Dariak stopped mid-step. “Forebode? They think I would take the power unto myself in order to, what, bring them down instead? Aren’t all mages joined in our goal of unifying these two nations?”
Pyron shook his head. “No. That was your specific emphasis of the goal. The Mage Council would prefer that magic be freely used—with governing exceptions against wild magic and cruelty—in both nations.”
“That’s essentially the same thing.”
“It isn’t and you know it.”
Dariak scowled. His biggest dream was to end the wars by unifying the nations, which demanded acceptance of mages across the lands. He wanted them to be free to see the port of Pindington to the east, though the lure of the impressive Prisoner’s Tower was now lost, and to visit the imperial museum within Kallisor Castle proper. “Are you saying that the Council won’t let me have the shards?”
“Some… may wish to challenge your worthiness,” he said.
“Let them,” Dariak answered with seething anger. The jades were all his by right, having been assembled, tested, and utilized by his father. The mages had access to them on loan, to further magical education. They were never meant to be hoarded away and kept from his hands.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway and Dariak turned to a vividly passionate Randler, who enwrapped him so tightly he struggled to breathe, and then was further besieged with a deep series of kisses. The bard didn’t even seem to realize the old man was standing beside them.
Pyron cleared his throat and waited for them to disentangle. “I see you have overcome your Trial.” He gave a pointed glance to Dariak for doubting the new variation on the method. “You will no doubt need sustenance and rest.”
“Wait,” Randler gasped. “Dariak, it’s us. You and me. We’re the ones! I figured it out. We’re the heirs of the Forgotten Tribe. It’s up to us to do this after all!” He beamed with joy and it was all Dariak could do not to join in.
“The Forgotten Tribe?” Pyron’s eyes narrowed. “That is a false tale. There are no more bloodlines extending from the originators.”
But the bard would not be covered in shadow. “Each group has its own history,” he dismissed respectfully. “You would have different aspects to consider if you were tracing the lines yourself. I’ve spent my life gathering information on my own.”
“You are welcome to consult our libraries, but you will find disappointment, I’m afraid.”
“Say what you will, sir, but it was the answer to my imprisonment. It’s what freed me from that crystal prison. I say then that it is true.” He took Dariak’s hand. “It means we will succeed, Dariak. You understand that?”
The mage smiled. “It sounds wonderful. Once we have the rest of our friends and the shards, we will be close to our goal.”
Randler scanned the area. “Gabrion and Kitalla? Where are they?”
“Facing their own Trials,” Pyron offered. “Perhaps they will be as fortunate as you to find a quick freedom.”
However, they were not as fortunate. Kitalla’s Trial was wrought with such pain and disappointment that her passage through the Trial kept her detained for the better part of a week. Merely reliving her past had not been enough to permit her release and she struggled with whatever answer the magic was seeking from her, not that she understood that aspect of her imprisonment.
Considering what he knew of the current Trials, Dariak had somewhat expected Kitalla’s struggles, but Gabrion’s were a complete surprise. The warrior was locked away with no sign of emergence. He would undergo fits of furious fighting against unseen beasts, and then hunker away to silence, barely breathing. When he spoke, it was unintelligible, making sense only within his inner reality.
Kitalla awoke first and slid from the Chamber silently, seeking solitude where she could find darkness and silence for a time. Dariak found her easily within the tower and he brought her food and drink, offering his support and friendship for when she needed it. She nodded, accepted the nourishment, and then tucked into the food without word. The pattern continued for a couple of days.
While they waited for the companions to recover, Randler and Dariak talked of plans for the future, of what it would mean to unite the two kingdoms properly. They were fanciful dreams and though some of the mages delighted in the discussion, many steered clearly away.
The unexpected delay made the waiting army nervous outside. Early on, Dariak convinced Pyron to at least allow the two dozen mages to enter, though each needed to submit to a Trial, and most did so eagerly. Then Dariak himself ventured out to speak with Ervinor. “I have no idea how much longer we will be detained here, I’m afraid. I cannot gain admittance for the rest of the forces here, either.”
“I understand. We will need to relocate. If you deem it wise, we would return to Marritosh and seek refuge there until your return.”
“It would be the most prudent course,” Dariak agreed. “Keep the men in line and the townspeople happy and you should be welcomed.”
Poltor was affronted by the suggestion. “Neither your tower nor that town suits us,” he decided. “For now, mage, we part ways. Not as enemies, don’t worry. Rather, we will venture toward the castle and scour the area so that you may return at ease.”
He didn’t like the idea of sending thieves into the heart of the castle but he didn’t have much choice. “Fare thee well, friend. I would rather ask you to keep your hands clean in my hometown, but instead I’ll ask you not to harm the people.”
Poltor raised an eyebrow. “We will defend ourselves as needed, but we will also feed our nature. Until next we meet.” He gave a sweeping bow, completely unbefitting him, and then turned to disappear in the crowd of fighters.
Ervinor bit his lip. “I would have preferred keeping an eye on him, but the truth is, he has been tainting some of the men.”
Dariak wasn’t surprised. “He joined us for adventure, not sentry work. I will have to hope he remembers that he has no rights here at present and so won’t be reckless.”
“We are all a bit timid in this foreign land, Dariak, but we all trust you for our various reasons. For one, I believe that Gabrion’s heart is true and he is dedicated to you, and so I’m yours. The others follow one of you or the other. We will remind ourselves of your valor when we recommence in Marritosh, and when you return, we will be ready for whatever task awaits.”
“Thank you, Ervinor. I pray we won’t need force in the end, but we may need to defend ourselves long enough to survive so that we can be heard. It’s why we need you. This isn’t my battle alone. It’s one we all fight so we can earn true peace between our kingdoms and stop living in needless fear.”
Ervinor saluted proudly. “I see you and Gabrion share a common heart. Be well, Dariak.”
“And you, Ervinor.”
He hated the call that Ervinor made to summon the troops together and the following sounds of packing up the tents and supplies so they could hike again through the desert and reach Marritosh. Before he returned to Magehaven, Dariak took out the vial of reptigon serum from his pocket. He had been saving it, without knowing why. And though he may need its strength at some other time, he opted to use it now.
He didn’t have the air jade with him, but he knew enough of the jade’s power to call to the wind directly. He summoned a small cyclone to stand before him, which pelted him with bits of sand, but he ignored the discomfort. With a dagger, he cracked the vial, letting the serum escape into the swirling wind. “Fathrinor surruscavitar farthrin kaie garrinnoth.” The reptigon serum vaporized and was swept up completely by the cyclone, which then raced outward and traveled with the small army, surrounding the whole battalion and keeping the feral creatures at bay. It gave them a safe journey back to Marritosh without a single skirmish to fight along the way.
He had been casting many spells lately from energy alone, supported by the jades in his possession. Tapping into a spell component reminded him in a way that he was just a man playing with powers that were greater than he was. It was an im
portant distinction for him. Returning to Hathreneir was far from humbling, he was so well-known. He needed such reminders to keep his dreams in check so that he could find a realistic means of making them come true.
He turned around and faced the tower, seeing a few stray faces in the upper windows gazing out at him. Or perhaps they were watching the army disappear into the distance, he didn’t know. But they would have sensed the magic he had cast, and whether they approved of his actions or not, he didn’t care. His mission was greater than the petty wishes of a few close-minded mages. For those who supported him, all the better.
His next mission, though, was to help Kitalla break her silence and to assist Gabrion with his Trial in some way. After those tasks were complete, he would officially request possession of the jades. Two of them were stored here, he knew, partly from history and partly from the resonance of his own shards. From Pyron’s comments, he expected some sort of difficulty, but he would have to deal with it at its own time.
For now, his friends needed him.
Chapter 18
Trials Continued
Living in Magehaven for even a few days was difficult for non-mages. Wherever they turned, objects would erupt into flame or float through the air without notice. Randler was more accustomed to it, having Sharice as his mother, but he had left that part of his daily life behind long ago. Watching it happen all again in such a commonplace manner irked him. Taking Pyron’s advice, he thus ventured into the mages’ library.
The library was broken into two sections within the tower, with the more advanced subject matter closer to the tower’s apex. The lower floor was only about three sets of stairs up from the base of the tower, and it held the larger works of historical documents the mages had recorded throughout the years. He decided to peruse them first before venturing up to the eleventh floor where the more advanced works lay.
The layout of the library was deceiving. The stairs brought him to a landing that opened into a large rectangular room. There he could see tables and glowing lanterns scattered about and a few mages absorbed in study. The back walls of the room were brightly painted and punctured with numerous archways. As he stood there at the stairwell, some mages walked down from the upper floors and nudged their way past him, looking over at him with a bit of a sneer. Apparently, not everyone felt that the library should be open to all visitors.
He turned about and saw that the arches extended in every which way and none was marked with any form of explanation, at least that he could see. His search would take him forever without any guidance. Turning toward a nearby mage at one of the tables, Randler stepped forward and introduced himself.
“Good day, fine sir,” the bard said with casual grace. “I am a bit lost here, and I was wondering if you could perhaps lend me a hand?”
The mage didn’t acknowledge his presence, but kept reading through his text and making notes in a personal log. Randler tried again, but it was useless. When he ventured toward a few others, he found similar reactions. It felt to him as if they were driven by a mad hunger and would brook no interruption. The thought made him wince.
He couldn’t just quit, he decided. He would go blindly into the stacks and see what he could find. There wasn’t anything else he could do right then, anyway. Kitalla was still keeping to herself and Dariak was trying to speak with the other mages about intervening with Gabrion’s ongoing Trial. No one knew what was taking the warrior so long, but the mages were adamant there was nothing to do but wait.
Plunging forth, Randler stepped purposefully toward the nearest archway and his jaw dropped out from under him. Away from the central room, he could see the vast rows of shelves housing innumerable books and sheaths and scrolls, extending much further back than he would have guessed. In fact, the entire outer perimeter of Magehaven was loaded with volumes, extending all the way around the massive structure. He had initially thought the main room was the larger part of the whole, but he was sorely mistaken. Easily a hundred mages could wander inside the library and never once bump into each other, it was so expansive.
The task before him felt overwhelming, even more than moments ago. But he reckoned there must be a system for the mages to follow. It couldn’t all be haphazardly scattered around the place. Approaching some of the mages left Randler feeling unwelcome, from the anger in their responses to the continued moments of being ignored. They seemed an altogether unfriendly lot.
Stretching his hands and stepping forward, he walked toward one of the bookshelves and touched the leather binding with his finger, turning his head to the side to read the title. Mystical Myths of Magical Mayhem. Beside it, Mysticare’s Most Magnificent Marvels. He glanced at a few other titles and was overwhelmed by the rampant alliterations. The words all started blending together, but he had the feeling that he wasn’t necessarily in the historical section of the library.
He randomly pulled a book from the shelf, Simple Spell Songs Sung Softly, and flipped open the cover. The writing inside was a deep and carefully drawn script. He had feared that the written language of the mages might differ from the one he knew, but he was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t the case, at least for this piece. The songs in the book reminded him of the odd cadences his mother had him practice as a child. He thumbed through, wondering if any of them would actually be the same as the ones she had taught him, but he knew it wasn’t likely. These seemed to be lullabies for little children to ease them from pain and to send them to sleep. Whether they were actual magic, he doubted it even mattered.
Randler investigated, glancing at titles occasionally, slowly coming to understand part of the organization of the library. It housed everything from nursery rhymes and songs, to simple and complicated spells, mages of great import, geographical variations in the land, and so on. Not everything was arranged alphabetically, but it was all together by topic. As he perused further, he also noticed that older works were located higher up on the shelves than the younger ones, offering a sort of chronology to the displays.
At last he came to the founding stories he was looking for. He started with a tome at eye level that touted itself vaguely as All You Need To Know. A quick inspection revealed that it was part of a series that the authors had crafted, perhaps for use in lessons with children. The writing itself was simpler and often included diagrams of the events. He flipped through a few pages and smirked at the recollections within.
One page in particular caught his attention, as it was a rendition of the War of the Colossus. There, the great magical giant towered over the land, glowing with a radiant orange hue. Its arms were upraised in supplication, but the army drawn in at its feet was merciless. They were painted in shadow, with vaguely sculpted angry faces. The rendition clearly showed that the opposing forces were evil and raving mad, whereas the wide-eyed giant was trying to be some arbiter of peace. He read the caption under the drawing:
And so the mighty Colossus stepped in to protect Our King, but alas the enemy’s Treachery was vast. With empowered arrows, they pierced the bodies of Our King, bringing his imminent Doom. Turning then upon the Colossus, the Army of Kallisor used its own hidden Mage Forces and eventually brought the great Colossus to its knees, never to be seen again.
It was an uncomfortable interpretation of the events. True, his king’s forces had infiltrated the Hathren troops, but most of them had acted of their own accord in order to bring an end to the fighting. And though the Kallisorian king had always shunned magic, he secretly employed it to his advantage. It would always be a point of contention between the realms, for at least the Hathrens had always acknowledged their magic powers. Growing up, however, the alleged treachery of his king was seen as necessary force against a greater, invading foe. After all, who would want their land ravaged by a colossal giant of light and energy? It was a terrifying tale told to children to keep them in line, lest the colossus come for them.
But to see this caption written with the colossus being a savior, taken down by evil forces, made Randler shudder. He
knew there would be other sides to the story; of course there were. Seeing it in print, in a tell-all text, made it feel more real than he expected it to be.
Despite his discomfort, he flipped to the next page, which depicted the eruption of the Red Jade, scattering pieces in all directions. Men and women were lying dead on a battlefield, yet the scene centered on two figures. The first was his king, dying from the impact of the jade as it exploded. The other was the mage who had summoned the colossus—Dariak’s father.
Before he could look at the caption, he pressed his face closer to the drawing, hoping to see some defining characteristic in the depiction of the man who had fathered Dariak. Of course, it was impossible to see any real detail in the size of the drawing, but he tried anyway. Perhaps there was a text here about the man himself with a better rendition. Considering the work Delminor had done for the mages, he assumed there would be volumes. He first scanned the caption below the picture.
The evil king slew the great Mage Delminor in the midst of his spell, thereby casting Energies out wild and killing many who need not have died. Then, stealing the Mage’s Spell Components, the king ordered his men back to Kallisor so he could be buried with his kin. Delminor died that Fateful Day, leaving his young family behind to fend for themselves.
Curiously, the book didn’t specifically mention the jades. He flipped through the rest of the volume, but they were never named. They were only referred to as spell components. Whether this was to preserve the safety of the jades or to augment Delminor’s perceived abilities, Randler could only guess. Yet part of what he wanted to learn more about was the jades themselves. So though this text was illuminating in its own way, he shelved it and searched for one that was more detailed.
* * *
Kitalla meandered through the upper floors of the tower, seeking places to hide away from others. She spoke as little as possible to anyone who crossed her path. Her hands slowly rubbed her belly all the time, wondering at the life that was lost to her so long ago. She had heard of warriors who had lost their limbs in battle, but still felt tingles from where those limbs once were. She had felt the same, and she had worked tirelessly to block the sense of loss. Yet now it was all back with her. The pain. The sorrow. The unfathomable loss.
The Shattered Shards Page 20