Consensus Breaking (The Auran Chronicles Book 2)

by M. S. Dobing

  Eight this time.

  He closed his eyes, his fists balled by his sides. Avatari flowed. His muscles tingled with energy, begging for release.

  A rumbling snarl caught his attention. He didn’t open his eyes. Instead he attuned himself to the air, to the invisible waves of force that rippled across with every movement around him. The nearest sheol leapt at him. He stepped out of the way as it flew past, bowling over two of its comrades.

  Three more attacked, enraged by the ease by which he’d avoided their initial attack. They came at once, but Seb was more than equal. He pushed out with one hand, the burst of force struck the two in front of him, halting their advance, their faces crumpling as the invisible wall pressed against them, unyielding as brick.

  The third was upon him. He reached back, over his shoulder, and caught the sheol by its wrist. He used the creature’s momentum against it and threw it over his shoulder, out of the magical circle where it vanished in a plume of smoke.

  He opened his eyes and faced the remaining four. Energy coursed through him now. This was easy. Too easy. But there was something else too, that same fury that just would not go away. He fed on it, adding it to his channelling.

  ‘What’s the matter fiendlings? Is this a new experience for you?’

  They hesitated.

  He didn’t. He fell upon them, his roar drowning out the screams as the sheol were battered into oblivion.

  ***

  ‘You fight with great anger.’

  Seb looked up. He took the sweat-soaked towel from his face and tossed it into his bag. He put the memory of his recent exchange with Cade to one side, and forced a smile onto his face.

  Enzo stood beside him, his white eyes gazing out over the garden.

  ‘It helps me focus.’

  ‘Does it?’

  Seb thought on that. ‘It gives me clarity. An outlet.’

  ‘What is it that needs letting out?’

  Seb glanced up at the Master. He couldn’t feel any kind of subtle probes against his mind, but Enzo also had a knack for seeing straight through, regardless of what defences he put up.

  ‘A crisis of conscience, you might call it.’

  Enzo nodded. He lowered himself down next to Seb, who edged up the bench, allowing the slender man room.

  ‘You find it troubling, cleansing the awoken.’

  It wasn’t a question.

  ‘Yes.’ No point in lying.

  ‘You feel letting them remain as they are is a better option?’

  Seb flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles. ‘At least give them a choice in the matter.’

  Enzo sighed and sat back. ‘You know why the Consensus was created, don’t you?’

  ‘To prevent what happened in Aura happening to the surviving shards.’

  ‘And what was that, Seb? What happened to Aura?’

  ‘Nazgath overran it with the sheol. Millions died.’

  ‘That is true, but do you know why it happened?’

  Seb thought for a moment, fingers pressed to his lips. ‘Balor. He was corrupted. He allowed Nazgath back into Aura from whatever prison he’d been kept in.’

  ‘Balor was a good man, Seb. Pure, honest.’

  Seb looked at the Master. Was he actually speaking with the benefit of memory?

  ‘You knew him?’

  Enzo smiled. ‘Yes, I knew him. I was young then, a boy. I’d only taken my first steps at the Academy. But I remember him as a strong, noble man. But he was naive, Seb. He thought that everyone would embrace the Weave as a force of good. Surely, he thought, this would end all war, remove all disease and famine. It was a tool of the gods, was it not?’

  Seb shifted on the bench, all troubling thoughts having gone for a time. He gazed at Enzo, fascinated.

  ‘Others did not share his vision, at least not in the way he did. They used the Weave for their own means. They corrupted the weak. Drawing on this power for themselves. They had no interest in protecting the innocent, or ridding the universe of disease. Instead they decided to use their tool to subvert those without this power. And Balor was blind to see it.’

  ‘I’ve not heard this before.’

  ‘No, it’s not something openly discussed. It is not the magi’s finest hour. This faction, they betrayed Balor. They urged him down the path that led to Nazgath’s release. All the time they were working with Nazgath themselves. They were not powerful enough to do it on their own, but Balor was. And they played on his innocence in setting the daemon-lord free.’

  ‘And that started the One War.’

  ‘It did.’

  Enzo turned to Seb. His white eyes stared past him, but Seb was under no illusions that he was being scrutinised.

  ‘When Danu sent the first magi across to this realm, before he made his last stand against Nazgath at the gates of Temperos. He gave clear instructions to his chosen. The Weave was too powerful to be set free for all to learn. Its capacity for destruction was too great. He gave them the patterns for the Consensus, binding their powers to the Unaware. He believed that if the use of the Weave was contained, then another One War would not occur, that another Nazgath would not be able to return.’

  Seb sat back. ‘So you think it is right that the newly awoken are being purged like this? You think it is for the greater good.’

  ‘I believe the magi are doing what they think is best to protect the wishes of Danu.’

  ‘Funny, that’s not how Sedaris puts it.’

  Enzo smiled. ‘Archmage Sedaris is young, new to his role. His aspirations are not unknown to me. However, he will see, like those who came before him, what is the right path.’

  You have more faith than I do, Seb thought.

  ‘What happened to this other faction? Were they some other race? Like the sheol?’

  Enzo laughed at that. ‘Some other race? No, Seb. They were human, like the rest of us.’ His opaque eyes bored straight into him. ‘They were magi. The Ninth founding Family of this realm.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Osgog, home of the Ninth Family,

  Siberia

  The two soldiers, togged up in thick thermal snow suits, peered down the snow-covered road that led away from Osgog, home of the Ninth Family.

  The more experienced of the two, Petre, a veteran of conflicts in Georgia and the Crimea, wiped the snow from his goggles and squinted down the road again.

  ‘Do you see it?’ asked Sergei, the young soldier clutching his AK47 rifle, his eyes wide and alert.

  Petre frowned. There was no one around these parts. There was never anyone around these parts. That’s why it served as such a fantastic base for the Ninth. Yet Sergei, despite his youth, was a good soldier. He had seen combat already, and wasn’t prone to nerves.

  Which was why Petre didn’t dismiss the younger man’s claim that he’d seen someone walking down the road towards them.

  Petre trudged down the track a few paces, his snow boots stopping him from sinking into the drift. The blizzard was getting stronger if anything. No one would be foolish enough to come out here at all. He looked back to his comrade.

  ‘It’s all clear, there’s no --’

  Sergei’s face froze. Petre felt the presence of someone behind him. He whipped around, fumbling the safety on his weapon.

  He found himself staring at a young-ish man, dressed only in a pair of jeans and woollen jumper.

  ‘What the hell!’

  The man frowned. ‘Russian, such a harsh sounding language,’ he replied.

  ‘Stand down! On your knees! Arms behind your head!’ He looked back. ‘Sergei, call the guard house!’

  When he looked back the man was a step closer. Petre panicked and pulled the trigger.

  The weapon clicked.

  ‘That’s not a nice way to greet your guest, is it now?’ the man said.

  Petre threw the weapon to the floor and drew his sidearm. The man waved his hand and the pistol went flying from his grasp. Petre knew instantly then what he was dealing with.

/>   Mage.

  ‘Petre. That is your name, isn’t it? I suggest you tell Archmage Tarmyr that his good friend Archmage Sedaris is here to see him about a matter that is of the utmost urgency.’

  ***

  Archmage Tarmyr, leader of the Ninth Family, put on his sternest face as the doors to the great hall rumbled open, allowing the Archmage Sedaris in. He’d instructed his servants to quickly clean and evacuate the room before allowing the other Archmage entry. In their place now stood an array of his finest elites, dressed in their ceremonial garb, proudly bearing the symbol of Nazgath.

  When the door had reached its full apex, a squad of soldiers, still covered in snow, filed in and spread out. Behind them came Sedaris, the Archmage of the First Family wearing nothing but casual clothes, not a speck of snow on him.

  Tarmyr rose as Sedaris approached. He nodded to his soldiers, who left without a word. His elites remained, it was their kind of protection that he needed.

  ‘Archmage Sedaris,’ he bellowed, adding a good dose of bass with Avatari to cement his authority. ‘This is a most unusual visit. Most against protocol.’

  Sedaris stopped a few feet before the line of elites. He scanned each of them in turn, a sly smile on his face. He looked back up at the throne where Tarmyr sat.

  ‘Are you afraid of my intentions?’

  ‘An Archmage of the First has not set foot in these halls in over three hundred years. And even then it was to slay the last Archmage. Now you are here, alone. Does my caution not surprise you?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Sedaris conceded.

  ‘So what is it, Sedaris, what brings you thousands of miles, without an escort, to consort with the black sheep of the magi Families?’

  ‘I like you, Tarmyr. I knew I should’ve come to you and not that buffoon, Marek.’

  Tarmyr’s brow furrowed. ‘Marek? The renegade from the Magistry? I do not understand. What was the First involvement in that?’

  Sedaris grinned, but his eyes were dark, no glint of a smile there. ‘Why, no First involvement at all, Archmage Tarmyr.’

  Tarmyr shifted in his seat. He caught the eye of his elite-captain, Federov, and sent a silence pulse.

  Be ready.

  ‘Explain yourself, Sedaris. I have no time for your tricks today.’

  Sedaris bowed his head, his hands open and going wide from his body. ‘My apologies, Archmage. This must be very confusing. Perhaps something more visual will assist you?’

  Before Tarmyr could respond, the air around Sedaris shimmered. Swirls of silver light wrapped around him, obscuring his form. The human shape within began to contort, growing taller, darkening in colour. The light began to fade, allowing the nearest elites to catch sight of what Sedaris had become.

  Then Tarmyr saw. His face creased with rage. A stout staff, ebony black, materialised in his hands.

  ‘Sacrilege!’ He screamed. ‘Destroy this conjurer of cheap tricks!’

  Where Sedaris had been now stood a strange mixture of sheol and serpent. Humanoid in shape, but with the scales of a serpent, black as night. Its eyes were red, and it eyed Tarmyr with a predatory stare.

  The elite were trained. The Ninth’s best. Blue fire lanced out, arching towards the serpent. At the last moment the creature raised a three-clawed hand. The fire exploded against an invisible shield, the flames rippling outwards like a pebble dropped in a pond.

  The other elite did not delay. Sensing that the flames would not harm this serpent creature, they blurred forwards, staffs rippling with lightning as they launched into a vicious attack. Staffs lashed out, but at the last moment the serpent vanished, materialising behind the two attackers. Before they could turn, the serpent gripped one by the back of the neck and hurled him across the room. He crashed into a grey slate wall at speed, bones crunching and organs splitting. He tumbled to the floor, his head resting at an impossible angle.

  The other managed to turn. He thrust out with his palm open, a bolt of force intended for the serpent, but instead it went right through, the serpent shimmering like a mirage, the bolt crashing into the unsuspecting elites behind. The two flew back, one being impaled on an ornamental spear clutched by an ancient suit of armour, the other faring better, calling a Script that allowed him to land on his knees.

  The serpent lashed out, taking the mage that had attempted the bolt of force by the throat. It hoisted him up, the man thrashing in its grasp, his face turning purple as the oxygen was squeezed from his lungs.

  ‘How many need to die, Archmage, before you accept the truth,’ the serpent replied.

  ‘Let them go. Release them!’

  ‘Do you accept?’

  ‘It cannot be!’

  The mage’s struggles were growing less. His eyes were beginning to roll up in his head. ‘Accept,’ the serpentine warrior fixed Tarmyr with its red eyes, ‘or your son dies.’

  ‘I accept! Release him!’

  The serpentine warrior lowered the struggling mage to the ground. He rolled away, clutching his throat, wheezing painfully. As it turned back to Tarmyr, the air shimmered again, and the serpentine warrior vanished, Sedaris now stood in its place.

  ‘Who are you?’ Tarmyr whispered.

  Sedaris smiled. ‘I have many names, but you of all people should recognise their lord when they see them.’

  Tarmyr’s eyes were like saucers as he dropped to his knees, his staff clattering to the ground next to him.

  ‘It cannot be! Nazgath?’

  ‘I am a shade of Nazgath. A sliver of his magnificence. Unfortunately, the limitations of this realm mean that I have just a fraction of the power of my normal self.’

  ‘How are you here, my lord? How are you in this form?’

  ‘A fortunate turn of events allowed me to enter this realm, however my time here, in this form is limited. The Consensus drains me; it is a parasite that consumes my life force.’

  ‘There must be something we can do?’

  Sedaris grinned. ‘I was hoping you would say that. You are loyal to Nazgath, are you not?’

  ‘I am eternally yours, my lord.’

  ‘Good, then you will be rewarded in the coming days. But before I can complete my mission, I require your assistance.’

  ‘Anything. Anything for Nazgath. What do you need? Men? Weapons?’

  ‘In time, yes. But right now there is something special I need. The reason I came here in the first place.’

  Tarmyr frowned. ‘What is it?’

  Sedaris looked down at the ground, and then slowly raised his head.

  ‘You have a Manyway here, correct?’

  Tarmyr’s eyes flicked to his son and back.

  ‘Why, yes, but it is dormant. It has not worked for centuries. The magi sealed it from us to prevent its misuse. I don’t know even if it still works.’

  Sedaris smiled.

  ‘I do.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sedaris, flanked by Tarmyr and two of his elites, made his way down the narrow stone stairway that led deep into the catacombs below Osgog. The steps spiralled down, clinging to a thick granite pillar that was slick with damp. On the outside of the steps the drop just vanished into oblivion.

  Whilst the elites and Tarmyr took each step slowly, Avatari at the maximum to prevent a sudden fall to their deaths, Sedaris near skipped down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He knew it was dangerous, for his host at least, but the lure of the prize ahead was too much to resist. It hung in the air, an enticing scent of Weave magic that only he could detect.

  Home.

  At the bottom of the stairwell they emerged into a large chamber. The walls on either side had crumbled over time, leaving piles of rubble strewn around the room. Decayed sentinels stood on marble pillars, forming a path to the closed door at the far end.

  ‘Your sentinels are inactive,’ Sedaris said.

  ‘A sanction imposed by the Families,’ Tarmyr growled. ‘We retained our Spoke Stone, but with the caveat we could not retain the sentinels.’

  ‘Nazgath
would not be pleased.’

  ‘We had no choice!’ Tarmyr stammered. They were eight, we were one. We could not fight them all!’

  ‘Now, now, dear Archmage. There is no need for you to get irate. I understand your frustrations. I feel your anger.’ Sedaris stopped at a massive door that barred their progress. He traced one hand over the Runic Script that covered the surface, much of it faded with time. ‘And soon,’ he continued, ‘you will have the opportunity to right these wrongs.’

  ‘For Nazgath.’

  Sedaris smiled. ‘For Nazgath.’

  Sedaris closed his eyes. He pulled on the Weave, the power flowing through him with ease. White energy began to fill the runes on the door, lighting up the chamber. From somewhere behind the rock an ancient mechanism growled into life. Hidden pulleys and cogs began to turn, and the door drifted open.

  ‘Leave me here.’

  ‘My lord, do you not need an escort? This path has not been opened for centuries; there could be all sorts -’

  ‘Silence!’ Sedaris snapped. He looked back, red eyes burning in the dark. ‘Do I look like I need an escort?’

  Tarmyr’s head dropped. ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Then leave me here.’

  Sedaris entered the next room, leaving Tarmyr and his men behind. With a wave of his hand he closed the magical door behind him, striding onward towards the massive stone circle that stood at the back of the room.

  As he approached the circle, his sense began to tingle with the presence of immense Weave energy. It wasn’t quite in phase with this reality, tantalisingly out of touch. The magi of this realm had figured the circle broken, unusable.

  Fools.

  Sedaris stepped onto the platform. The underlying energy was strong here. The air hummed between the standing stones, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. He closed his eyes and raised his hands and called the Scripts that opened this most unique of Ways.

  The air before him crackled. Pressure built against his ears, the Consensus pressing against him but ultimately unable to stop him.

  A portal appeared. Man-sized.