The Panids' Children_The Panids of Koa

by Lee M Eason

“She is a resilient girl,” Zia smiled. “I have grown to care very deeply for her and have enjoyed her company. She talks freely and openly and that has aided her healing. She is ready for the challenges ahead I have no doubt. But Jac, he worries me a little. Stran’s death has affected him deeply. We have spent some time together but he is unwilling to talk. This is not like him.” She shook her head in concern.

  Kellim nodded. “I too have struggled to get him to talk. But the past few days at least have seen a welcome change in him.”

  “Yes he is brighter and much improved since your last visit. It will take time Kellim. It can be a long journey,” Zia comforted.

  “I worry he may blame himself. There was nothing he, or any of us could do. We were deep underground. The field was weak and would not respond. I...” Kellim broke off.

  Zia reached across the table and held his hand in both of hers. “You did all and more than could be expected. There is no blame to be placed here. Do not seek to find it a home.”

  “No. No indeed,” Kellim replied. “This break has come at a good time, for all of us.”

  Malik poured more of the hot sweet infusion and handed it to Kellim. “Rest, and good food work wonders. You have carried the burden of care for too long and we have been glad to share it. It is good that Gwen, Carrick and Bryn will soon be with you.”

  “Yes,” Zia agreed. “Particularly now that your responsibilities grow,” Kellim looked puzzled. “You have of course noticed the growing bond between Jenna and Lewen?”

  “Clearly not as much as I should have.”

  “There you have it. For all your ways and talent, a simple farmer’s wife sees far more.” She wagged a finger comically at him. “The wedding of course will be here.” Kellim was about to speak and then realised Zia’s game. “Perhaps…” Zia chuckled. “Perhaps that is a little far in the future, even for me to see.”

  Chapter 4

  “Don’t give me that crap!” Ballan spat the words, toppling his chair as he stood. Unlike the other members of The Corumn, Mia Sara and Gattick remained seated, seemingly untroubled by the Adept’s outburst. Ballan was leaning on the elaborate table, glaring across the room at Naicarn, his anger no longer contained, his voice rising with each sentence so that now it echoed in the large room. Only the late afternoon breeze attempted to easy the stifling heat. “You have only your own interests in mind. Don’t insult our intelligence with this talk of enhancement. To push against The Field’s Cap is a criminal offense.” The patience of both men had worn thin in the preceding hours.

  “Sit down,” Naicarn sneered, his contempt for Ballan openly on show. “And the rest of you, standing like halfwits, gawping at me. It is the short sightedness of people like you that has eroded the influence of the Amar Order. I present you with vital information regarding Segat’s intentions to invade our country and you talk of envoys and delegations. That idiot posing on the throne of Ildra must be controlled and contained.” Naicarn was astounded by their obstinacy. “Once our influence prevented the actions of such imbeciles extending beyond their own borders...”

  “Your only interest is in manipulating the minds of the weak to suit your own advancement!” Ballan interrupted. “The rulers of Ildra may be arrogant but they are not warmongers. Not even this UruIldran could want more than the vast ranges of Ildra and its natural riches.” He paused for effect. “Unless of course, someone is exerting influence over him.”

  Mia Sara continued to observe. Naicarn had been a respected member of the Amar Order but directly opposed their decision to re-establish links with the other Orders. His increasing extremism had marginalised him and cost him that respect. He’d left without any warning only to return now, over two years later, following a request to meet with The Corumn. The man before them was changed. The black hair was prematurely grey. The tanned Amarian skin had an unhealthy pallor. His features were now harsh, etched by pain. His long silk jacket and narrow trousers, so much a part of Amarian culture, were now loose and ill-fitting.

  Naicarn took another step forward. “You would have our kind at the beck and call of every ruler on the continent, the guard dogs of every dictator and potentate. We are commanded to advise instead of being entreated. Viewed as servants and all because they think us impotent, shadows of what we were, no longer a power to be reckoned with or an unknown quantity to fear and respect.” Uncharacteristically Naicarn’s voice was shaking with emotion. This meeting had been a humiliation. He had not expected so much change. The minds ranged against him were closed. They would not see the way forward his research could offer and he wasn’t strong enough to permanently control them even with the aid of the Panid’s copper devices. He had come too soon, all of his efforts, all the suffering and for what?

  “That’s it, isn’t it,” Ballan’s voice was shrill. Spit flecked his lips. “That’s what really eats at you. Your pride! You’ve always thought yourself above us all and especially them - the talentless. And now the proud Naicarn must follow their orders, call them sire and bow to them. It devours you, doesn’t it? You may fool yourself but not me.” Ballan was triumphant as he closed in for the kill. Words he had wanted to say for years rose to his lips and before an audience of their peers, how rich how satisfying. “You’ve always hated the fact that I have risen in our Order and not you,” he accused. “Perhaps it is time you learnt why that is Naicarn. Do you know why so many times you have been over looked? Do you!”

  “Enough of this,” Gattick interceded. “Ballan take your seat and calm yourself.” Naicarn had straightened, colour rising in his face.

  “No Chancellor, it is time he knew!” Ballan was well aware of Naicarn’s weak spots he had twisted a knife in them on many an occasion but with hardly a reaction. “That calm exterior fools none of us. We are all aware of the frailties lurking in that troubled mind of yours, your inability to move with the times. Your outspoken views made you a laughing stock. No wonder you ran away to hide your shame. The fact that you can even show yourself here, after all of this time, with this mad man’s talk of defying The Field’s Cap and extending your powers is...”

  Gattick slammed his hand down on the table. “You go too far! This is not a stage for petty bickering and point scoring. Be seated! Both of you!”

  Ballan was breathing heavily, he stood for a while glaring, enjoying the fact that Naicarn was clearly struggling to contain himself. “Of course Chancellor.” Ballan deliberately spoke slowly, demonstrating his self-control as he picked up his chair and smugly lowered himself into it. Naicarn had turned away, his back rigid and fists clenched.

  Mia Sara had remained silent throughout the whole of the meeting. Naicarn’s words had touched a chord in her and she found herself unsettled by the truth of them. She was not entirely happy with the speed and range of the changes The Chancellor was pushing through. She had never liked Gattick and agreed to take a place on The Corumn in order to keep him in check. She had recently taken her position along with several others. The change in the makeup of The Corumn was considerable and clearly not expected by Naicarn. With the support of The Empress, Gattick had been able to make sweeping changes. Changes Naicarn would have thought impossible. Despite this Naicarn had tried to persuade them with his offer of greater power and a chance to raise the Order above all others once again. But this new Corumn, unlike the old had no such interests. His achievement was of little consequence to them. Mia Sara could sense his growing desperation. He truly believed he was right and had clearly suffered much in the past years for an Order that no longer wanted him and, if anything, was embarrassed by him. To make matters worse Ballan had begun to see an opportunity, a chance to settle old scores. Ballan’s envy of Naicarn’s abilities had always obsessed him. This was no carefully hidden secret; Mia Sara knew this; everyone knew this. Deep down he knew Naicarn to be superior and had tried for years to raise himself above the man he both loathed and yet desperately wanted to be. Mia Sara now feared Ballan’s goading had gone too far and Gattick seemed unable to control the
situation. Naicarn was becoming unstable his growing anger hinted at a raging will, barely held in check. His unswerving loyalty to the Order was wearing thin. If he had been able to develop his powers, as he had claimed, they could be in danger and Mia Sara wouldn’t allow herself to be placed in a situation to please Ballan’s need for emotional victory. “Perhaps now would be a good time to adjourn The Corumn, before it is allowed to run away with itself,” she interrupted coolly. “We should reconvene tomorrow and discuss matters further.”

  Irritated, Gattick was about to correct Mia Sara’s remarks when Naicarn began speaking.

  “I have learnt much recently from an old dog,” Naicarn almost muttered. He kept his back to them.

  “What,” Ballan snapped. “What are you mumbling at?”

  Mia Sara looked quickly to The Chancellor sensing a change in the air but didn’t have time to react. Naicarn spun round and as he did an array of copper spheres spilled into the air. Activated by a thought he used their stored field energy to seal the door and freeze the minds of those present. The five were fixed in their chairs, able to see and hear but unable to move or focus enough to draw on the field. Naicarn slowly walked the remaining distance to the table using his will to draw unopposed on the field. The air filled with static and minds filled with the dull roar of energy.

  “Perhaps I have not wasted my time in isolation,” Naicarn was saying, his voice strangely calm. “Unmonitored by you I have pushed against the boundaries of The Field’s Cap. Forced myself to endure its agonies so that now I am able to draw deeply from it. Far deeper than any here.” He sat down on the table leaning closely to Ballan’s face. “And perhaps during those tortured moments, when I pushed myself beyond reason, my mind may have become a little abraded. But through it I have achieved a clarity of purpose and understanding that has always eluded you. Has it never occurred to you that perhaps I was overlooked for other reasons than the ones dreamt up by you? Could it be that The Amar Order raised you to your current level because it saw a man who could be manipulated? A man whose blinding pride wouldn’t allow him to consider the fact that he was being used as a puppet.”

  Naicarn enjoyed the moment as the flicker of doubt took seed in Ballan’s eyes. But the aching stab of failure soon returned. He had failed. The bleakness of this realisation stretched before him. The Corumn wasn’t the clutch of weak willed fools he had left behind. Powerful as he was he couldn’t hope to take on this new Corumn and the might of the Amar Order. The plans that had consumed his every waking moment had failed. The Order, had been his life, but now wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t give him a chance. They no longer needed and worse no longer respected him. What did he have left?

  Activity, some distance away, in the building pulled him back to the present. Forcing some semblance of control over himself he leaned forward looking directly into Ballan’s eyes.

  “You spoke of the frailties of my mind,” Naicarn’s voice was flat, emotionless as he searched the face before him. “How strong is yours I wonder?”

  Ballan’s forehead began to bead perspiration, fear now clear in his eyes. Satisfied, Naicarn straightened and picked up the small copper orb in front of the man whose eyes darted between it and Naicarn’s face.

  “A clever little device. Did I tell you of Kellim’s visit? A far greater mind than yours Ballan. Only he stopped to wonder why I had left the Order and removed myself from the world. Only he suspected I had an ulterior motive for leaving. He failed to find answers to his questions but left behind the means to bring forward my visit here. Unfortunately, they cannot help me reach my original goal but may still furnish an opportunity to settle old scores.”

  He juggled the device between his fingers. “They can be constructed to contain a surprising amount of energy. A mere thought, hardly detectable, can activate them.” He stood up and turned to look at Mia Sara. “My congratulations, your sensitivity is indeed impressive. I suspect, my dear, that without these I would not have been able to hold The Corumn and that I would now be pinned to the floor. But these perfect spheres have not aided the outcome I wanted...” Naicarn broke off lifting his head. “Ah, there we have it. Your rescuers approach.”

  There was a series of shouts from outside the heavy doors as the first of a series of huge blows struck them. Naicarn reeled forward, placing a hand on the table to steady himself. He remained there for seconds concentrating, focusing, pushing deeper. The roar inside the heads of his captives grew to new levels as he pulled in more field energy. The doors stopped shuddering and the noise outside became distant. Eventually he lifted his head touching his top lip with the back of his hand. When he next spoke his words were an effort.

  “You are… fortunate today Ballan… very fortunate,” and with that he was gone.

  ***

  Segat, High Emperor of Ildra, First of The Urukish blood-line Ulmata, Ruler Englorie, looked out across his capital; Hass, First City of The Sun. It dazzled the eye with its beauty, its art and above all its gold. And it was all his. Twenty years of political intrigue had finally paid off allowing his family to claim ascendancy to the Ildran throne. The sacrifices and crippling expense had been worth it all. His first thought had been to indulge his every whim but new thoughts had taken root. Seeded by…vague images, snatches of a voice and a man’s face danced at the edge of this thoughts but he couldn’t fix them, make them clear. No matter. The revelations given him had brought aspirations that fed his deepest desires. Many in his family had balked at them, even criticized and mocked him for them. Their words had condemned them and now none spoke out against his vision. Now he would alter history bring meaning to the title Emperor and create a new Urukish Empire worthy of the title. Selarsh, Hon, Neath even the mighty Hallorn would fall to the power of his armies. He gazed westward spitting a curse into the air that the winds would carry to Amaria. Let them entreat, let them talk of new beginnings, let them cower behind the high walls of The Hand, eventually he would come and bring with him a lesson in contrition. Illia would be avenged.

  A knock at the door broke his revelry. “Enter,” he snapped churlishly. The Aide to The Chamber stepped in and bowed. “F-forgive me Your Majesty. VaCalt begs to remind your majesty that she awaits your pleasure.” The man kept his eyes lowered the tremble to his voice evident.

  Segat smiled at the grudging politeness of VaCalt’s message. He knew she would be seething inside. He enjoyed goading her. It pleased him to waste her time. He smoothed down the embroidered gold of his tunic and adjusted two of the jewel-encrusted rings on his fingers so that they all sat perfectly. Nothing, but nothing was more important than the whim of The Emperor no matter how trivial no matter how petty.

  Segat turned back to the city, sharp Urukish features held high above the people. Perfectly styled hair cut short with intricate designs cushioned the fabled Ildran Sapphire crown as it caught the sun.

  Undismissed The Aide stood trembling at the door for a further fifteen minutes before Segat spoke again. “Tell her I will see her now. Tell her it had better be important.”

  “Sire.” The Aide bowed again, scuttling to leave the room. It did not pay to bring unwanted news to his majesty’s ears.

  Segat kept his back to the door, listening to The Aide scuttle off and then the sweep of long robes as VaCalt entered. The air of outrage she emanated was palpable and still he made her wait. Helping himself to some sweet fancy from a multitude of golden bowls that presented the very best of Ildra’s finest chefs.

  Finally dabbing his mouth with a silk cloth Segat favoured her with his attention. He needed her. He needed what she could make her Order achieve. She was as hungry for power and position as he was for revenge. They shared the same UruIldran heritage, the main reason he had supported her rise to Potent of The Ildran Order. Even now nearing seventy her features had lost none of their sharp angles, her skin and hair still dark, her eyes darker yet, a window into the strength within. She had more drive and stamina than a woman half her age. Her talent was unparalleled and her ambi
tion - her ambition needed a leash. “What is it VaCalt?”

  “Your Majesty,” she bowed stiffly, her sharp UruIldran features disappearing under the acid yellow of the cowl she wore. “They are complete. DuChen awaits your pleasure and has been under guard as you commanded.”

  “Has he had contact with any from your Order?”

  “No, Sire. It is as you have commanded,” VaCalt was certain now of Segat’s intentions.

  “And you VaCalt? Does that include you?”

  “Of course, Sire. I devote my every waking instant to your service and…”

  “Spare me VaCalt,” he waved a hand irritably in her direction. “I will see them now. And make sure their creator is there.” Segat turned his back on her and returned his attention to the distraction of food.

  ***

  VaCalt’s voice stabbed into DuChen’s head like a blade forced between the lid of a sealed chest. Her attempt at this illegal communication was clearly an effort even for her. “I have told The Emperor all he needs to know,” she said hurriedly. “You will only facilitate the imprinting. You will say nothing, do nothing to attract his attenti…” the voice in his head was smothered. He tried to extend his own mind but hit a wall before he could draw on the field. Then VaCalt pierced his consciousness again. He flinched. The pain was terrible, how was she able to get past it. “DuChen! The imprinting done you will attempt to leave at the earliest opportunity. Is this clear DuChen?”

  “Y-yes,” his voice caught in a dry throat.

  “Make no mention of this. I am all that stands in the way of your death.”

  He nodded pointlessly. She was gone before he had time to draw a trembling breath and the form fields that kept him isolated sealed themselves again. He rubbed at his shaved head now slick with sweat, his nerves turning his stomach in knots. His commitment to the task of creation and eventual success was meant to advance his position. He looked over at the fruits of his labours. The two figures stood motionless shrouded in purest white. DuChen did not fear them. He couldn’t see their eyes but knew they would not be watching him. He had extended that protection for The Emperor to include himself. He knew who they had been and what they now were, but had no reason to fear them as every Talent would. But he did fear The Emperor and what Segat could do to him. He rung his hands and began pacing, short desperate movements. What could he do? Why had he gloated at the failure of the other Summoners? He should have left then, ran, hid and got as far away from Ildra as possible. When Segat ordered the confiscation of his research that morning, the rooms given to him for his work became his prison. Not even VaCalt had been allowed entry. He stopped his pacing and tried yet again to draw on the field, nothing. Nothing! The room was still sealed. He clenched his fists to his head. Why hadn’t the danger he was in been obvious to him. Segat wanted a personal guard immune to the powers of his country’s Talents. DuChen was their only creator and minutes from now Segat would no longer have need of him. Why, why, why had he not realised this for himself? Why had he been so arrogant? He clutched at his stomach suddenly feeling sick. With shaking hands, he tried to pour a drink and gulped at it sloppily before slumping into a chair and hugging his sides. A noise from the room outside made him freeze. He could hear soldiers and General Imed.