To become trapped in her mind as if she were a spectator, that would be a horror she would not survive.
Delmith Bathooll sat in his study. A large tome lay open on the desk beside him. The words in the tome were so faded that page after page required enhancement from the Essence to make them readable. The Elmorr’Antien people had always done an admiral job of recording the history on the Plane of Talic’Nauth. At least, as it pertained to them. It was natural that they would since they were the longest-lived race. Some of his people lived over seven hundred turns of the seasons, though the norm was closer to six-hundred and fifty. Time, however, was a great enemy. Not so much to his people—it was the records themselves that were at risk. The book next to him hailed from the second cycle, some twelve-thousand winters gone.
Twelve-thousand winters. Unimaginable!
History had always fascinated Delmith. Delving through the halls of time, discovering things that once were commonplace. The book he held in his hands, one from the fourth cycle a paltry four-thousand winters gone, told of horseless carts that flew through the air! He would have accounted such preposterous tales out of hand had he not seen one of the devices sitting in the museum of Hath’oolan—even if no one knew how it worked. The joy he felt about the Essence growing in strength, becoming more and more malleable…
These are exciting times!
Mayhaps he would see the device fly in his lifetime. Of course, this line of thinking brought him back to the Mah’Sukai and his Prince’s experiment with the Chi’utlan. Closing the book he held, he stood and walked to the bookshelf on the far wall. He slipped it into its rightful home, then ran his thin gray fingers down the spines of the others sitting on the shelf next to it. His collection of books would not have impressed anyone by their number, barely one-hundred in all. Yet, if anyone took a closer look—and understood what they saw—they would see that he had put together one of the finest collections of books on history mayhaps anywhere on Talic’Nauth. Many were handed down within his own family. It seemed that many of his male ancestors held the same love of the past, as did he. Though, he had added to the collection of books more than any of them. He sighed.
How have I found myself here?
For a Gray, he had achieved much. As a youngling, he tested high in his ability to Meld the Essence—higher even than many Blues. This natural skill had been the reason for his acceptance into the Chandril’elian. It was not unheard of for Grays to train there. The majority of Grays, however, never trained anywhere official. Most took up their family’s trade, living out their lives as best they could. They learned to Meld the Essence from their relatives.
His move to the Chandril’elian as a youngling was the catalyst for his befriending the royal Mocley twins, Aritian and Sarshia. Though he was happy with his mate, he still held a secret desire for the Blue Princess. Seeing her again only rekindled those long buried feelings.
I am a fool for ever considering she might return those feelings. Blues are Blues, after all.
A knock at his front door startled him. Rising, he left his study and entered the main living area of his home. It was a spacious villa for a Gray. His mate’s favorite flora from around the island filled the open courtyard-like entrance hall. He stopped and smiled at the bloom of a large white flower. He could not recall its name, though he knew Melisian would.
Approaching the door, he flinched when another hard rap echoed through its wood.
Who would be so impatient?
Reaching for the handle, his heart leapt into his throat.
Could it be?
No. His Prince had never visited his home in all the time he lived here. The knock came once more, this time with more force, and Delmith hurried to lift the latch.
A hand pushed open the door, forcing Delmith back. Prince Aritian strode into the entrance hall with a look of disgust on his face. “It is about time, Delmith. Where could you possibly have been in this tiny little house of yours that it would take so long to answer the door?”
Retreating another step, Delmith bowed his head to hide both his shock as well as his shame. He could think of no answer anyway.
As usual, Aritian wore a red serota draped over his small frame. Gold markings decorated its hem and cuffs. With a sniff of distaste, his Prince walked further into the house, his large tear-dropped head swiveling from side to side. “So this is where you scurry off to during those few times you leave the Chandril’elian.” Aritian turned and looked at Delmith.
With a jolt, Delmith realized how rude he was being by standing there staring at Aritian. “Yes. Welcome to my home, my Prince.” Regaining some of his composure, he scurried past Aritian into the sitting area. “Please, have a seat. Would you like a cup of Raz?”
“I would. Though I doubt what you have is worthy of the name.”
Delmith hesitated.
Aritian waved him away. “Just sit, Delmith. We have much to discuss.”
Inclining his head once more, Delmith did as his Prince instructed. “Have you learned something new, my Prince?”
“Learning is your job, Delmith. Though, I have just returned from the Chi’utlan.” His eyes glistened deep and black. “It is full, Delmith. In less than a moon’s time, it is once again full to bursting!”
Delmith knew this already. Since the day the Human Initiate, Alant, had vanished, Delmith had spent as much time as he could either in the hall leading to the chamber or in the chamber itself.
Aritian stood. “That has to mean something. After our first test five winters gone, it took a full two turns of the seasons to refill! With the second test, it took only one. And with that whore’s son, the Chi’utlan filled in a mere five moons. I thought that amazing, until this time. It has been less than one moon!” The Prince started to pace. “We are close, Delmith. I can feel it.”
Delmith’s mind raced. He had anticipated this day, which had fostered him spending his eves at home instead of the Chandril’elian—to avoid his Prince. From the moment of Alant’s demise, Delmith had watched with dread as the Chi’utlan filled at an alarming rate. Looking at the zeal in his Prince’s eyes, he knew Aritian had no intention of stopping his experiments. “I still have not discovered what went wrong with Alant’s test, my Prince.”
Rotating on a heel, the hem of his thin red serota spinning at his knees, Aritian glared down at Delmith. “That does not diminish the fact that the Chi’utlan is full once more!” His Prince rubbed his hands together. “We must move forward.”
Delmith knew he did not have the words to sway his Prince. Still, how could Aritian even consider continuing with these experiments after what happened to the Human, Alant? “Of course, my Prince, you are wise. I would still like to voice a bit of caution, however.”
“I am sure you would.” His tone was dismissive. Pausing, Aritian’s eyes narrowed. “I had such hopes for you, Delmith.” A weak smile came to his thin black lips. “Though, I should not have expected more. My father has always said that no matter how hard they try, a Gray will always be a Gray.” Returning to his seat, he sat across from Delmith and crossed one thin blue-gray leg over the other. “It seems as if you have shown that you are no different.”
“I am not sure I understand, my Prince.”
Aritian waved his hand through the air. “It matters not. What does matter, however, is what you have learned over these last few moons.”
Delmith’s heart froze. “I am afraid little, my Prince.” His mind wandered to his mate, Melisian. The terror that a day would come when he would have an “accident” had forced him to look at life differently. He had set their affairs in order to relieve her of any financial burdens should he expire. It was morbid thinking. Still, he saw no other end to the path he now walked—trapped between his Prince and what he knew the rest of the Blues would think of their deeds. “Many ancient tomes speak of the perils of using the Chi’utlan before it is ready. Of the corruptio
n of the mind, the possibility of death. We have seen both in our own tests with the Chi’utlan. Yet, I can find no reference to what happened to Alant. The…crushing.” He shifted in his seat. “I do not think it is wise to continue, my Prince. At least not until we know more.”
Uncrossing his legs, Aritian leaned forward. “I am afraid that we do not have the luxury of waiting any longer.” When Delmith did not answer, his Prince continued. “I have heard whispers that my sister, Sarshia, has been…asking questions about my interest in the Chandril’elian. I am not ready to have my father discover what I am attempting just yet.”
Now Delmith understood. Sarshia’s informants had been noticed. This would complicate matters. Not to mention add to his Prince’s determination to push forward sooner rather than later. “What do you intend, my Prince?”
Prince Aritian rose and stared down at Delmith with fevered eyes. “I intend to be the first Elmorr’Antien Mah’Sukai! I intend to protect my people, and not let the next War of Power send us into hiding. I intend to lead my people to the destiny and glory they deserve!” After a pause, he turned and headed for the door. “This next tenday will be filled with parties and appearances in celebration of my sister’s return. Use this time wisely, Delmith. For on the first day of the next tenday, we will conduct another test.”
Delmith felt his heart break. He thought of the two Silawaians remaining at the school, Jared and Shaith. Both were gifted students. Both fine Humans. He could not bear watching either of them die the way Alant had. “I am not certain it is wise for us to lose another student so soon, my Prince. You know the Hon’Vanria has received several letters of inquiry from the Human Shapers of Mocley. If we have another student succumb so soon—”
Prince Aritian spun around. “This is why I make the decisions, Delmith. You are far too weak for such a burden.” Turning his back on Delmith once more, Aritian walked to the door and opened it. “We shall not be using Initiates. I have decided to procure others for our testing purposes.”
Fear rippled through Delmith. Covering his mouth with his hand, he slowly stood. “You cannot mean…me?” His words came out as a choked whisper.
A wicked grin sprang to Aritian’s black lips. “What a wonderful idea. I had not considered that.” He laughed aloud when Delmith gasped. “Oh, do not be so dramatic, Delmith. I have known for some time we would need other test subjects. Just this morn a ship arrived with what we need.”
“What we need?” Clutching his quivering hands together, Delmith forced himself to step toward his Prince.
“Aye. Three Human Shapers who tragically died…” His prince grinned. “…in a house fire in Mocley. They have just arrived.”
“I do not think the Chi’utlan will work on a corpse.” At least, he did not think it would. It did raise some interesting possibilities. If they could use the dead—
“They are not dead, you fool! They are being held at—” Aritian paused and his smile grew. “Well, it may be for the best if you do not know the particulars.” His smile slipped from his face and Delmith wondered if his Prince knew of his meeting with Sarshia.
Delmith did not let his mind linger on the thought for long, however. This visit from his Prince had already shaken him far more than he cared to admit. He bowed his head. “As you say, my Prince.”
Turning, Aritian walked down the small path that split Delmith’s front garden. He stopped when he reached the main street and looked back. “You have one last tenday, Delmith. Use it wisely.” And with that, he left.
Delmith continued to stand in his doorway, aimlessly looking out at the city long after his Prince had disappeared down the street. The sun sat high in an almost clear blue sky. A cooling breeze racked his skin. He noticed none of it. Stepping inside, he closed the door and fell against it. He knew he needed to get word of this to his Princess. Yet, why should he bother? The finality in his Prince’s last words was apparent.
How have I found myself here, indeed?
After the incident with the Niyoka, Charver Vimith stayed closer to the wagons when they struck camp each eve. This made Klain’s job much easier. The Asgarthian Plains stretched on for what seemed like an eternity. Only the occasional pond, never fed by any river or stream that Klain could see, broke the monotony. Some he could see only once he was right on top of them. He had been correct about his time spent in that bottomless hole of water—his nightmares were filled with them. Klain avoided the ponds, not even going near them to fill a water skin. He left that job to others.
A cool breeze from the Glonlore Bay chased them as they headed south and east. Always south and east. The twenty odd wagons in the train made good time. The terrain, though rolling, lay barren of anything save grass and the occasional silhouette of a gnarled tree, and thus was easy to traverse. The only trouble so far—other than his run-in with the giant snake—had been when a wagon driver slipped and broke his ankle. It did not affect his duties while he drove, so after they bandaged him, he continued to do his job.
The only thing Klain found to complain about other than the biting insects was Timms. The further they traveled, the more agitated the man became. Often, once they stopped for the eve, Klain would overhear him arguing with Rohann.
This eve was no exception. With lastmeal underway, Klain held both his plate as well as one for Charver in a paw as he walked back to the tent they shared. He stopped when he heard angry words being passed in a hushed exchange. Setting down the plates, he stepped past a row of tents and saw Timms and Rohann whispering loudly at each other. By the looks on their faces, it would not be long before they no longer whispered.
As Klain approached, Rohann threw up his hands. “If you are so concerned, leave. A strong man like you should have no problems making it back to Mocley. Just do not be at my villa when I return!” With that, he stormed off into the night.
Turning at the sound of Klain’s approach, Timms frowned. “You mark my words, Kith.” The man spit onto the ground before pointing after Rohann. “That man has no map nor any idea where we are headed. This expedition is a sham!”
“We are heading somewhere. Even I can see that!” This man tried Klain’s patience at every turn. Why would he not stop his incessant complaining?
For that matter, why did he even choose to come along?
“Any fool who has heard the story knows the lost city of Sar’Xanthia is somewhere in the jungles east of the Morlis Mountains! That is where we are headed. Once we arrive there, I fear we will simply wander around until we run out of food or are killed by one of the foul creatures that live there. We follow a madman!”
With a growl, Klain grabbed Timms by the scruff of his collar and lifted him from his feet. “Then why are you still here? You have a horse.” Shoving him to the ground, he stepped over him, extending his claws. “As our master has said, go back to Mocley if you are a coward!”
Timms scrambled out from under Klain and regained his feet. “You furry beast! You are as much of a fool as Rohann!” Spinning, the man stormed away in the opposite direction Rohann had gone.
Klain watched Timms go until he passed between two tents. He really did not understand why the man stayed. He half believed it was out of duty. Still, Timms did not act as if that was his reason. Looking out after Rohann—Klain knew Humans were practically blind in the darkness, yet to his eyes, the man was almost as visible as if he stood in the sun—he watched his master top a rise on the hill, then glance around as if worried about being followed.
His curiosity peaked, he hurried back to his tent, retrieving his plates of food as he went. Entering, he handed one plate to Charver and set the other down. “I must go out. I will return later. Do not stay awake too long. Eat and put out the candle. You need your sleep.”
Charver, who attacked the food, nodded. Klain knew the boy would not heed his words.
Throwing back the tent flap, he retraced his steps to where he had held his discussion w
ith Timms. Following after Rohann, Klain stepped out into the wild grasslands of the Asgarthian Plains. He did not find Rohann over the first hill, though in the tall grass it was not difficult to follow the man’s trail.
After several more hills, he came upon a large pond. Unlike any of the others he had seen, a small stream fed this one, or at least the start of a stream. It looked as if the ground had caved in over one of the underground rivers, creating a small gorge that ran for a short distance before disappearing into the side of a hill.
Klain was not certain, yet he thought he heard voices. Dropping to all fours, he followed the top of the gorge until it made an abrupt curve. He dropped flat at the sound of Rohann’s voice.
“I know, yet he grows more and more suspicious each day. Surely with all your power you could provide me with a map that I could use to appease him?” Rohann spoke to someone, and by the tone in his voice, someone he respected greatly.
“I have provided you with a map, Rohann. It is in your mind.” Klain shrank back at hearing a woman’s voice answer, for there were no women traveling with the expedition! “Draw it out if you must.”
“He would recognize my hand. That would cause even more trouble with him.”
“Surely you can handle one man. You are about to gain all that your heart desires, and more!” There was a pause and Klain moved forward to gain a better vantage point that would allow him to see this woman. “You have the Ju’kagi. The others follow in your wake. You are growing nearer with each passing day. Stay your course. You will be at my side soon.”
“Aye. Still—”
“Silence! Someone is near.”
Knowing he was found, Klain rose to his full height and slid down the outcrop. Rohann stood in a small cleft made by the stream before it vanished back underground. Other than the ever-present scrub grass, the man stood alone. Glancing around, Klain crept cautiously forward.
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