by S. C. Stokes
Still the youth was undeterred and continued his approach, now only a dozen paces away. Aielniur was left with little choice. Flicking his hand before him with a flourish as one might shoo a bothersome insect, Aielniur gave the silent command. Being in tune with the ebb and flow of arcane energy, Aielniur felt it course through his being and hurtle towards the intruder. In the dark the Human would receive no warning.
The fist of air struck the young man in the chest like a raging bull and he grunted in pain as the force of the impact lifted him off his feet and carried him through the air before dumping him unceremoniously in the dirt, winded.
The youth was still, and for several short moments all was quiet once more—then a groan escaped his lips. “Owwwwwww.” With a determination that surprised Aielniur, the young man struggled to his feet, still fighting for breath. “That hurt like hell . . . no wonder Takoa was so miffed . . . when I did it to him . . . speaking of being miffed . . . even where I come from . . . that sort of greeting is just . . . bloody rude.”
Aielniur watched with shock as the youth resumed his approach, all the while babbling words of little meaning to the spellweaver. Perhaps I’ve rendered him witless. Not entirely unlikely, as the human frame is so frail. Witless or not, the youth posed a threat. Aielniur raised his hand and unleashed another blast of air designed to give him space to breathe.
To his great surprise, the youth simply raised his hand in reply and continued walking. There was a rush of air as Aielniur’s spell struck the youth’s and the two bursts dissipated ineffectually. “Twice in a row—that’s not very original, now,” the youth chided. “I know that one, too. If you insist on being so rude, let me respond in a manner you will understand.” The youth gestured and flames erupted around the aging spellweaver. The blazing incantation burned fiercely as it encircled him, preventing his escape.
Aielniur was shocked—magic was uncommon among humans. For one so young the boy before him showed great promise. But that made him a larger threat than he had supposed, and the spellweaver chided himself for his carelessness. Dangerous the boy might be, but to Aielniur, Master of the Eight and the oldest living Glaciadal, he was but a pest.
Sweeping his hand before him, Aielniur chanted furiously. The flames dissipated instantly with an angry hiss. Then the spellweaver launched his offensive. Stepping through the smoke before him, Aielniur spotted his prey. He could feel the power building in the youth as he gathered energy for his next spell. Aielniur wasted no time, unleashing a deadly bolt of azure energy that hurtled toward the powerful young sorcerer before him.
Chapter 13
Elaina startled awake. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she realized it was still dark. As her eyes adjusted and came into focus she could see Marcus leaning over her. Marcus shook her again. “Elaina, wake up. He’s gone.”
“Gone, what do you mean ‘gone’?” she asked.
“Our son is gone!” Marcus cried.
Elaina scrambled to her feet. Sure enough, Syrion’s bedroll was empty. The city. Elaina knew instantly where he had gone. Syrion had simply feigned sleep until they had nodded off, then gone and done what he had wanted anyway. “He’ll be at the city—we must go at once. We have no idea what these beings are capable of.”
Marcus nodded. “I’ll get the horses.”
“You’ll need just the one. There is no time to waste—I will go with the wind.”
Marcus ran for his horse as Elaina drew on the dormant power of the Astarii that lay within her. Where her son bore the mark of the dragon, Elaina’s mark was more subtle and difficult to recognize at a glance. The wind was her element. Elaina unleashed the energy within, and the still plains came alive as a howling wind tore across them from the south. Letting go of her physical form, Elaina became one with the wind, her body dissipating and merging with the power that carried her towards the Glaciadal.
Faster than any horse could travel she hurtled over the plains, the strange city growing before her eyes as Elaina soared towards it. The Glaciadal had begun work on the fortifications; even from a distance Elaina could make out the walls that were beginning to form. An impressive gatehouse towered over the plains. Without a doubt the city would be magnificent when it was complete. Elaina imagined it would rival Khashish or perhaps Amendar in size. Its grandeur would eclipse both, she was sure, for the strange workmanship of the Glaciadal was breathtaking even in the dimness of night.
A light below drew her gaze where flames erupted on the plains near the gatehouse. Elaina made for the fires below, only to have them dissipate almost immediately. Moments later a bolt of energy hurtled away from the place the fires had been blazing away. Elaina followed the brilliant light as it sped over the surface of the plains, illuminating the land.
Elaina watched in horror as she recognized her son standing before the fire. At the last moment Syrion threw himself to the ground to avoid the blast. Seeing her son in danger, Elaina made straight for him, only to see the earth upon which he was lying abruptly rise into the air. With surprising speed the column of earth grew heavenward.
Elaina had almost reached her son when the pillar exploded outward. Stone and dirt rained down as a dust cloud obscured him from view. Elaina furiously sought to dissipate the dust by channeling the wind toward him. Suddenly Syrion was visible, tumbling through the air toward the ground.
A golden light illuminated the night sky as the dragon came into view. Elaina was relieved—the transformation meant that Syrion had survived the blast. Unfortunately, she also knew he would not use his draconic form to flee the conflict—it was far more likely that he would try to use the sheer power of the dragon’s form to overwhelm his foe.
True to her expectations, Syrion was diving directly at the gateway. Following the path of her son’s descent she could now make out a figure standing below. Fearless and doubtless enraged, Syrion was heading directly for the spellweaver. Elaina followed his descent.
To her great astonishment, the spellweaver before them did not retreat. Instead the wizard simply began to gesture into the air before him. As the sky before her shimmered Elaina spotted the trap. An immense portal gaped open in the sky before them. Syrion was descending too swiftly—there was simply no way for him to avoid the portal.
With a furious howl Syrion plunged through the gateway and into the daylight now visible beyond.
Chapter 14
Elaina watched in terror as Syrion plunged through the portal, the mother instinctively diving toward the gateway, only to have it close before her eyes. Elaina screamed in anguish as her son disappeared from view.
A pit opened within her—she had no idea where the portal had taken her child. She had no clue more than a glimpse of sunlit sky as the portal flickered from existence.
Syrion could be anywhere, and without the means to open a portal himself, her son would be stuck wherever the Glaciadal had sent him. He could be anywhere in Meldinar or anywhere among the stars, for that matter. Searching for him would be an impossible task.
Hopelessness turned to outrage. Elaina considered confronting the Glaciadal who was quietly returning to the city. That would be suicide, Elaina thought. The mage had easily dealt with Syrion’s advances, and she was not confident she would fare any better against his power. Leaving Marcus still waiting for her on the plains would undo all she had fought so hard for—she could not leave him alone in this place. It seemed as quickly as she could pull her family together fate was tearing it apart.
Elaina willed herself back towards the camp, gliding swiftly with the wind over the plains. It wasn’t long before she spotted Marcus riding low in the saddle, racing toward the city at a gallop. Elaina descended and resumed her human form, taking care to ensure plenty of distance between her husband and herself as she materialized. She didn’t want to startle the horse—at the pace he was traveling a shy would almost certainly result in Marcus’s injury or death.
Marcus spotted her immediately and reined his horse in. “What happened, Elaina? Where is Syrion
?”
“He’s . . .” Elaina’s voice was choked with emotion—she couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud. Instead she collapsed to her knees, sobbing as the reality of her son’s disappearance sank in.
Marcus swung down off his horse and ran to his wife’s side and threw his arms around her. He patiently asked again, “What happened, Elaina?”
“He’s . . . gone.” Elaina sobbed.
“Gone where?”
“I-I don’t know where,” Elaina stammered. “I saw him engaged in a firefight with another being, but before I could reach him he vanished through a portal. I don’t know where it led.”
“So he is not dead?” Marcus asked.
“No . . .”
“Then take heart, my dear. Our child is far from defenseless—he will be fine. We will find him, or he will find us. But do not despair—we will have him back. We just need to know where to begin our search.”
Elaina stopped crying. “You are right. We just need to know where to look.”
“Can you track him?” Marcus asked hopefully.
“No. Portals and the paths between worlds were never a strong point in my studies. Weather magic came far more easily to me, and that is why I was assigned to Meldinar as a Guardian in the first place. Fortunately, the one who replaced me was a better student than I.”
“What are you saying, my love?” Marcus asked.
“I am saying that what has occurred here tonight will not have gone unnoticed by Meldinar’s current Guardian.” Elaina stood up and glanced about as if searching for someone in the surrounding darkness. “Tanith!” she shouted as she continued to search in the darkness. “Tanith—I know you are here. Show yourself!”
A golden light illuminated the plains as a shimmering gateway appeared before them. The glowing portal was slightly larger than an ordinary door but shone like the sun, and within it a star-laden sky became visible. A shadow could be seen moving swiftly toward the portal, and at the last instant the shadow began to take the form of a man.
As he stepped through the gateway Marcus reached for his sword, but Elaina reached out to restrain him as the shadow completed its transformation, revealing a man of indeterminable age. The newcomer was much shorter than Marcus—only five feet tall and impeccably dressed. His black tunic and trousers were finished with silver trim, and his large silver belt bore the Allfather’s heraldry, a large smiling sun. The staff he bore in his hand carried the same iconography as his belt. His boots and cloak completed the ensemble in black with silver stitching. He would have been menacing but for his small stature and carefully groomed beard and mustache, which rendered him genteel and refined, albeit overdressed for the dusty plains he now stood on.
“Elaina, you should not have summoned me—do you not understand what it means to be exiled?” His pleasant tone and large grin were at odds with his words.
“Of course I understand, Tanith,” Elaina replied angrily. “If the need were not truly dire I would not burden myself with your tiresome presence.”
“Come now, Elaina—is that any way to greet an old friend, or ask for a favor? You have been cut off from the privileges you once enjoyed, or don’t you remember? It was your folly that led to my being granted this station in the first place. I really must thank you—it’s a far more interesting assignment than running errands for the Five—”
“Enough, Tanith,” Elaina said, cutting off the Guardian mid-sentence. “I didn’t ask you here to listen to your babble . . .”
“No, you asked me here to learn what has happened to your son,” Tanith interjected, returning Elaina’s earlier discourtesy.
“Where is my son?” Elaina demanded.
“Honestly, I don’t know—”
“Clearly you saw what happened. Now tell me where that portal led to.”
“Stop cutting me off, Elaina. Where once I might have found your emotionally charged outbursts alluring, I can assure you that it is not the case now. If you continue to interrupt me I will leave you here to fend for yourself. Do you understand me?”
Elaina and Marcus exchanged a quick glance, then Marcus spoke up: “Tanith——if you would be so kind as to tell us what you do know . . .” His words deflected the hostile energy surging between the other two. Elaina was channeling all her energy into resisting the urge to strangle the Guardian right there on the spot.
The Guardian raised an eyebrow as he considered another rejoinder but thought better of it. “The reason I do not know where your son is,” he said with a glance at each of them, “is that the magic used to conjure the portal is new to me. The magic these newcomers use in their portals bends time and space differently to our own magic. Until I know more of who they are, and how their magic functions, I will not be able to follow their portals as I do our own.”
“How can you be sure, Tanith?” asked Elaina. “Perhaps you missed something.”
Tanith’s eyes narrowed. “The reason I am sure is that I was able to intertwine my magic with that of the portal in an attempt to discern its destination. The result blew my mind. The mage was not content with dispatching Syrion to another continent or a nearby world. I probed the portal, and it led outside Creation itself.”
“Outside Creation?” Elaina asked with fear in her voice.
“Indeed—for one to conjure a portal to bridge such a divide is a feat worthy of admiration. For him to have done it so swiftly and effortlessly is a cause of great alarm. I shall be monitoring these beings closely to determine their intent.”
“If it is their intent you wish to know,” replied Marcus, “then there is no need to monitor them. We know their intent. It’s hostile. If they are willing to attack an Astarii without cause, what more evidence do you need?”
Tanith ignored the human and returned his gaze to his fellow Astarii. “What is it you want from me, Elaina? Do you wish for me to fight them myself? Look at what they did to Syrion. I may be short but I’m not stupid.”
“What I want is twofold,” said Elaina. “First, I want your aid—my son is out there somewhere. Within or without Creation’s borders, he will be seeking to return to Meldinar. I want your word that should you or another Guardian discover his presence, you will aid him in returning here.”
“That is simple enough, Elaina, if he is discovered, I’ll do all in my power to return him to you.”
“Excellent. In the second task I fear you will be a much less willing participant,” Elaina said.
“Less willing than chasing your son across the stars? What exactly do you want?”
“I want you to travel to the Celestial City and deliver a message to the Allfather . . .”
“Are you out of your mind?!” cried Tanith, backing away as he spoke. “No one travels to the Celestial City unbidden. It’s madness! You know what happened to Tolan. Since his betrayal we have not been permitted within the walls. To travel there without first being summoned is suicide. I won’t do it.”
“You will do it, Tanith. I’ll tell you why. If you travel to the Celestial City the Allfather may kill you for your impudence, it’s true. But if you stay here you will most certainly die. Sooner or later these Glaciadal will threaten this world—they seem to be building a base before your very eyes. When they turn hostile, your life will be the first they seek out.”
“What makes you think that?” Tanith asked with fear.
“You mentioned that you have been observing them. Do you really think that beings of such power are unaware of your intrusion? I would bet otherwise. They merely bide their time, while they gather their strength. When Meldinar falls you will either perish with it or be found neglecting your duty. It is only a matter of time.”
“What makes you so certain, Elaina? What is it you aren’t sharing with me?”
Elaina avoided the question. “Take a closer look at their city—pay particular heed to the heraldry displayed on their gates. Those symbols are not new but ancient.”
“The sigil of Apollos.” Tanith answered. “I was paying att
ention in classes too, Elaina, I know Apollos ruled the heavens before the Allfather, but I was still surprised to see those forgotten sigils raised.”
“What you may not know is that our Allfather was his son. The Allfather usurped Apollos’s throne . . .”
“This is blasphemy, Elaina, and I will not hear it,” Tanith replied, holding up a hand in protest.
“It is history and you must hear it. If you are to understand the message that you will bear, you must not be ignorant of what has transpired.” Turning to Marcus she added, “Dear, please forgive the retelling. Tanith does not know what we saw first-hand in the Soul Forge.
“Very well,” Tanith said. “Make it quick. I’m in no mood for a lecture,” Tanith answered.
“The Allfather—or Alphaeus as he was then known—joined forces with his younger brother Mythos to kill their father. With their father gone the two brothers turned on each other. In the battle that followed neither prevailed. The brothers retreated to gather their strength and each carved out a dominion from the worlds once controlled by their father.
“Carefully the sons crushed any remaining elements loyal to their father, and in time they, too, were worshiped as their father once was. For thousands of years these gods have built their strength and bolstered their domain, patiently waiting to gain the upper hand and ascend to total supremacy among the stars.”
“Get to the point, Elaina.” Tanith prodded.
“No doubt you witnessed the devastation at the Everpeak?” she asked him.
“I did. Humans—their greed knows no bounds,” Tanith said. “The Andarans should have known better than to attack Dwarves within their stronghold. It was a pointless slaughter.”