Banner Lord

by Jason L. McWhirter

  Ardra, meanwhile, felt ready to explode, as waves of white light flared out from her. But just as she thought she couldn't hold on any longer, the main door of the inn burst open for the second time that night. At first all you could see was a bright light glowing in the doorway. Then, a man materialized within it, and took two steps forward before the light exploded into an intense brightness, sending another shockwave, similar to the one Ardra had accidently sent out, but much more powerful, shooting out in all directions. Just as the man’s light flared the brightest, Ardra’s dimmed slightly, right before the shockwave knocked her off her feet sending her skidding three paces away. Everyone who had been standing in the room had been thrown to the ground, their heads aching as they scrambled to stand. The light from the man standing in the doorway finally receded, revealing a warrior just inside the entrance. It was Prince Jarak, his Kul-brite blade held at his side, its steel reflecting the light from the room like a mirror.

  Brant and Cat rushed in through the door behind him and spread out, quickly assessing the scene before them. Suddenly the kitchen door flew open and Serix and Endler Ral charged in, their swords drawn. They had entered the building from the rear entrance.

  There were now just ten Saricons remaining, and now that Ardra’s light had been extinguished they were able to react much faster, jumping to their feet as if their life depended on it. Orin was on his feet faster than anyone and was dashing towards his sister, who was just now getting to her knees, her movements slow as she tried to regain her senses.

  Torga, the Saricon leader, stood next to Ardra, his bloody sword held low. “Heln!” he screamed as he raised his sword to cut Ardra down. His war chant seemed to snap everyone back into motion, and within moments the fighting started again.

  “No!” Orin shouted as he pulled more energy from his aura, spanning the distance as quickly as he could. He watched helplessly as the Saricon’s sword descended, seemingly in slow motion. His heart lurched in his throat as he realized he was not going to make it. It was then that one of the Saricons nearest him suddenly swung his sword across their leader’s neck with all his might, cutting through his throat and hurling him back on his heels. Torga fell backwards, nearly decapitated, as the Saricon that killed him snatched Ardra up with one arm and ran backwards, dropping her near an upturned table. Orin, bewildered, had no time to ponder what had just occurred as another Saricon attacked him, swinging his axe.

  Brant surged energy into both his arms and his legs, then rushed forward, his Kul-brite blade reflecting the light shed by the lanterns and the hearth. He used his wrists to snap the weapon back and forth with deadly efficiency. The Saricons, still weak from having had their auras drained, didn’t stand a chance. He quickly cut them down, one by one. Cat had joined him, and together they made short work of the weakened Saricons.

  Within moments all but one of the Saricon warriors lay dead. Orin stood before the one remaining, his sister moaning and writhing on the ground behind him. The warrior was young compared to his comrades, but just as large, his long limbs encased in dense muscle. His youthful face, smooth and clean shaven, was crowned with long straight blonde hair pulled back from his sky eyes, which darted nervously from Orin to the others as they slowly converged on him, the blood of his comrades dripping from their weapons. But he stood defiantly, his giant sword held easily in one hand.

  Orin crouched before him, his short sword held dangerously still. He glanced at his sister and the Saricon saw the look. Serix stepped closer and lifted his sword, his expression puzzled. Why had the Gyth not yet attacked? With one of his own people lying at the Saricon’s feet?

  “Do not attack him,” Orin commanded.

  “Why? He has attacked us.”

  The Saricon shook his head as if he were denying it. “I not want to,” he interjected in broken Newain. “Following orders.”

  “He saved my sister,” Orin added.

  Jarak stepped forward between the Gyth and Serix. “I saw it as well. He killed his comrade when he was about to cut her down.”

  “I not enemy,” the Saricon continued.

  Endler and Serix glanced at each other, their expressions clearly skeptical. “Really?” Endler said. “Tell that to the thousands of Dy’ainians rotting at Cythera. Prince Jarak, tell me you are not entertaining sparing his life.”

  Brant had used a Saricon cloak to wipe his sword clean and now stood casually behind them, watching the scene play out. Cat stood beside him, watching as well.

  Orin glanced at Jarak, seemingly appraising him anew. “He saved her life, although I know not why. I saw it, and despite what his people have done, by Gyth law, I am in his debt, as is my sister. You will not kill him.”

  “Gyth,” Serix said, his voice on edge. “I value your customs but you are in Dy’ain and speaking to the rightful king of these lands. He can kill him if he so chooses.”

  “As I have already said, I saw the same as you,” Jarak said, facing Orin. “We will not kill him, at least not yet.” Jarak then stepped forward, looking into the eyes of the Saricon. “What is your name?”

  The young warrior seemed to relax a bit. “Aldgar. My name is Aldgar.”

  “Aldgar, you are my prisoner. Will you lower your weapon?”

  He shook his head. “I not die without sword in hand.”

  “I will not kill you. You will come with us.”

  “Only to die later,” Aldgar reasoned.

  “Perhaps. But if you fight now, you will die. If you lower your sword, you will have a chance to live. I need information. If you can help me, then I will spare your life.”

  Aldgar slowly lowered his sword. “What kind information?”

  Jarak shrugged. “Anything about your people. I will raise an army and take my lands back. I need to learn about my enemy. I offer you this one chance,” Jarak said calmly as he brought forth his left hand. Concentrating on his tarnum, he wove the energy into crackling bolts that arced across his fingers. “You saved her life for a reason, and for that I offer you a chance at life. But if you don’t lower your weapon, I will fry you where you stand.”

  Aldgar looked at Jarak’s hand, the blue crackling light accentuating the Saricon’s own crystal blue eyes. Then he glanced at Orin, who nodded his head, encouraging him to disarm. Slowly the tall Saricon placed his sword on a nearby table and brought his hands together, wrist to wrist before him. “I agree to terms.”

  By this time everyone was exhausted. They had finished dragging all the bodies outside to be burned. Each one of them had traveled hard, only to end the day fighting for their lives. They had found some lantern oil in the inn’s storage shed and it didn’t take long before they had the pyre burning bright. Beyond exhaustion, they had managed to drag their tired bodies back inside to eat and rest. They had a lot to talk about. The bar owner was dead, and they assumed there would be no harm in eating the food that had been prepared for the evening rush. Even the women and serving girls the Saricons had dragged upstairs were dead, more than likely murdered when Jarak and his group had attacked, causing the Saricons upstairs to kill their victims, eliminating any chance that they might pose a threat. They then rushed down to help their comrades. Perhaps death was a better outcome for those women than what would have likely happened to them.

  While they were preparing the bodies to be burned four men had come from town, hoping for some warm food and entertainment at the local inn, only to find blood and burning Saricon bodies. Prince Jarak had talked with them, and after showing his signet ring, gave them orders to return to town and let the local authorities know what had happened. They did as he instructed and it wasn’t long before a contingent of mounted Legionnaires carrying torches had appeared out of the darkness. They talked with Prince Jarak for quite some time and left with instructions to warn the rest of the town that a Saricon army could me heading their way. He instructed them to warn those that could to flee and to send all the Legionnaires stationed there to ride to Tanwen in all haste.

  After the sol
diers left the weary group went inside and pushed several tables together so everyone could sit and face one another. Aldgar’s hands and legs were tied but he had been seated near the smoldering fire with a plate of warm food and a mug of ale before him. He ate in silence as the others conversed nearby.

  Prince Jarak had been shocked when he saw Banrigar with Kivalla. He didn’t know his father’s scholar well, but he had met him on numerous occasions and knew that he would be a valuable asset in their endeavors. His father had frequently said that he was the most intelligent man he had ever met. They would need his knowledge. And Banrigar was definitely a surprise. Jarak knew him from his past escapades at the Black Cat, a brothel frequented by the rich and the wellborn. After hearing their story he was happy to have them both along. They would need Banrigar's sword and Kivalla’s knowledge. Jarak had talked briefly with them both, but when they finally sat down to relax and eat, he immediately turned his attention to the Gyths, whose names he had already learned while they had all worked to clear out the bodies.

  “So,” he began, “what brings two Gyths to Dy’ain? I have met your kind only once and I did not think it common for your people to venture from your lands unless you were consulting in military matters or hired as mercenaries.”

  Orin glanced at his sister. She was obviously still tired from her ordeal, her eyes puffy and red, in stark contrast to her pale skin. She did not look well. Looking back at the prince, Orin struggled for words. “Prince Jarak, I can assure you that we are not here on any military matters. We…well, we are simply travelers.”

  “You picked a bad time to come to Dy’ain,” Jarak said. “Our capital city has been sacked and my mother and father have been killed, assassinated by my uncle.”

  “I’m sorry,” Orin said. “We did not know. What will you do with the Saricon? Were you serious about keeping him alive?”

  “I was.”

  “Good. My...our,” he corrected, “debt to him requires that we accompany you. I hope that that will not be a problem.”

  Jarak set his mug on the table and leaned forward, his jaw set and his eyes serious. “It will not be a problem; in fact we will welcome your blades, if and only if you are honest with me. I know you are not mere travelers. I also know that you are both Aurits. But what confuses me the most is what I witnessed when I burst through that door.”

  Ardra shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She knew they could not avoid the issue. Not now that they had all witnessed the event. Everyone, especially the other Aura Mage and Channeler, were warily looking at them. Ardra sighed. “Prince Jarak, you are correct. We are Aurits.”

  “Are Aurits common in Daland?” Kivalla asked. He was very much interested in this conversation. He had never heard of any Gyths gifted with the Way.

  Orin shook his head. “They are not. We were the first, as far as I know.”

  “And that is why you ran?” Kivalla reasoned, his quick mind connecting the invisible strands of the story. “Your powers frightened your people, and you were in danger.”

  “Yes,” Ardra replied. “But there is a bit more to the story than that. Orin and I are twins, and somehow our powers have evolved. We do not understand it ourselves but something horrible happened at home, causing us to flee.”

  No one said anything, waiting for her to elaborate. Ardra looked at Orin who looked worried. But he continued her story. “We were both training at the Talcanon, in our final year, when Ardra suddenly screamed. I saw her grab her head as her entire body burst with a white light. Everyone around her fell to the ground, as if their energy had been sucked from them. I was nearby and I ran over to her. As I approached her I became dizzy and my vision blurred. I could see her aura as well as everyone’s around her. She was pulling their energy from them.” Orin stopped to take a sip of ale.

  “You were somehow able to stop it, weren’t you?” Kivalla asked.

  “Yes. Somehow I stopped her. It was as if I had put a blanket over her, dampening her ability to draw the other’s auras. She stopped screaming and her light all but disappeared.”

  “And then you ran?” Brant asked, speaking for the first time but listening intently, as was everyone, even Aldgar who had finished his meal.

  “We did,” Ardra said. “Our society is not tolerant of those who are different, or things they don't understand. We left everything behind and have been running ever since.”

  “So when you are near others, when your brother is not nearby, you cannot control your powers? Your body somehow craves their energy?”

  “That is our experience. It has only happened three times. Tonight was the third,” Orin replied.

  “Fascinating,” Kivalla whispered as he leaned back in his chair, his analytical mind greedily processing this new information. “Sharing the same womb somehow caused your powers to evolve, to morph into something that we have never seen before.”

  “A very powerful gift,” Serix added.

  “But I cannot control it,” Ardra said miserably.

  “What do you think would happen if Orin was not there to stop you?” Serix asked softly.

  Ardra looked at Orin with frightened eyes before turning back to Serix. “I feel like I will explode.” Orin looked away, the thought of such a thing too much for him to bear.

  Jarak was nodding his head. “When I entered the inn prepared to release my propel spell, my tarnum immediately pulled energy from you. You were acting as a Channeler, but in this instance I could not stop it. It was as if you were pushing the energy down my throat.”

  “I saw her light dim momentarily before yours pulsed brightly, just before you released the spell,” Serix commented.

  “I had to release it,” Jarak added. “It felt as if it would consume me if I didn’t.”

  “And it probably would have,” Serix agreed. “Normally a Channeler or a Mage can only draw small amounts at a time from an aura, not enough at one time to debilitate someone.”

  “We all felt it though,” Banrigar added. “As she grew brighter I grew weaker. I felt incredibly tired and the Saricons around me were equally impaired.”

  “That seems to be the effect of it,” Orin said. “The only one she doesn’t impact is me.”

  “She seems to be drawing the energy from somewhere deeper than just one’s auras. Do you have any side effects?” Kivalla asked.

  “Like what?” Ardra asked.

  “Headaches, flashes of pain, debilitating dizziness.”

  Orin looked at Serix, his expression confused. “How did you know?”

  “So you have?” Serix asked again.

  “Yes. Recently I’ve had several flashes of pain that dropped me to my feet. I saw bright flashes and it felt as if my head were going to explode. It started off with just bouts of dizziness, then severe headaches. It has gotten progressively worse. How did you know?” Ardra asked, repeating her brother’s question, but sounding more hopeful, as if he would have the answers to her predicament.

  Kivalla sighed. “I’ve read about several cases where Channelers have suffered similar symptoms. I’ve even performed a medical examination on the body of one of those Channelers after he had died.” Kivalla was a learned man in all subjects; history, languages, and science. But his real interests lie in the field of medicine. He had read countless books about all medical subjects, from surgery to poisons to battle field triage. And his curious mind had led him to participate in many examinations of the human body, before and after death.

  “What did you discover?” Endler asked. Being a Channeler himself, he was very curious.

  “The subject had an extensive growth in his brain.”

  “What do you mean?” Ardra asked.

  “It is a growth inside the brain, like mold on rotting food.” Kivalla struggled to find the correct words. “It was a black growth that had grown into a ball about the size of a man’s fist and tendrils of it had reached throughout the brain, like a worm burrowing through an apple. It is what eventually killed him.”

  “How?” End
ler asked.

  “It kills parts of the brain, shutting down its proper functioning. This particular individual had to be locked up once the growth had gotten out of control. He had turned angry and violent. He didn’t recognize his family…he lost control of his bowels…and eventually he became paralyzed and lost the ability to speak. He died shortly after that when he could no longer breathe.”

  Ardra looked frightened. “That is horrible.”

  “It is,” Kivalla agreed.

  “What do you think caused this abnormal growth?” Endler asked.

  Kivalla shrugged. “I don’t know. He may have had it already. If that’s the case my guess is that the constant drawing in of other’s energy sped up its growth. Or perhaps it was his powers that caused it to begin with. We don’t really know. I can only conclude that taking in such massive amounts of energy as you have could impact the brain in a very negative way.”

  “Do you think this is what is happening to me?” Ardra was now even more frightened.

  Kivalla looked at her brother and saw his fear. He felt terrible about their situation. But he could be wrong. He hoped he was. “I don’t know, Ardra. There is so much about the brain that is unknown to us. If it is, we should see signs of its growth.”

  “Like what?” Orin asked.

  “More frequent headaches…mood changes….dizziness…that type of thing.”