Storm of Prophecy, Book I: Dark Awakening

by Michael Von Werner

  “I think I might know what you mean…sort of,” the seer said. “Those of us with the vision encounter a similar problem when we try to extend our awareness out too far, only it takes place in the present. At too great a distance, instead of seeing things as they are, we see…” he searched for the right word, “…symbols, mental imagery that only represents something about what is there. Trying to interpret them is like trying to interpret a dream. Sometimes they just don’t make sense.”

  “Well get ready to do it again,” the man with the seed inserted, not really hearing all of what he was saying. The young seer scrunched his eyes closed and leaned on his staff. “Do you still know where he is?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “He’s further ahead down the road than before, but he doesn’t appear to be in any hurry.”

  Stacy found that odd. “Shouldn’t he be? I mean he had to know that the poison would take effect sooner or later.”

  The cerebist woman in the gray dress spoke next. “I just told my master. Master Anthony is there with him and says that we should watch ourselves, he might be leading us into a trap.”

  The pyromancer Elf seemed to have lost none of his displeasure. “I’m just loving this day more and more.”

  When they approached the outer gate, Stacy found that the gatekeeper was not the same old man as before. With the way Karl scared him, it wouldn’t surprise her if he had retired. Instead, there was a bald middle-aged man with short graying hair brushed down on the sides. He wore clothing like that of a farmer and opened the gate for them without comment. Afterward Stacy thanked him politely anyway and stepped through with the others.

  Beyond was a far-reaching, grassy slope that descended downhill gradually with a dirt road meandering through it below them. It was somewhat dark like before, only with a cloudless sky whose blue hue was barely starting to reveal a few stars. Crickets chirped from the tall dead grass which bent lightly in places with the gentle breeze. The weak glow from the sun’s passing still illuminated the landscape from the western horizon. Mountains up ahead and on their right had spruce forest cover that was shaded black on one side and on the other was dimly revealed as green or fading into a blue in the distance. Downhill and to their left, the city of Gadrale was made visible by thousands of small torches and lamps among the many buildings of differing heights. Most were made of light whitish colored bricks but many were of a dark red. All around, further left and beyond the buildings, were hundreds of farms spread out across the land.

  With her companions near, Stacy walked down the rise swiftly, smelling the moist air from Vesper Lake brought all the way here, even though the lake was well out of view, by the dominant air current. The lake still held true to its name. It wasn’t long before they came over a small edge in the overall rise and were afforded another view.

  “Hide!” The Elf whispered loudly, his sharp eyes having noticed him first.

  Stacy quickly lifted the hem of her dress and crouched down with the rest behind the tall dead grass to avoid being seen. Just above the top of the edge, she could see a small figure in the far distance walking at a steady pace down an adjacent road leading to the city. The dark almost hid him because of his black work clothes, almost. It was Clyde. Stacy voiced again quietly that she didn’t like his easy manner. He was far enough away that she didn’t think there was too much of a chance he would notice them, but kept this to herself. They couldn’t risk having him look back and catching a glimpse.

  They waited until Stacy could no longer see him, and then waited longer. When they all stood, the seer extended himself once again and noted Clyde’s position and heading to the others. As they started walking again, he then deemed to inform them that if he made it to the city, it might become difficult for his vision to sort him out from the crowd. With that in mind, they quickened their pace but avoided running.

  To try to counter the problem, the botanical mage had the seer check on him more frequently and had their group increase their pace between each time he did. It was tiresome, yet they managed not to lose him and were soon past the farms on the outskirts and entering the edge of the busy streets. Though it was crowded, their clothing gave them each the clear ring of unspoken authority that people respected and parted way for.

  Their seer checked once again and reported to them that Clyde had ventured far toward the other side of town and taken a leftward detour into the less well-kept part. The less scrupulous part. Rather than adjust their course, they chose to remain on the same street so they could shadow him without giving him a view of themselves weakly obstructed only by passersby.

  A few minutes later, the seer told them that Clyde had just opened a door and entered a building far down on another street beyond their view. A brothel. Now Stacy knew something curious was afoot, and even said so to the others. He wouldn’t be wasting him time with prostitutes if he knew he was going to be hunted. They voiced their agreement but knew as she did that they had no choice other than to continue stalking him.

  The seer stopped once again, closed his eyes while leaning on the wooden staff, and tried to spot Clyde. “He left the brothel a few moments ago. Now he’s going down another street, heading west.”

  The pyromancer Elf was incredulous. “What? That wasn’t nearly enough time to do anything!”

  “Maybe if he was already there when he went in,” the botanical mage offered, tossing his seed up once and catching it, “and just didn’t last long.” His blue-robed friend joined him in a few snickers.

  “Not possible,” the blonde cerebist woman disagreed. “Not even my husband is that fast. And trust me, he’s fast.”

  The young seer kept out of this mature discussion, thinking, it seemed to Stacy, that he didn’t have the experience yet to know what was fast and what wasn’t. Unfortunately, she didn’t either but was looking forward to it one day. Really looking forward to it. In fact, she was twenty-eight and thought she should have by now.

  Many times she couldn’t stand it. In her mind, she hatched a silent plan to grab Jack or Fred as soon as she got back. At this point, she didn’t care anymore, she decided. She had been busy with her studies, but what was the point of risking herself on missions like these where she could potentially die, if she was going to die without having a chance to experience pleasure first. Shy about it or not, she would have to, and better sooner than later. As soon as they got back to the keep, she thought. She then forced herself to return her mind to the here and now.

  “It has to be a trick then,” Stacy concluded, keeping up a pretext while wisely suspecting treachery, “let’s keep following and see where he goes next.”

  Clyde continued down that same street perpendicular to theirs. When they got closer, one street down from the one he was using, they took a left to make sure that a row of street blocks would always be between them. A short while later, he took a right and then a left, heading in the same direction as before, only one street further down from that. They were afraid at first that he knew something, that he was testing them, but it soon wore off. She reminded them that it could just be part of his intention to go west and might have nothing to do with them at all.

  To compensate, the team moved over one street to the north and continued shadowing his westward trail. It wasn’t long before the street was lined with women wearing dresses high enough to cover their nipples as it hugged their breasts but did little else to cover the front, except below that. Harlots all. Many looked on at their strange group while they passed, some that noticed the men, stood a foot on a nearby set of stone steps without rails and pulled up their dress to flash them their bare legs.

  It was early summer and their clothing was even thinner than usual. Vincent’s two former guards glanced only occasionally. The pyromancer Elf showed no interest since Humans and Elves never mated; the act was not only forbidden but the very idea was viewed as disgusting by both. The young seer was becoming distracted by the sights and his head occasionally followed. The botanical mage scolded him to keep his eyes
and his mind where they belonged.

  The offers of the approaching women though were less easy to brush aside, and they wouldn’t keep their hands to themselves. The atmomancer with an iron staff kept telling them that he wasn’t interested, but they kept persisting or else began pouting to one of the other men. Many promised the most obscene sexual acts, and boasted in different ways about how good they could make them feel. When polite refusals failed, Vincent’s two guards settled on telling them that they weren’t carrying any money. It seemed to work with most.

  Shortly after that, when they came in view of the brothel that Clyde had just been to, it only got worse. “This is the one,” the young seer told the others. Stacy wondered again why he would choose to stop here for an all too brief a period before moving on, and what it could mean. It just didn’t make any sense. How he could so quickly run the gauntlet of dirty whores offering their services seemed an extraordinary feat by itself.

  Loud sounds of passion came from the building, though many sounded fake. Some women settled on one repeated sound almost like a gasp while others made long moans of “oh, oh, oh yeah, yes, yes, more,” to encourage their clients. Strangely enough, there was one that didn’t sound forced. To Stacy, it sounded more like she was charging her customer for something she might have under different circumstances offered him freely if her life was better and she wasn’t a prostitute. It was hard to imagine that prostitutes could ever really enjoy themselves, but this time it sounded like one was, or else she was a much better actress than Stacy gave her credit for.

  Stacy then noticed the young seer slow his pace and become once again distracted, looking up and to the right. She turned and saw that he was staring at a woman with long curly light brown hair standing bare breasted in one of the top windows. The woman smiled down at him and held up a hand in greeting, curling her fingers. “Hi there,” came a high pitched voice, enticing him. He raised a hand to return the greeting with a small smile creeping to his face.

  The cerebist lady in their group also took notice and casually informed Vincent’s two guards. “I think our little man is losing his focus again,” she commented. The botanical mage sighed in annoyance before stepping over to his side, grabbing his shoulders, and ushering him along.

  Once they were just clear of the sinful district, the man with the seed in his hand asked the seer to check on Clyde’s progress. “…And you better not waste any time looking back over there again either,” he warned. Stacy thought he might take a peek anyway and not tell the mage; there would be no way for him to know. For that matter, there would be no way for any of them to know if seers and seeresses didn’t do this sort of thing regularly. It was indeed the most useful gift for the lewd to be born with.

  The seer told them that he was still proceeding west down the same street, and so they continued walking. Building after building passed by on each side. After a while when it became clear that he intended to leave the city again, Stacy felt a small wave of relief though only just. At least no fighting between them would take place in a crowded urban area where there were bound to be casualties among the numerous bystanders.

  Soon they entered a part of the city near the fringes that was dark, much darker than the rest, with far fewer lamps or torches to light the way. Rows of short ramshackle buildings made of a deep brown wood lined each side of an unpaved dirt road. At this time of day, everyone who lived here had gone to sleep, and the only noise that could be heard was a crow feasting on a small pile of rotting, discarded foodstuffs that had been thrown out as garbage.

  The pyromancer held his hands up at the ready and peeked around nervously with his pointy Elf eyes, jumping at every sound. Stacy and the cerebist kept looking around warily as did the seer, who brandished his staff in both hands. Walking at the head of the group, Vincent’s two former guards proceeded as though they feared nothing. The atmomancer with an iron rod continued using it as though it were a walking stick, and his friend, the mustached man with a scar across his jaw, in a carefree manner kept repeatedly tossing his seed in the air and catching it. With the crow left behind, their footsteps on the hard dirt and pebbles made the only other sound.

  Stacy felt relief when they finally left the city behind and the clutter that had seemed all too perfect for an ambush. On the sides of the dirt road were now wide open fields with some leaf-bearing trees here and there, and many farms. It was still dark. And quiet. She did not feel safe, yet she now at least felt as though she had breathing room in the event of an attack.

  Some time later, perhaps even several hours, they had left the farms behind and were looking down a gently sloping rise that revealed the wide moonlit expanse of Vesper Lake in the horizon. Up ahead, the landscape was dominated by tall grass, sparse, intermittent trees, and a great deal of tall bushes and brush. Eventually the road turned northwest, leading toward another part of Ryga, but Clyde hadn’t taken it, the seer informed them. He had gone off its edge and into the wild range land beyond.

  And stopped.

  Chapter XVIII

  Why did he stop?” The dark-haired pyromancer Elf asked. The seer remained silent while his eyes were scrunched closed, leaning on his staff.

  “Take a good look around him,” the man with the scar ordered. “Look for any of his friends that might be waiting for us behind the brush.” Stacy was about to ask him to do the same thing, the memory of her last encounter all too fresh.

  The young man moved only with the deep breath that he took, and spent several moments lost in trance. After a time, he shook, straining with effort. At last he relaxed and opened his eyes.

  “Did you find anything?” Stacy asked worriedly.

  He exhaled in confusion. “No. There’s no one around. It’s just him, standing alone with his back to us.”

  The mustached botanical mage with the scar let out a low growl of aggravation, baring part of his teeth. “I don’t like this.”

  “Let me go in first,” the fair haired atmomancer suggested, “I’ll flush out whoever’s hiding.” Stacy oddly found herself reminded of Vincent and thought that this man must have received similar tactical training.

  “Is that such a good idea?” The Elf asked. The other only stared back sternly in reply. “Hey, its your funeral,” he said, holding up his hands as if he wanted nothing more to do with it.

  “We’ll cover you,” his friend agreed, lifting the flap of the bag at his side and looking down into it while he reached in, “but first I want you to take a few of these with you.”

  In one hand, he pulled out a handful of pale yellow seeds that had hook-like thorns for attaching themselves to animals and being carried long distances. With his other hand, he took one between his thumb and fingers and sent a flow of magic into it, causing it to turn greenish black and grow larger with moving, life-like tendrils until it filled his palm. He walked over to Vincent’s other guard carrying the iron rod, and attached it firmly by its hooks to hang on his loose blue robes. He then moved to the other side and did the same with another.

  His friend stood still while he put them on. “What are they this time?”

  A grin spread on his face between his mustache and the small vertical beard on the front of his chin. “Oh, nothing too bad,” he began, somehow Stacy didn’t believe that was correct, “just make sure to tell them you’re the disperser, not the food source.” He chuckled at his own joke afterward. His friend shook his head, not thinking it quite as funny. The other elaborated further while he placed another on his back. “Actually, you’ll want to stand clear once they launch themselves from you, you don’t want to get caught up in their tendrils when I decide to make them huge.”

  “What if they get hungry before then?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m keeping them dormant,” he said, placing another at the top of his right arm, “they won’t awaken unless I trigger them.” He attached more on different parts of the other’s blue cloth until several of the fuzzy-looking lumps were present on each side.

  “I think
I like the wind dispersing ones better,” the man in blue robes muttered. At the creepy sight of the moving spines before they became motionless again, Stacy thought she might too.

  “Right now these will do more to protect you.”

  “I hope so,” was all he said before quickly and quietly stepping with his iron rod and moving off into the brush.

  Stacy entered with the others behind him and kept a good distance away so as to not be seen by their foes. While the botanical mage silently crept, he was even more diligent than the others in making sure to keep his friend in sight. The pyromancer Elf followed him from Stacy’s left with the cerebist and the seer kept further back still, wanting to stay out of any violent confrontation yet still wanting to be close enough to be protected.

  It was dark, yet there was more space between each large patch of bushes than she thought there would be, and the moon lit the dead yellow grass everywhere they walked. Insects chirped, and Stacy flinched when far off to the right she heard a snake hiss and rattle its tail. Across the sky in her view, a small dark shape flew by that she at first mistook for a bird and then realized was actually a bat.

  Their impromptu leader, the man with the seed bag, stopped and crouched down beside the next tall bush on their left, fingering another seed in his right hand. When Stacy came up behind him, she quietly bent over to peer past his shoulder. The Elf went slowly to look on the other side of the bush while the others remained behind.

  She looked past the edge of leaves and saw Vincent’s other guard walking silently in the moonlight amidst the grass, approaching Clyde from behind. Clyde stood as though he hadn’t noticed. Stacy found this odd but continued to wait like the rest.

  Just as Clyde finally turned around, he was immediately slammed in the gut by the end of an iron rod and doubled over in pain. The next moment, he was struck across the face and fell on his side, holding his stomach and unable to breathe. The mage in front of her moved from his cover to approach and Stacy followed him.