Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy)

by Caleb Wachter

  Pi’Vari cocked an eyebrow of his own. “And how did you conclude this?”

  I leaned forward and placed my hands together. “These attacks have occurred every night of the full moon, and only on such nights, correct?” I asked, merely seeking confirmation.

  “Correct,” my herald replied.

  I nodded before continuing, “I’ve learned in my studies that it’s a well-established fact certain magics are embellished or augmented during the full moon, which is almost certainly why they only attacked during those nights.” I had to pause to inhale and exhale slowly, finding myself unexpectedly short of breath. “I’m guessing that manifesting the Iron Butcher during the opposite end of the lunar cycle drained this man of his entire cache of resources, which is why he had to retreat before killing us all.” I couldn’t stop a sneer from spreading across my features. “We were completely at his mercy when he left, after all. If he could have attacked whenever he wished, he would have done so and Coldetz might have already fallen.”

  “An interesting hypothesis,” Pi’Vari admitted, “but perhaps he has already attacked Coldetz.”

  It was a possibility I had already considered. “Which is part of why it’s imperative that we return there,” I concluded. “We need more information on our foe if we want to defeat him, and I can’t think of a better place to start than back at Castle Coldetz.”

  “How move Aemir?” asked Dancer.

  It was a good question. Pi’Vari wasn’t physically gifted, and Dancer was not only our sole remaining fighter, but he was wounded and quite a bit smaller than Aemir. The little man was fast, and explosively strong for his size, but he might not be large, or strong, enough to carry Aemir for two weeks back to Coldetz—even if Aemir himself only weighed around a hundred pounds.

  “If we had a cup of mythicite, I could summon the Cloud King to carry us back,” I said sarcastically. “But I can’t call on his aid again until I can supply him with the agreed upon price.” I closed my eyes to think. I really wasn’t in the mood to break it to the crew that I had bargained away a significant portion of Dancer’s freedom, let alone his soul. That would have to come at a later date.

  Pi’Vari’s eyebrows shot up and a look of mild surprise crossed his face. “You promised it one cup of mythicite? Is that not…excessive, Jezran?” he asked incredulously.

  I shook my head. “What’s done is done,” I quipped, “and the important thing now is to figure out how we can get back to Coldetz in a timely fashion.”

  “In that case,” replied Pi’Vari, “we must build a sling to lift him to the surface.”

  Pi’Vari and I gathered together Aemir’s bundles of extra clothing and tied them into a serviceable sling which was some kind of cross between a hammock and an ‘X’ sling which we strapped around his shoulders.

  Dancer climbed up the rope at a considerably less frenetic pace than his previous climbs, which was perfectly understandable since he’d received a mortal wound less than a day before. When he had reached the top, he lowered the second rope down to us after tying it to a nearby boulder.

  Pi’Vari, while not an impressive physical specimen, still possessed above average strength due in large part to his daily routine of self-improvement including various pushups, sit-ups and stretching. So he was first up after Dancer. I secured Aemir’s sling to the ropes and gave them the all clear to haul him up.

  It was long and dangerous work, since I had to keep them from bringing one rope up more quickly than the other by issuing constant instructions. But after a laborious handful of minutes they had brought him to the surface. Pathetic as it was, I found myself unable to climb the rope by myself, so I had to place myself into the same sling and repeat the process.

  I decided it was prudent to give them a rest before trying it, so almost a half hour after they had successfully brought Aemir to the surface, they hauled my pathetic body up and over the ledge.

  Both Dancer and Pi’Vari were clearly exhausted, so I let them rest while I replaced Aemir’s many layers of clothing. He had a difficult enough time dealing with the cold when he had been in superb shape, so even with every possible precaution it was no guarantee that he would survive the inhospitable climate.

  After another half hour we were ready to move, but we still had to figure out how to build a skid or some other way to drag Aemir. Thankfully, the terrain beyond the mountain was very flat so even a simple skid setup would do.

  After he had recovered, I sent Pi’Vari and Dancer off in search of wood to use for a frame. It would probably take them awhile, so I settled down and tried to work my way through a difficult decision.

  I laid Master Antolin’s staff and robes across my lap and stared at them as I considered my options. I was completely drained of magic and a total physical wreck teetering on the edge of heart failure. My champion was actually, in a sense, worse than dead as he had become a burden to our little group’s mobility; my second-most capable warrior was a shadow of his former self after sustaining serious injuries of his own, and my herald was of very little use outside the walls of civilization.

  To top it all off, the area surrounding the mountain seemed to drain my magic reserves at a rate nearly commensurate with my own ability to replenish them. If I sat still for a few days, surrounded by peace, tranquility and the proper incenses, I could probably restore a significant portion of my energy. I actually did have the incense, but I seriously doubted that I would be given the requisite peace and tranquility, and if my concentration was broken for even a few seconds, then hours of restorative meditation would have been completely wasted.

  The robes themselves were grey and nondescript. They were also not standard Imperial design, neither were they an acceptable piece of formal attire, so they were obviously something he had acquired in the past. I had also seen that his robes and staff appeared to be intertwined somehow when viewed through my Third Eye spell. I had no idea what power fueled them, or what effects they might allow their user to manifest, but I did know that most powerful magical artifacts acted as reservoirs for magical power and effectively increased the user’s total power pool.

  And that was the main reason I was seriously considering making an attempt at unlocking their enchantments. It was highly unlikely that Antolin had placed traps on them before his disappearance but there was a distinct possibility that he had attuned them to himself, essentially locking them to outsiders. Any lock could be picked given enough time and expertise, but I doubted that I would be able to overcome anything but the most rudimentary wards given my own limited expertise and resources.

  Still, if I couldn’t figure out some way to replenish my magic reserves, I would be of only slightly more use than Aemir’s disheveled body. The staff and robes appeared to be my best bet to achieve such replenishment, with the worst case being that the effort killed me. I wasn’t looking to die, but I also wasn’t hopeful about our prospects to successfully make the long journey back to Coldetz, which would almost certainly take twice as long as the first half of our trip.

  So I decided it was worth the risk. I withdrew the staff from the robes which I had used to wrap it weeks before. I placed the robes on the ground a few feet away before gripping the staff with both hands and relaxing my mind. I could feel the thrum of power resonating within the object and it sent a shiver down my spine. There was energy stored within it; that much was certain, but I would also certainly have a difficult time trying to figure out how to unlock it.

  I ran my fingers up and down the alternating veins of red and blue marbling which never actually touched, despite their jagged appearance. Clearly this pattern was not natural, but rather had been designed, and it could potentially be part of unlocking the device. I rolled the white staff over in my fingers repeatedly, trying to find a recognizable pattern to the designs but failing to do so.

  I looked at the top of the staff, which held a large gemstone that appeared to be exactly half blue sapphire and half ruby, the combined size of which was nearly that of a soda ca
n. I examined the gem carefully but I found nothing of note either within the stone or on the outside.

  I turned the staff over and examined the butt of it, which was plain, polished, white stone. I went to turn it back over when something caught my eye. I looked down the shaft like one might stare down the barrel of a rifle to check its sights and rotated the shaft slowly. When held at just the perfect angle, the intersecting blue and red veins of marbling created a series of distinct glyphs which seemed vaguely familiar.

  In fact, the more I looked at them from various angles, the more glyphs and symbols I discovered. After several minutes I counted sixty two specific runes, which was incredible since my little disc-shaped Spell Key had less than a tenth as many.

  And that was it! I quickly reached into my pocket and retrieved the metal disc-shaped Spell Key. I turned it over in my hands slowly, familiarizing myself with the glyph now displayed on its surface. I then looked down the staff and found an almost identical glyph. Intrigued, I rotated the center section of the disc back to its original, lower-powered formation and compared the resulting rune to the ones on the staff, and I found a perfect match.

  Excitement and anger swirled in my mind as I tried to sort through what all of this meant. I closed my eyes and tried to recall the details of my last meeting with Arch Magos Rekir nearly three months ago.

  “I apologize, Jezran,” came the warm, smooth voice of Arch Magos Rekir. “I hope I have not kept you waiting long.”

  I stood abruptly, having spent at least an hour in one of the overly comfortable chairs located in his private study. Arch Magos Rekir was a legend in the city of Veldyrian, and at over two hundred years old he barely looked like a man out of his fifties. He had a full white beard and short-cropped, white hair which formed an almost flat-top, military-style cut. He was a large man with square shoulders, blue eyes, and a smile which could either warm or silence a room with the subtlest adjustment. He had a large girth, but his frame held it well and I put him at six foot two, around two hundred fifty pounds with probably fifty of those pounds being unnecessary.

  “Of course not, Arch Magos,” I replied with an awkward bow. “I admit that I’m a little confused by your summons, though.”

  The Arch Magos of House Tyrdren, and second most senior member of the Veldyrian Inner Circle, flashed that charismatic smile of his and I realized that I was in way over my head. This man had personally slain four gods, eight dragon lords, and subjugated a dozen kingdoms in the name of the Empire during his two centuries of life—and most of that had happened before he had effectively taken control of the Imperial City and all its resources, becoming essentially the most powerful human in the world.

  “I like to keep tabs on Veldyrian’s best and brightest,” he replied warmly, gesturing for me to sit in another well-cushioned seat lined with what appeared to be some kind of silk, “which naturally means I pay extra attention to your own exploits.”

  “You’re too kind,” was all I could manage, feeling my face flush and my heart plummet into my stomach.

  “Oh, not at all,” he said reassuringly as he reached into a pile of papers on a nearby wooden table, “the work you have done in Somnomancy with your Master is truly remarkable. I eagerly await each opportunity to peruse your co-publications,” he said, waving at a small bundle of papers, the front page of which bore the symbol of House Wiegraf: a simple, verdant green circle.

  “Truly fascinating work,” he said in what I would have taken to be genuine wonderment from anyone else. “If you will humor an old man,” he prompted politely as his eyes met mine, and I quickly nodded my assent. He thumbed through the pages until coming to a passage he appeared to have marked, and quoted, “The field of Somnomancy has until now been greatly understudied, having been defined as a field whose only practical application would be for the gathering of sensitive information directly from a target’s mind. We have discovered a plethora of other, more far-reaching, applications including: locating individuals at great distances; translocating to that individual’s location using a quantum-level conduit created during the union of minds; the interruption of such individual’s ability to perform complex functions by depriving them of the relaxation needed for meditation; or even the disruption of a target’s most basic and vital physical functions.”

  I had to hold a smirk back as he read my own words. I had used the term ‘quantum conduit’ when compiling Antolin’s notes because I thought it sounded good, and because I knew that the more arcane you made something sound, the more credibility you got from your peers—especially if they couldn’t actually understand what you were saying but they thought they knew what you meant. The rest of it was just my own wording of Antolin’s research notes, since he had tasked me with the mundane assignment of penning the entire twenty nine page document.

  “This is incredible work,” Arch Magos Rekir said with what I almost believed was genuine appreciation. “How much of this is yours?”

  I shook my head graciously. “I’m afraid I was just the penman for that document. Some of the verbiage is mine,” I admitted, “but the vast majority of the findings and records presented are Magos Antolin’s works, to which I provided little assistance or input. Somnomancy is his dream, if you’ll forgive the pun,” I quirked a grin.

  The Arch Magos’ smile returned, broader than ever. “Humility is used by the young who are looking to impress their elders, or by the old when they wish to hide their true strength,” he said knowingly as he sat back in his chair, returning the paper to the pile of similar documents on the table. “You will find that I appreciate, and even encourage, a more direct approach,” he said with a twinkle in his eye that put me on guard. “Too much time is wasted on games, in my opinion, so I will not waste any more of either of our lives by dancing around my purpose for inviting you here.” He reached to another pile of papers and withdrew a single scroll. “I have a proposition for you,” the Arch Magos said, leaning forward to hand me the paper.

  I was caught off guard. The Arch Magos knew that I was unable to initiate, accept, or even acknowledge negotiations on behalf of my house due to my low rank as an Apprentice. “Well,” I replied, deciding to go for the direct approach, “I’m confused.” I reached out and accepted the paper, rotating it so I could read it properly.

  The Master of House Tyrdren laughed, and it was the kind of laugh you would expect from a pleasantly surprised uncle or grandfather. “In short,” he began as he snapped his fingers, prompting the door to his private study to open from the outside, after which a servant entered the room bearing a pitcher of wine, “you have something which I would like, and I believe I can offer you more than fair compensation in exchange.”

  I had only read the first few lines of the document, which were the standard legalese nonsense with which all such documents began. I looked up at him in confusion, and decided to go ahead and ask the obvious. “But I don’t have the authority to negotiate on behalf of House Wiegraf,” I said levelly, “since I’m only an Apprentice, and not eligible for advancement to Journeyman for at least another two years.”

  The Arch Magos nodded as he took his first sip of wine, reaching hastily into his pocket as though he had forgotten something, but I was sure it was all an act. “That reminds me,” he said sheepishly, “I have something else I thought I should deliver to you in person.” He withdrew a small, folded piece of paper from an inner pocket and handed it to the servant, who carried to me.

  My confusion mounting, I accepted the triangular, folded paper and carefully opened it. My eyebrows went up a little before I controlled them as I read the opening lines, the operative parts of which read:

  It is consistent with the wisdom and judgment of the Inner Circle of Veldyrian that Jezran “Cobalt” Wiegraf has proven his loyalty, and provided service to the city of Veldyrian far in excess of that which is required of an individual of his station.

  In recognition for his outstanding service, which should serve as an example to all members of our appointed ra
nks, we hereby waive the remaining period of requisite time before he is allowed to apply for Journeyman status and elevate him to said status effective immediately. In addition, his previous service shall serve in place of the standard trials and rites accompanying such a promotion.

  It is the unanimous wish of the Inner Circle that he maintain his steadfast dedication to the Empire for the rest of his days, and that he continue to set such a fine example for all citizens of our glorious nation.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I said after finishing the document, quite certain that a metaphorical hook had just lodged itself firmly in my cheek. “Obviously, I appreciate whatever hand you may have had in this,” I said as graciously as I could manage.

  Rekir waved his hand dismissively, and only then did I notice that the servant was standing next to me holding a glass of wine. I took it and placed it on the table next to my arm as I continued reading the letter of promotion.

  “You have earned it, Journeyman,” the Arch Magos replied seriously, “I have never seen talent like yours in all my life.”

  A smirk tugged at my lips, which I decided to let play out on my face. “Your son is no slouch when it comes to spellcasting,” I said indifferently. I truly hated his son, Pryzius Tyrdren, who seemed to have made it his life’s goal to make my own miserable.

  “He has his talents,” Rekir agreed, “but I know greatness when I see it. He will be a fine Magos, and one day I have little doubt that he will become Arch Magos in my stead…but that will have less to do with his accomplishments and abilities than mine,” he said pointedly.