by A L Hardy
Prologue
It had been thirteen years since the wizard's order had left their library in Illyria. Those were brighter, more peaceful days for magicians; with the high wizard and his counsel living at the library, no outside force dared to attack them. No force but Xardan Ta’Caran, Faelhart's Knight of the Black Era.
A pleasant summer breeze blew past a lone man as he made his way back to the once great city of the magi. The last time he had been in Illyria was the fateful day of Xardan's attack. The nightmares of that day haunted him waking and sleeping, but the need for rare knowledge had become too great for him to put off the inevitable any longer. As the man approached the city, he accelerated his horse as though running from the memories that would soon overtake him. He was at a full gallop when the memories of that horrific day invaded his thoughts.
Dark bolts of Shadow Lightning announced the Knight's arrival as they extracted the heavy gate from its hinges. Dozens of soldiers passed through the gate on Xardan's heels, cutting down any mages that came within arm's reach.
The wizards at the library at the top of the city sent great flaming spheres screaming toward the intruders at the gate, but the Knight reacted faster. Walls of shadow surrounded and extinguished each and every one of them as his soldiers formed into columns and pressed into the city.
Rows of mighty oak trees rose to either side of the road to greet any visitors. Suspicious of a potential ambush from the many pillagers and looters seeking magical artifacts, the man slowed his tall warhorse to a walk before he cautiously approached the rubble that was once the proud gate. The city beyond was a mere shadow of its former glory. Large blocks of white granite had been used to construct the walls and buildings, with magical bonds causing the blocks to fuse together giving each building the appearance that it had been carved of a single slab of the stone. Never the less, the tall buildings and towers rose up to shattered walls and rooftops wherever the magi had made futile attempts to defend their city from the Knight of the Black Era.
The man followed the destruction to the library in the center of the city; while Xardan was ruthless in his massacre of the mages, he hadn't needed to go out seeking them as they fought to defend their home. The main street from the gate to the center square was ruined, but the rest of the city was surprisingly intact. A wide staircase led from the center square to the library's front door. He dismounted and tied his horse to a fallen beam before he ascended the stairs with the practiced calm his nightmares had forced him to master.
Xardan had wasted no time in the city. His Shadow Lightning carved a path through the ranks of mages and his soldiers jumped into them before the Illyrians could close their lines.
He rallied his men in the center square and led them up the stairs in perfect, practiced formation. Lightning and fire lashed out at the column, only to clash uselessly against Xardan's shadowy defenses. Xardan moved mercilessly as his shadow magic both protected his men and leveled the entrance.
The library had never been set right after Xardan's attack, and the man had to resist the urge to straighten the various toppled tables and bookshelves. With the door blasted from its hinges and one of the far glass walls shattered, the valuable contents of the library had become victim to the unpredictable weather that the ocean threw onto the mainland.
A thin layer of dirt and dust that the wind had allowed to settle revealed a dozen pairs of footprints that would have led the man to what the other visitors had come here for, but he only paid them enough mind to determine that none were fresh enough to be less than a week old and went straight toward the central courtyard.
In the brighter days, the wizards had used the stone floored courtyard to facilitate their cauldron fires as they experimented with various potions and brews. The open roof allowed the smoke to drift harmlessly upward, while the glass doors and walls surrounding the courtyard protected the books inside from the weather while still brightening the interior of the building with natural sunshine.
Xardan arched his blade around to slay another wizard before he finally turned toward the courtyard. Several wizards smirked through the glass they had reinforced with their magic. The Knight of the Black Era tapped the enchanted glass walls with the tip of his blade before turning to walk deeper into the library.
Cheers and shouts rose up from the wizards at the Knight's apparent defeat. One by one the cheers silenced as the nearby shadows thickened, darkened and twisted obediently onto Xardan's blade; the gleaming steel turned to a dark, forbidding black. The Knight of the Black Era shifted his foot back, turned, and threw the black blade.
Shattered glass lay strewn around the courtyard among the various skeletal remains of dead wizards that scavenging animals had left alone for whatever reason, proving undeniably that Xardan's attack had scattered the wizards too quickly for them to clean their former shrine. Preparing for long hours he was planning to spend in the library, the man dropped his saddlebags, pulled various supplies from them and lit a small fire. Various ingredients and spices made their way into a pot followed by several strips of dried meat and within minutes the man had a stew simmering nicely over the flames.
Pulling a torch from its wall sconce, the man lit it from his fire and turned into the deeper reaches of the library. He knew the tome he wanted was rare and powerful and could only be found in the high wizard's collection; if it was here at all.
The high wizard's fire landed harmlessly against Xardan's Shadow Shield as he stormed into the office. Xardan passed the wizard a wicked grin as he spun his blade mockingly. The high wizard started casting a spell that Xardan knew he would never finish as the wizard’s shadow started rising up his legs.
The Knight of the Black Era had placed dark wards of deep shadows across the door leading into the high wizard's quarters. After careful examination, the man saw that none of the wizards had even attempted dispelling them, and used his own magic to lift them.
The high wizard's skeleton still lay slumped against the glass wall where Xardan had left him all those years ago. Out of the corner of his vision, the man saw a shadow run through his camp in the courtyard below. The man's blade flashed from its scabbard and the shadows bent to block his torchlight from passing beyond the windows, though he knew it was likely too late already.
Cautiously, the man continued back into the high wizard's personal collection of books and shelves. Before he could react, a firm hand pressed against his back and a small blade rested against his neck. Binding spells restricted his knees, ankles, and wrists and forced him to drop down to the floor.
"No gag?" the man asked.
"I can't get answers from you if you can't talk," a female voice replied.
"You got up here fast. You Traveled, I assume?"
"Why would you assume that?"
"I saw you running through the light of my camp only seconds ago."
"And how do you know it was me? It could have easily been a companion of mine while I was up here all along."
"A companion!? You? I would sooner believe the Trelain had left Talar!"
The blade lifted from the man's throat and the Binds released his hands and legs.
"You know me too well, Xardan Ta'Caran; but times are changing. Faelhart’s war is escalating uncontrollably! I have to travel with companions and you are going to have to let others help you."
“So you do have a companion then?”
The woman scoffed as she replied, “Not yet.”
A brief moment of silence passed over the room as Xardan stood and brushed the dust from his pants.
"Why are you here, Ilays?" Xardan asked.
"The same reason you are, though I only stayed this long to save you time." Ilays replied, "The tome you seek isn't here, but the high wizard had note
s on some of its last known locations."
"And where are those?"
“One is an old Lythrain city, buried in an earthquake ages ago; it is my intent to search there.”
“And the others?” Xardan pressed.
"There is only one other location listed: Ealthen’s Monastery." Ilays answered.
"I see…” Xardan muttered, “So that’s their secret…”
Just as my words are written in ink, so is the history of this world written in blood.
Just as my hand guides my pen, so does the will of the Gods guide the acts of mortal men.
Chapter 1
It began with the Red Owl, who crafted a world in the Plane of Life - Khes'yc.
*
Jurod lived a quiet and peaceful life. Ealthen’s monastery was the only home he knew, and the monks within it were his only family. They were an old order of healers that welcomed him among them after his mother died during childbirth just hours after arriving.
Jurod had tried for a short time to learn about his parents, but quickly realized that the monks had as little information as he did. They had only met his mother hours before she died, and she had volunteered no information about his father or about herself, aside from her surname: Silvergem. Knowing that this was all of the information they could offer, Jurod was uninterested in pursuing who they were further than the walls of the monastery.
The monks taught him everything else he needed to know, from geography of the world and the political workings of the kingdoms to basic swordsmanship and hunting practices. He was recognized at the monastery as an intelligent boy who learned every lesson quickly, but bore no intentions of ever joining their order.
Lewk’s arrival was the first thing Jurod remembered about his life in the monastery. Lewk’s father was a soldier of Faelhart, the Kingdom of Knights on the far edge of the known world; he had brought Lewk to the monastery seeking to protect him from the civil war that had erupted in his homeland. Lewk had pledged himself as an apprentice to the monks and was given a bed in Jurod’s room for the duration of his apprenticeship. The two boys grew close to each other and became great friends, playing at being Knights and wizards during their free time at the end of each day.
When the days turned to early fall the boys discovered their delight at sparring with one another. They quickly learned that the twilight hours were some of the best times for this activity. The temperature kept their sweat to a minimum, and their time playing Knights to a maximum.
Wooden sparring swords clacked against each other; the sharp sound filling the small courtyard. Several monks wandered by, giving short, warm smiles to the boys as they sparred. Most of these monks wandering by had gone out of their way just to watch the two young men play. It was rare for them to see such joy within their confines.
Jurod spun around Lewk and slashed at his back, hitting the lid to the kitchen’s flour pot that Lewk carried as a shield. Jurod’s Lythrain mother had graced him with some of the speed and dexterity their race was known for and his Kin father had graced him with some of the Kin’s strength and power; the pairing left Jurod with a keen talent for the long sword and an advantage over the larger pure Kin boy.
Spinning awkwardly away from the half-Lythrain, Lewk dropped the pot lid into the grass and flung his shield arm forward with his fingers outstretched.
“FIREBALL!” Lewk shouted.
“SHIELD!” Jurod countered, lifting his empty left hand in the same manner as Lewk had done.
“You can’t cast a shield Jurod,” Lewk stated, lowering his sword to debate the matter with his friend.
“Why can’t I cast a shield if you can cast a fireball?” Jurod whined, “That’s not fair!”
“Because you’re not Focusing Jurod; Brother Phred taught me that ‘Before you can cast any spell you have to Focus the magic into yourself through a Focus’.”
“What’s a Focus?” Jurod asked, confused.
“Brother Phred says anything is a Focus.” Lewk explained, “A rock or a ring or anything. I use the ring they gave me when I became an apprentice, but you don’t have a Focus.”
Excitement lit Jurod’s face at understanding the latest concept of magic that Lewk brought from his training. Turning to the fishpond, Jurod scooped a rock out of the water.
“I’ll Focus through this rock then! SHIELD!”
“Ok, you blocked my fireball. But now I’ll Guard you from your Focus and cast BLIZZARD!”
Jurod looked back at Lewk confused again.
“I don’t like magic.” Jurod stated.
“Why not?” Lewk exclaimed, astonished that his friend didn’t like magic.
“You know all about it and I don’t know anything.”
Lewk’s laughter filled their arena as he explained, “’Guarding is using magic to set a barrier between another spell weaver and their Focus.’ At least that’s what Brother Phred says.”
*
As the boys grew in age, each began to follow their own interests. While Lewk continued to study with the monks and regularly spoke of magic and his lessons in using it, Jurod elected to study the more mundane arts. He quickly found that although the monks were healers, they were also proficient in most combat skills. Jurod had known that many of them joined the reclusive group to escape their violent pasts, but had never considered that they would be interested in teaching those arts to him. The sword was regularly taught to new monks and Jurod had started learning it at a very young age, but quickly found that he had a passion for throwing knives and he spent much of his time on the archery range in the courtyard.
During their free time, Lewk and Jurod enjoyed spending time together. Lewk would try to explain magic to Jurod, but those conversations would quickly fizzle out due to Jurod’s lack of interest. On the other hand, Lewk was bored, but attentive when Jurod taught him how to throw a knife. After a while, he began to enjoy going to the archery range with Jurod to throw knives together. He was never as accurate as Jurod, but learned well and was able to throw with accuracy and speed. He couldn’t hit the inner circle like Jurod could, but was good enough to hit the target every time.
A grand feast was held the day that Lewk’s apprenticeship was complete. After the celebration, Father Nikolas took him through the back door of the dining hall. The days that followed were long and dull for Jurod. Lewk had been given his own room, and wasn’t at any of the meals. Jurod always watched the faces of the cloaked and uncloaked monks he saw for his friend, but to no avail; which was surprising because of the limit to the number of monks that resided here. By Jurod’s count, there were thirty-two monks that called the monastery home excluding Lewk. It was three weeks before Jurod was able to corner Lewk on his way back to his room well after curfew.
“Lewk!” Jurod called to him.
Though their eyes were similar shades of blue, Lewk's skin had always been paler than Jurod's and his black hair darker than Jurod's brown but now in the brown robes of a monk he appeared to have had the color washed entirely from his skin; he seemed almost to be the ghost of his former self.
“Jurod?” he asked, the name sounding unfamiliar on his lips, “What are you doing wandering the halls after curfew?”
“Looking for a friend I haven’t seen in several weeks! Lewk, are you ok?”
“Yeah I’m fine.”
“Where have you been all this time? And why does it seem like you’re avoiding me?” A long silence enveloped the pair and Jurod considered repeating the question before Lewk replied.
“I’ve been training; off the monastery grounds.”
“Oh. Sorry. It seemed like you had been avoiding me all this time. I hadn’t heard anything about you or from you, and I assumed the worst. I’m sorry. But why have they had you training off the monastery grounds?” Jurod asked.
“The barriers that surround the monastery make it impossible to Focus within the grounds.”
“But I see the apprentices casting plenty of attack spells at each other all the time in training.” Jur
od mentioned.
“But every time you’ve seen them, they’ve been just outside the walls of the monastery. The walls are the threshold of the spell that prevents us from Focusing.” Lewk seemed to be heavily distracted by other matters, and seemed to only be humoring Jurod with the answers to these questions. “You’ve been here longer than I have Jurod, have you ever heard anything about a spell book that the monks use?”
The question seemed strange at best, and came with no prior reasoning or even motivation. “I’m not a member of their order, Lewk; they tell me nothing of their secrets. Besides, why would they have a spell book inside the walls of a monastery where Focusing is impossible? And why would they put barriers around the monastery that prevent them from Focusing? They’re healers; I thought they had to use magic to cure some of the people that have come here for care.”
“I don’t have time for this right now, but I really don’t have much of a choice. I’ll explain the history to you now, but only on the promise that if you hear anything of the spell book, you’ll tell me immediately.”
“Of course I will Lewk. You’re my best friend. Why would I hide anything from you?”
“Alright. It was long ago. An ancient sorcerer, Laglan Darkshire, was unstoppable to any magi; until an arch mage named Ealthen gathered every mage he could to stand against Laglan. The mages went to work on a small area and created anti-magic fields that encompassed the newly built monastery; the very same field that prevents me from being able to Focus today. They lured Laglan here and captured him as soon as he crossed that threshold. They then held him prisoner until he died. Now I think they have his spell book to study from and that they pass this knowledge on to every monk who attains a high enough rank within the monastery; but they claim not to have it. As for the magic being used within the monastery, that is the second part of their secret. Magic can exist within the walls as long as there is a conduit outside. In other words, if there’s a wizard Focusing outside the walls, he can channel his power to one inside the walls so that they can use the magic. Father Nicholas always has at least one wizard on duty outside the walls for his personal use.”