Looming Shadow: Journey to Chaos book 2

by Brian Wilkerson

  On his way down the stairs of Cutlass Bridge, he stopped to avoid something lying on them. It was a human body sprawled across the steps and lying in brown liquid. By the smell, he assumed it was vomit. Eric sighed and knelt beside the drunkard. A pub was two blocks from his house, so drunkards often stumbled by and kept him awake with their awful singing.

  “Dere once was a boy tamed Eric!” this one bellowed. “Who pad da beard of man famed Dengel! They rusmed and kepsapom and dididldo! ... and Dengel had a much bigger hat!”

  Eric breathed deeply and stepped over the drunk, but he might have accidentally kicked him in the head as his foot passed over. Then he opened the door and lost all control of his anger.

  “What are you still doing here!?”

  Gruffle looked at him over the rim of a book. “I live here.”

  Eric slammed the door and marched to the foot of the bed. A quick wind spell snatched the book away from him and tossed it out a window. It made a “splosh” sound in the river.

  “Not anymore! Not since our duel!”

  Nonplused, Gruffle opened a second book. “The terms were that you could move in, not that I'd have to move out.” He farted. “You don't mind, do you?”

  The staff pulsed on Eric's back and a humorously inappropriate punishment flashed in his mind. He liked the idea and looked for something suitably painful he could use.

  “Double or nothing.”

  Gruffle reached for a bowl of chips in a nightstand. “No thanks. I can't win against Dengel's vessel. You'll use more of Dengel's spells and Dengel's tricks and Dengel's –”

  Eric spun his staff out of its strap and leveled the crystal at the intruder. “Say ‘Dengel’ one more time and you'll spend the rest of your life as a pink poodle.”

  Still, Gruffle dismissed him. His only reaction was to turn a page. “Did Dengel teach you that one too?”

  Eric screamed and slammed his fist on the desk. “Arm wrestling! As a troll, you should have the advantage, or were you the runt of the litter?”

  Finally, Gruffle put the book down, walked over to the desk, and sat down across from Eric. The human put his thin and fleshy elbow on the table while the troll put his larger and stonier one next to it. They joined hands and Eric immediately regretted his challenge.

  When humans have hangnails, they're annoying; when a troll has them, they're like dull knives. Between them and troll strength, Eric felt like he'd put his hand in a trash compactor. Gruffle smirked as he pushed Eric's arm further and further back. He enjoyed this far too much to let it end quickly. Then he made the mistake of sneering at Eric.

  When he looked into the darkness of the human's eyes, the darkness looked into him. It invaded his soul and froze all thought in his mind. His heart skipped a beat and his wrist slammed against the desk. The darkness vanished and he shook his head.

  “Shadow!” He shook his head again. “I mean, cheater!”

  Eric pointed to the door with his staff. “Consider it a lesson from your upperclassman.”

  Gruffle reached for his own weapon and brought it crashing down on Eric's head. It only smashed the chair he was sitting on. It passed through Eric himself as if he wasn't there. Someone blew a raspberry from behind him and when he looked over his shoulder, he saw Eric.

  “Lesson two: I set that up while you were in a trance. Wanna go for three?” Gruffle jumped up and fell flat on his face because his shoes were tied together. “Three it is, then: The existence of one trick means there could be more.” Eric swung his crystal down and gently tapped Gruffle's neck. “Lesson four is death. Care to learn it?”

  The troll kept his head down, as if in obeisance. “You are indeed the Trickster's Choice. You win. I'll leave this apartment forever.” Eric stepped back and allowed Gruffle to untie his shoes and stand up. He stopped at the doorway. “We'll meet again.”

  As soon as he stepped out, Eric solemnly closed the door and locked it. His journey did not end with the journey itself. Trouble was waiting for him even here in the center of his own place in the world, but now it was gone. I can finally rest.

  Just as he did in his dream over a month ago, he basked in the glory of his humble home. The desk where he studied magecraft was still there, but cluttered with troll junk. He pushed it off and set Introduction to Magecraft in its place. The door that was reinforced after thugs-in-royal-guard-clothing broke it down; he traced his fingers over it and felt its strength. The scorch mark on the floor next to the shower from when he tried to juggle fireballs. It was an experiment to see if they were waterproof. The mantle that was really a support beam and his treasures resting on top of it. Fear for these precious possessions plagued him on the planet of his birth.

  At the far left, there was a Cecri blade that he took from his first battle from his first mission. After that, there was his first payment as a mercenary, a stone with a slip of paper and wisdom. Third in line was an embroidered handkerchief given to him by Princess Kasile as a token of friendship. Second to last was his prize from the New Scepter Magic Competition, an orichalcum trophy. On the far right and most important was the Aio Jar.

  This last one drove him to tears. Aio was his first friend in Tariatla and “died” before his eyes in a den of monsters. The fact that he was truly Tasio in disguise both gladdened and angered Eric. He picked it up, unscrewed the top, and looked inside. The ashes were still there despite Tasio flying about and causing mischief. It's really not a dream... He wiped his eyes.

  “Well, Roomy, I'm home at last. It took me four months, but here I am. I hope that troll didn't mess the place up too bad.”

  He sighed. “Aio, what would you do if someone called you a vessel? 'Vessels are great! They hold pudding!' That's what you'd say, right?” He chuckled to himself, screwed the top back on, and put the jar back in its place. “Good night, Aio.”

  He threw himself onto his bed and wrinkled his nose. There was a deep depression in the mattress and it smelled of troll sweat, but simply lying in his own bed made him feel warm and happy. The bed on Threa was comfortable, but it wasn't home. I'll fix it later. Sleep now.

  He opened his eyes into a black void. It extended endlessly in all directions; the sky no different from the ground. Although there was no light source, he could still see all the statues around and that they were forming a circle. Huh, just like I left it.

  He strolled between the statues of his friends, his fellow mercenaries, his bridge house, and the Dragon's Lair. Dengel called this place a “Union Point of Telepathic Empathy,” or, in other words, a mental meeting room. I haven't been here since I kicked Dengel's… He trailed off when he noticed other statues. They were sapients in regal attire, a second one of Culmus, Duke Siron of Esrah, and a replica of the castle. He had no connection to them. He didn't place them here.

  Why didn't you tell me you were back?!

  Chapter 6 A New Dawn for Roalt

  During his last visit, Eric's mind was linked to another's and they shared both joy and sorrow. It cut off as soon as he stepped outside of Tariatla and the sudden silence was as terrifying as silence in a void. Now he could feel it again; her wonderfully hostile thoughts and emotions! He ran to the statue representing her and the real deal stepped out from its shadow.

  “Kasile! Is that really you!? It's been so long!”

  She looked down her nose at him. “Yes, it has. So long that my name is now Queen Kasile VII.”

  Eric slowed to a stop. “Uh...ah...” He scratched the back of his neck. “About that... I meant to go to your coronation, really, and it wasn't my fault! Tasio dragged me back to Threa!”

  She maintained her regal disdain. “How long have you been back?”

  “Uh...” He knew she wouldn't like the answer but he told her nonetheless. “About a month...” Flames appeared in her eyes and the void's temperature rose. “Tasio dropped me in Mambi! That's the middle of nowhere! Then there was this creep harassing my friend and a troll that wouldn't get out of my house, and my team mis...”

  “Come
to the castle tomorrow morning.” Her expression remained cold.

  “I would love to, Kas, you know I would, but –”

  “I will give you your mission. I ne –” Her voice cracked and a flicker of warmth raced down their link. She composed herself and began again. “I would like to see you in person.”

  Eric smiled with all the familiarity of their unique friendship and he was rewarded with a slight softening in her expression.

  “All right, Kas. See you in the morning.”

  He woke up to the sound of wagons wheels and saw unpainted masonry walls. He touched his bed and felt a surge of energy and happiness. It was really there and he was really home. He dashed through his morning exercises and sprinted to the Dragon's Lair.

  As soon as he opened the door, a tall redheaded bear hugged him. Mentor, sergeant, and honorary uncle, Basilard Bladi was overjoyed to reunite with his long-lost battle mage. Even the vampiric sword on his back hummed happily.

  “I knew you could do it,” he said proudly. “I knew it! I just wish I was there last night. Oh, I can't wait to resume your training! I've got four months to make up for!”

  By the next morning, Eric knew he would be worn out, exhausted, sore, and other words for “run into the ground” and he looked forward to it. The life of a mercenary was why he came back. The training would help push him to Dengel’s level, and more importantly, make him better able to fight opponents like Nulso. It wasn't just about Annala. It was about gaining the power to accomplish what he set his will to accomplish.

  “It will have to wait until after your mission,” Mia said. “The queen has summoned Team Four to the castle and it wouldn’t do to keep her waiting.”

  She waved goodbye as they left for the castle.

  More nostalgia awaited him at the drawbridge. This was where he met Kasile and was flabbergasted by her royal beauty. The idea seemed odd now that they were friends. Collecting bird poop...it took me days to get the smell out of my clothes...He sighed happily and looked up at the castle.

  One simply didn't see such a sight on Threa. This was a royal castle built with all the power of magic and a modern industrial age. It was as tall as a skyscraper and large enough to be a self-contained community. Everywhere one looked, the royal crest or symbols of fire informed the architecture, from the plaza to the businesses. Guards wearing the colors of fire granted them entrance with full respect due to a queen’s summons, but a pigeon may have taken offense because it pooped on Nolien as he entered the castle itself.

  The mercenaries merged into the regular bustle of castle life: servants, clerks, soldiers, and whatnot going about their daily royal business. Most of them failed to notice the mercenaries as they passed and only glanced their way as they brushed past. It was in stark contrast to the silent hostility of the last time the team came as a unit. If anything, they avoided Eric alone and with the demeanor of avoiding a black cat or open ladder. It must be because I’m The Trickster’s Choice.

  He was a scrawny human boy and his staff and clothing were a common sight in the capital. However, if one put them together with his red hair, then he could be recognized as The Chaotic Prankster’s straight man. It probably means they see me as an extension of him…

  Their destination was on the eighth floor, but the novices didn't even look at the elevator because they knew what their mentor was going to say. The stairs were the original set created centuries ago when the castle was originally built; solid stone blocks ascending in a spiral. There were no artificial lights nor delicate engravings like other stairwells. These were just like they were when Kasile's divine ancestor ruled here. It was a dark place and Eric could feel the sense of history as he climbed. Then they passed through a wooden door and saw a noble lady flirting with a smart scry instead of a messenger pigeon. Tools change, but the people using them do not.

  They walked up the hallway to the next set of stairs and the formula repeated for seven floors. At the top of the eighth, Eric expected the healer to be panting, but he chatted animatedly with Tiza. He was seemingly oblivious to the stares and whispers of clerks and courtiers in the hallways. They were more interested in his relationship with the messy warrior than the Trickster's Choice. Eric felt a desire to hide the two of them and, suddenly, he was aware of every shadow and dark corner in the hallway. He knew their size, density, and distance from him as a flash of insight. He shook his head and focused on their destination.

  The throne room was barred by a double door and the Royal Crest was engraved in the center. The Crowned Tiger was decorated with rubies and diamonds, and the sun shining on him was made with gold leaf. The three colors mixed for the crest’s border. Two guards in ceremonial tiger-style armor stood in front of each door. Basilard showed them the mission bill and they waved him in.

  The queen was declaring royal proclamations in the presence of commoners and heralds. In other words, it was a press conference. All the reporters and their cameramen in addition to the royal entourage made the room stiflingly humid, but what truly bothered Eric were the crystal spotlights floating overhead. He felt unsettled under so much light.

  Shadow cannot stand the light, said a voice in his mind. It was an ancient and mysterious voice. It was unlike Dengel’s and certainly different from the caricature Shadow Dengel. True Darkness absorbs it. Fear gripped Eric's heart. Nolien noticed and nudged him.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No... Everything's fine.” He turned to his mentor and asked, “Daylra, could you explain how this works?” He pointed to his staff crystal.

  “So you’ve decided on a mage’s spear, huh? Alright, we've got some time to kill.”

  Basilard blinked and his red eyes glowed, then he looked over the crystal from every angle. This was a technique called “Magic Sight,” for it allowed its user to see mana as colored light. Thus, they could see the unseen through the currents of mana flowing through all of creation. A curious expression spread across his face; glad and worried at the same time. He blinked to turn off the spell.

  “This is called Soiléir....a magical mineral. You can use it to store mana. I’ve heard legends that say it can steal a god’s divinity. Experiment when you have the time.”

  Kasile finally called an end and the crowd slowly trickled out. Team Four waited until she was alone, which meant she only had a couple dozen soldiers, advisers, and ladies-in-waiting hovering to either side. Right at her elbow was a silver-haired youth in silver and red finery. This was the new First Duke of Esrah, Siron. He worked together with Kasile and Eric – technically, Dengel – to defeat the previous duke, his father. Eric waved to him and Siron acknowledged him with a small nod.

  Basilard approached the throne, dropped to one knee, and bowed his head. The novices followed suit, except for Tiza, who preferred to stand. The area immediately around her suddenly became stifling and she became so faint her knees buckled, at which point the temperature dropped.

  “Team Four of the Dragon's Lair, Your Majesty. How may we serve you today?”

  Kasile indeed looked majestic. On her head was a crown of gold with a ring of star-white pearls orbiting a ruby the size of a grapefruit. Her brown hair shimmered like silk and the streaks of fire red gleamed in the sunlight. Her gown was tailored to her form from the high neckline to the bodice and full skirts; the bottom of her throne was swamped by them. It was a rich red in color and outlined with gold thread at the hem, waist, sleeves, and neckline. A royal blue slash with the royal crest was bound to her waist. Her hands were adorned by white gloves that reached to her shoulders where they disappeared into the gown’s sleeves. These overlapped the gloves and tapered to a point that resembled a tongue of fire.

  More than her clothes, her demeanor had changed. She sat straight against her throne, hands clasped in her lap, looking slightly down at them. Eric didn't remember her being so...regal. Princess Kasile always had a twinkle in her eyes, but the eyes of the queen were cold. They flickered like the fire of someone burning at the stake.

 
There was a lot of cleaning up to do when a coup failed. He would know because she told him all about it last night. After she prevented Selen’s power grab by force of arms, she hunted his accomplices. With Siron’s help, she arrested, tried, and punished all of them. That sort of trial-by-fire hardened her into a woman who would order executions without hesitation or doubt. At the end of the week, many of the upper echelons of Ataidar's government were empty.

  She's no doubt monitoring their replacements.

  “I have a special mission for each of you.” Even her voice was different. It was a clean and beautiful blade unlike the cutesy-but-proper tone she affected before. “Mr. Bladi, your mission is in the Research Tower. The Royal Mage has need of a consultant for his latest project. He claims it will lead to a breakthrough in the treatment of mana mutation. Your clan specializes in a related field, and so I hope you will be able to advise him in the proper path he should take.”

  “I'd be honored to assist such an esteemed mage.”

  Her gaze turned to Tiza and the girl stood a little straighter. “Ms. Sprial, the new recruits have been complaining about training in the increasingly cold weather, so I want you to pass out hot chocolate to ease their burdens.” Before Tiza could protest, she continued, “You may use any other means you find necessary to encourage them to take their training seriously.”

  Tiza grinned like a maniac. “You know me too well, Princess Tent Burner.”

  “That's Queen Tent Burner!” Nolien hissed, then paused, then face-palmed. “What am I saying!?” Eric and Tiza chuckled, but Kasile didn't curve a lip.

  “Mr. Heleti, I –” Kasile began and, to the shock of all, Nolien interrupted her.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but my surname is 'Iteleh.' I was only born on Heleti lands.”

  Kasile arched a fine eyebrow. “I assumed it was a typo. Heleti spelled backwards, as if The Trickster altered the registry.”

  “That must be it, Your Majesty.”

  Kasile smiled like the tiger on her sash. “It would explain why the heir to one of Ataidar's Four Pillars is in a mercenary guild. The Trickster loves having fun with us, doesn't he?”