“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Thal said firmly.
“If it does,” Nelle continued, ignoring him, “remember what I have said and who you are; the enemy knows you and your potential, and your weaknesses. He will try to trip you up and prevent you from reaching that potential. Goodbye, my son.” She shook the reins and drove off.
Thal stepped out of the way and leaned on the door, stunned. Before he could consider what Nelle had told him, he heard a window swing open overhead and his master’s tired sounding voice.
“Son! Have you eaten yet?” Kalamar called and asked.
“No,” Thal replied.
“Wake the kortexi and eat,” Kalamar said brusquely, “there is very little time.”
Thal stumbled into the tower and up the stairs, still stunned by what was happening. He forgot to knock, entered the room, and found Blakstar buckling on his belt and sword.
“Good morning,” Blakstar said cheerily, then he turned and saw Thal, whose face was pale. “Is something wrong?”
“I . . . uh,” Thal stammered, “I’ve just been told that I’m leaving today, and my mother spoke as if I would not see her again.”
“This is unexpected?” Blakstar asked.
Thal shrugged, nodded, then shrugged again, feeling unsure.
Thal noticed Blakstar eyeing him before he spoke. “The keeper on the Mountain told me before I left that you were to be one of my companions and that we were to travel to the valley of the kailum where we will meet the others. He also said that our first task would be to retrieve another key, and that to be successful in this task, we must all be completely inexperienced when we enter the place where the key is; this may explain the sudden change of plan,” Blakstar said, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other fingering one of the flasks at his belt.
Thal started to think, and the color returned to his face. “My mother said that the signal for my departure was your arrival, something we were not, at first, expecting until fall, but then the date was changed to earlier this spring.” He looked up at the kortexi. “Did something happen to delay your departure?”
Blakstar’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Yes, but I don’t know what. The Wesento called me to his study three weeks ago and told me to be ready to leave the following morning; he did not tell me why the plans had changed, only that urgency was required. Then things happened to delay my departure: problems with making armor and my horse going lame. I finally left eight days ago.”
Thal nodded and looked away. “You said ‘another key,’ which implies that you already have a key: what is it?”
The kortexi drew his sword. “This is the first key.”
“Am I right in guessing that your sword is the sword of Sir Karble, the first kortexi?”
Blakstar nodded.
“May I examine it?” Thal asked, holding out his hands.
The kortexi reversed the sword, holding it out for Thal. Thal started to accept it, when Kalamar’s voice shouted from above.
“Thal, have you two eaten yet?” Kalamar asked. “When I said there was little time, I meant that you needed to hurry,” he went on sounding impatient, “that there was no time for conversations or questions: hurry!” he repeated with more insistence.
Thal jumped, jerking his hands back. “Sorry, Blakstar, my desire for knowledge. . . .” He left it hanging.
Blakstar smiled, slipped his sword back into its scabbard, then tucked his gauntlets behind his belt. “Lead the way.”
Thal turned and ran out of the room and across the hall, then moved into the dining room. Blakstar followed him into the room in time to see him remove a purple aura, a ditistas, Thal noted, to keep the food fresh and hot, covering two trays, both heaped with food. Thal pulled out a chair for the kortexi, then made himself a sandwich with eggs, bacon, cheese, and some new lettuce.
“I’ll just grab this and go find out if there is anything else to be done before we go,” Thal said, and took a bite of his breakfast as he turned to go.
Blakstar nodded, then began to eat. Thal ran up the stairs to the fourth floor and tapped on the door to his father’s study, then entered.
Kalamar leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. “I dreamed last night of Melbarth; he came to me to bring me a message about you and your future companions. He told me that you are the chosen of the One, and that I should send you directly to Shigmar this morning. I asked why you should go by an orthek that uses much energy, and he told me that you, the chosen of the One, had to be inexperienced to complete your first task: if you travel by normal means to Shigmar, you will gain too much experience, and the more experience you gain before entering the place of the task, the greater your chances of failure. The teka was created to prevent Gar or his servants from retrieving what has been hidden there since the beginning.”
Thal sat down hard on his usual chair in front of the desk. “The kortexi was told exactly the same thing,” he said in a surprised whisper, “and also that we are going to retrieve a second key, his sword is the first key: how many keys are there?”
Kalamar pointed to the sandwich, forgotten in Thal’s hand. “That won’t give you any sustenance, if you don’t eat it. You’ll need to gather your things, along with a portable reagent pack,” he said, pointing to the worn leather case sitting on his desk.
Thal took another bite from his sandwich, chewed fast and swallowed. “But that is yours, if I take it, what will you use?”
“I have no need of a travel pack,” the old maghi replied, “you will need it far more than I. The time to gather your things and saddle your horses should be enough for me to finish my preparations.”
Thal took and swallowed another bite while his father spoke, struggling to digest more than just the food. “You haven’t answered my question,” he noted petulantly around another mouthful.
Kalamar sighed. “Three–three for the three original orders; the seklesem came later. Now gather your things, and do not forget your study books.” Thal thought his father looked grayer than normal as he turned his attention back to the scroll he studied.
Thal knew better than to question further, although many questions occurred to him, one rising to the surface of his thoughts: why so sudden? He closed the door quietly after picking up the leather case, then moved into his own study. He gathered his things while still biting from his sandwich, pondering the question, and descended to his bedroom. There, he washed his hands, having finished his breakfast, grabbed some spare clothes, his bedroll, and stuffed it all into his saddlebags, which he found sitting on his bed: trust his mother to think of everything, as he found the things he had forgotten already inside. She had even left a belt--her old traveling belt--with his rod already there. He buckled it on, then picked up his saddlebags and left his room. As he passed the dining room, he said that he was going to the stable to saddle the horses. He started to saddle his own horse, a white and chestnut mare named Marble, as he was more familiar with her harness. By the time he had finished, he heard Blakstar enter behind him, and turned to find him carrying another sandwich and a mug.
“I thought you might want something more to eat,” Blakstar said, “and I thought you could eat while I saddle Wingfoot.”
“Thanks,” Thal said, accepting the mug and sandwich, “although as host, I should be doing that for you.” He took a drink of milk and a bite of the sandwich.
Blakstar smiled and moved to his mount. “Since we are going to be traveling together for a long time, likely most of our lives, I did not think that I was really a guest and you my host.”
Thal laughed. “Sound reasoning, I should have thought of it.” He continued to eat and drink while Blakstar saddled his horse. “I did learn,” Thal said between bites, “that there are three keys–one for each order–and that my master is sending us to Shigmar with a teleport orthek.”
Blakstar was just buckling his saddle. “But aren’t there four orders?”
“I misspoke,” Thal answered, “I should have said, the three origina
l orders, as the seklesem came later,” Thal replied. “Since the first key is your sword, and it is the sword of the original kortexi, I’d bet that we have to retrieve something of either Shigmar or Melbarth.” Thal finished his sandwich and milk before continuing. “Kailum of Shigmar carry staves, so I’d bet that one of the keys is the Staff of Shigmar, which would mean that the third would be Melbarth’s Rod.” Thal’s eyes went wide. “Do you suppose . . . ,” he began, but was cut-off by the voice of Kalamar as he stepped into the stable behind Thal.
“We don’t have time for your supposes, Thalamar,” Kalamar said. He turned to the kortexi, who had just finished saddling his mount. “Welcome, Sir Blakstar eli-kerdu-ghebi. I wish there were time to hear your tale; I’d love to know how you came to bear the devices and gear of Sir Karble.”
Blakstar looked surprised, but still managed to bow. “Greetings, Hierarch. I had no idea this was your home.”
Thal was stunned for the second time that morning. “You know each other?”
“Yes,” Kalamar replied, “we were introduced when the Great Council met last fall in Karble.” He turned from Thal to Blakstar. “We had an inkling that you might be the one, but we have not time to discuss this further. Lead your mounts around to the telepad.”
Thal staggered to the outer doors leading Marble, pushed them open, and crossed the yard then went through the front gate. He led Marble past the front door to the tower’s west side and onto the telepad. Kalamar walked next to Blakstar.
“Sir Blakstar,” he began.
“Please, Hierarch,” the kortexi interrupted, “to you, just Blakstar.”
Kalamar smiled, then repeated, “Sir Blakstar, I would be grateful if you would look out for Thalamar until he comes into his full power; his curiosity often gets the better of his good sense and leads him into trouble. I hope it is nothing that you and your companions cannot handle. Trouble not over the past; always keep in mind who and what you represent; may all your dreams be fulfilled,” he finished, clasping the kortexi’s hand. Blakstar looked surprised by the Hierarch’s words, but led his mount onto the telepad next to Thal and his mount when the old maghi released his hand. Kalamar’s eyes glistened as he turned to Thal. “I’m sure your mother gave you some good advice: remember it, and follow it. Don’t forget to study daily, so that your powers continue to grow. Save your ortheks like a miser until the last moment, then use whatever is necessary to overcome what you face. Finally, be true to the promises you have made to the One.”
“Thank you, father,” Thal said, voice shaking. “I will return when we have finished the task for more instruction. Give my love to mother.” He held up his right hand, palm outward.
Kalamar also raised his right hand. “Our love and hopes go with you, my son.” A tear ran down his cheek. “Our thoughts will always be with you.” He raised his rod and tapped it twice on the telepad, causing the symbol to glow brightly with white light. “Verataint-torekwe-rumepant-adshigmar!” he growled, and the young wethem disappeared in a flash of white light and a thunderclap. Kalamar leaned heavily on his rod and pulled a white lace handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his eyes. He turned at the sound of pounding hooves and the creaking of a cart. He saw Nelle ride up to the tower and jump down before cart and horse had completely stopped.
“Did you just send them off?” Nelle asked.
Kalamar nodded and made his way slowly toward her and the front door to the tower. “Just now.”
“That was close,” Nelle said. “I just crashed through a horde of Gar’s creatures prowling about the teka fences. They attacked the village: I saw the smoke and returned, hoping you had gotten them off before the noose tightened around us.” She reached her husband’s side, took his arm, and helped him into the tower. They started up the stairs, climbing to the top floor. When they stood beneath the trap door leading onto the roof, Nelle spoke the word of command, “rumandu,” opening the door above, then raised her platinum rod. Kalamar touched her rod, then Nelle said, “steighud-nes,” and they both floated up through the trap door and onto the roof.
“I have known since the melting of winter,” Nelle began, “that the end was near; it has been difficult to conceal from Thal.”
Kalamar nodded, and turned to the east, his eyes going distant. He turned a full circle, then smiled. “Gar must really fear us.”
She shrugged. “We have known that for many years.”
Kalamar touched his wife’s arm, fondly. “He sent three ponkolum, along with a legion of purem and ghelem.”
Nelle looked surprised. “Three? And a legion?”
Kalamar nodded. “If they raise their hands against us, we will cross over knowing that we have diminished his waning supply of his favorite servants; there will be fewer left after today.”
Nelle smiled, and kissed Kalamar’s cheek. “They will raise their hands against us,” she noted. “They will lose most of their forces breaking down our teka fences. They could not return to Gar without attacking us.”
“I feel the fences weakening,” Kalamar noted, “we will not wait long.”
They turned to the northeast, where most of the assault was concentrated, and saw smoke rising.
“It is a shame to burn the forest,” Nelle said.
“It will not last long,” Kalamar replied, “the storm they hit us with last evening will ensure that,” Kalamar said.
A red flash followed by a booming concussion shook the stones under their feet. Hordes of ghelem driven forward by purem, who were in turn led by the three ponkolum, rushed out of the smoking forest northeast of the tower. The two old maghem of Melbarth hurled exploding fireballs at the ghelem; the ordered ranks of the ghelem ripped apart, leaving nothing but steam and ash where the fireballs landed. The outer edges of the gheli ranks were hurled from their feet by the blast, and the few who survived lay charred and steaming. The purem and their trio of leaders were unaffected by the flames, being creatures half of fire, and they surged closer to the tower. Kalamar and Nelle held their arms toward the purem, fingers spread, and multi-forked bolts of lightning shot out, slicing through the lines of purem, reducing any touched by a bolt to gray ash and smoke. The ponkolum waved the bolts aside. The two maghem atop the tower joined hands and raised their rods to the sky. Clouds gathered from all directions while the remaining purem marched forward. In moments, black clouds hovered over the attackers; lightning flashed as the clouds grew higher and darker. As the purem and their leaders neared the stable yard, melon-sized chunks of ice fell on them, tearing through most of the remaining purem; the ponkolum raised shields of fire over their heads, deflecting the huge hail, which then destroyed all the purem around them. The few survivors broke and fled for the safety of the trees, but the ponkolum raised their arms and beat their huge, leathery wings, dispersing the clouds.
One of the ponkolum laughed. “Old fools! Can you not see that our power is greater than yours? Surrender your son,” he snarled derisively, “and we might let you live.”
Kalamar laughed in turn. “Gar will not be pleased with you, losing all of your army. But I think he would be more displeased if you got yourselves destroyed! Leave now, before the light of the One consumes you.”
“You cannot frighten us with your empty threats!” the first shouted and the other two continued to laugh. “Surrender your apprentice, and your death will be quick.”
In response, Kalamar sent more bolts of lightning at the ponkolum, but there were fewer forks than there had been before. The ponkolum easily turned them aside, still laughing; what they failed to see was that in the moment that he sent lightning at them, Nelle pulled a fist-sized blue ball out of the air and lobbed it toward the ponkolum, occupied with the lightning. The blue ball grew as it passed over them, sinking gently in the air to a point about four feet behind them at the level of their shoulders. Nelle jerked her rod up; the ball exploded hurling razor sharp shards of ice at the ponkolum’s unprotected wings and backs, tearing large holes in the wings and embedding themselves in their
backs, where the fragments of ice hissed and steamed. The ponkolum howled in pain, staggering forward several steps.
“Nice one, wife,” Kalamar said.
Nelle smiled. “That should do the trick.”
The three ponkolum then combined their power, creating a huge ball of pure, red flames that hummed like a nest of angry wasps. After the ball was as wide as the tower, the three, in unison, threw their arms and bodies forward, and the red ball shot toward the maghem on the tower. Two platinum rods raised a wall of liquid green force, slightly angled, so that the ball of power shot heavenward, bursting overhead. But the force of the ponkolum’s fury had done its work: both maghem were thrown from their feet and hurled backward, sliding across the tower’s roof to the other side, Kalamar striking the parapet.
Nelle rolled to his side and took him in her arms. “Husband?”
Kalamar’s eyes barely opened; he whispered: “At least we will cross over together.” He managed a weak smile, mirrored by Nelle.
Before the last rumbles of the previous ball went silent, the ponkolum combined power again, creating a second ball of humming red force, filling it with the rage and pain they felt, and hurled it at the tower. It struck the roof and the maghem, just as they smiled at each other. Most of the roof and the two maghem, still holding to each other, were destroyed in the blast.
The ponkolum started to laugh, but stopped suddenly when the light on the hilltop dimmed, the color fading from everything. Dead silence followed; mist descended on the hilltop. The ponkolum looked around. A crack of thunder split the silence; the hilltop rumbled and shook in response. The few surviving ghelem and purem bolted for the trees, fleeing and hoping to escape from they knew not what. A point of brilliant white light winked on at the top of the ruined tower, growing in size and intensity until it was brighter than one-hundred suns. When the tower was obscured by the blinding brilliance of the light, it exploded from the tower, consuming the ponkolum, who had turned to flee, and the remains of their forces, wiping the hilltop clean, so that no trace remained to show anyone that the ghelem or the purem had ever been there. The elemental fences surrounding the tower began to renew themselves; purple light began to emanate from the tower beneath the damaged roof, and the area immediately around the tower–gardens, stable, and henhouse–to establish a ditistas. Hands invisible to the naked eye began the slow process of repairing the damaged roof. At sunset, a lone wolf howled mournfully in the distance to the north, marking the passing of Kalamar and Nelle, white maghem of Melbarth; a shadow moved under the trees, passing the teka fences before they closed completely, approaching the tower and canceling the ditistas, the figure now mourning the loss of family, mistress, and beloved, all in a single day.
The Redemption, Volume 1 Page 15