike Téshev, the third oldest. Téshev had enjoyed the high life and was often found strutting about the Kikel Varcressi like a pompous peacock. Often in similar bright colors like the bird. Sometimes brighter. Shantév saw a brief flash of rich cloth in the knot of men, turning the ‘had’ into ‘still’. Téshev had not changed.

  Apparently Kaishan’s preference had not changed, either. He wore all black, the same light trapping shade as his eagle’s feathers. Around his waist was a crimson sash with the honored insignia of the Winged Dagger; a wavy edged dagger flanked by wings stitched in gold.

  Kaishan strode down the middle of the hall to stop but a few paces short of where Shantév stood. The others, he recognized them as the eight Higher and Lesser Lords of the council and his other sons stood just inside the doorway. Shantév barely paid them any attention for he was focused on his Heir. Kaishan stood straight and tall, proud as any warrior of royal blood. Kaishan’s black veined blue eyes met those of his father’s. No expression was revealed. Slowly Kaishan drew his blade. The moment grew tense as their eyes remained locked. Both held their ground. Shantév was prepared to slam his will into his son’s mind if he had too… Suddenly, in a fluid movement, Kaishan dropped into a half-kneel. Both hands griped the bronze hilt of his sword, whose point rested against the onyx floor. His forehead rested against the gleaming hilt. The starless-night blade glittered in the moonlight peeking through the high windows.

  “Sord sé san und tiva, I bive mi anzu yai.” Lord of shadow and night, I live to serve you. Shantév stared down upon his eldest’s fair head. Satisfaction was his. The lad still knew his proper place. He didn’t need to find himself a new heir. That satisfaction increased as he watched the rest of the party follow Kaishan’s lead.

  “Stand and sheath your blade.” Shantév said with a wave of his free hand, the other still holding the Nitcassa. Kaishan rose instantly and with a soft hiss the sword disappeared into its sheath at his back. The lad stood with his right wrist caught in his left hand behind his back. His intense blue eyes stared straight ahead. Shantév studied his son for a time, drawing the moment out. The other men stood as Kaishan did and moved closer. They stopped a safe distance away. Shantév walked around Kaishan and before the other men. He studied his Lords and extra sons as well. No one was foolish enough to fidget. His sons lowered their eyes. None of his Lords met his, for that would have been a challenge. Finally he returned to his heir. “People have grown older. How long has it been?” He asked somewhat troubled, but he kept the uncertainty out of his voice. In its place he made sure there was indifferent curiosity. He was far from indifferent within.

  He could have sworn the last time he had laid eyes on Kaishan was but moments ago. He had been giving him the go ahead to seek out the dragon’s heir, Seith. Apparently, that was not the case.

  The younger man hesitated a second before he answered. “Five centuries, emavo.”

  “WHAT?!” Kaishan blinked at his father’s tone. Apparently Kaishan’s expressiveness had not changed. “Five centuries! How is that possible?”

  “The Marlheman Curse, my imperial father. All remember a flash of brilliant white light then they were waking up here. Everyone was in their home territory in either the kekeels or kikeels. The Kikel was the same. Everyone was in a sleep that no one could wake them from yet all knew they were alive. I was one of the first to wake. You are the last to awaken. Till now, your throne room has been sealed.”

  “How long between the first to awaken and now?”

  “Nineteen years.” His son answered promptly. The sealed doors were probably the main reason why he was still alive, Shantév thought to himself, knowing well how power passed in Sheyestiva.

  His mind put two and two together. That miserable dragon king sent them away with that clever trick of his. But the dragons could not have counted on the ruthlessness and tenacity of the Sheyestivan people. “I am taking it then that you have conquered Marlhema.”

  “Ni, emavo.” No emperor.

  “NI!?” Shantév turned on his son. “Not enough time for you?” He spat.

  Some of the other men flinched at the tone. Someone near the back shifted uncomfortably. He did not see who. What a pity, he wanted desperately to rip something apart. Kaishan looked… well, expressionless. “No one has been able to teleport back to any of the locations down south. That left flying through the Nirami. The pass we had taken to get to Marlhema before was gone, emavo. I only found it again recently.”

  “And how recently is recently?” Shantév's voice dripped with scathing danger.

  “About a month ago.” Kaishan replied, voice calm, staring straight ahead. “I flew a scouting flight for several days. Marlhema has changed, emavo. The peopl
e are not familiar with the dragons. The dragons are fairy tales to them.”

  Shantév's eyes flashed. “Are you telling me that there are no dragons to pay for the lost time? My lost time.” His voice was deadly quiet. Musigh shivered in trepidation and made herself a smaller target. Unease rippled through the room. Kaishan alone remained calm.

  “It seemed like that. But I felt marana. The dragons are still there, my lord. They hide themselves. I returned home for a troop to widen the search for them. However, the pass to return to Marlhema was gone. I have not been able to find it since.”

  “Find it. At whatever cost. And prepare the troops for war.” Shantév said imperiously, standing before his throne. Kaishan bowed before turning on his heel and leaving the room. The Eight Lords parted to let him pass. They and the other sons looked to him again. Shantév smiled at them grimly. “You are dismissed.” They bowed and left. The only one left in the room was Musigh. She was watching him, keeping those light blue eyes on him. He sat on his throne and gestured his first wife to him. She came quickly. She was still afraid, he could tell, but at the same time she understood his moods.

  She bowed from the waist after she came to stand before him. He settled the black sword, the Nitcassa, back onto its stand. He then reached for her chin with his right hand. He studied her face for a moment before urging her closer. Shantév kissed her hungrily. She trembled at first, but responded. As he kissed her he thought of the other thing he wanted to claim. Or rather, reclaim.

  Marlhema, that verdant, ripe, wealthy land would soon be his. HIS.

  ***

  Pershara- Pershara Palace

  What a damn show off. Proconsul Salvo thought with narrowed eyes at the column of blue light that his enemy had placed there. That simple light deepened Salvo’s hatred for the Creator. What should have been an ashen waste land that would have proven the Dark Kin’s power and serve as an example to their enemies was now a rallying point for those same enemies. It hurt his eyes. Turning back to room, Salvo’s gaze settled on the man kneeling on the carpet.