Bringers of Doom

by Blake Arthur Peel

  "The guards are going to notify the High Magus at once," Roth informs us as he steps up to our group. "We will be reporting directly to the Circle tonight."

  "The Circle?" I ask, surprised by the revelation. "The mages that Elva was in charge of?"

  "The very same," Roth confirms with a nod. "They will no doubt be very curious as to why their Arch-magister is not returning to the tower."

  I can feel myself blanch at his words. I knew that the Circle of Magisters would need to be informed of the events that transpired in the Emberwood, but I did not think that I would be reporting to them directly.

  Especially not so soon.

  We gather our necessities from the horses and carriages, as well as a trunk containing our 'evidence', and make our way to the open gates, everyone silent and contemplative.

  I hope that they do not blame me for the death of their master, I find myself thinking as our group enters the main courtyard of the Pillar of Radiance, leaving our carriages and caravan guards behind. Elva's actions were her own, and her death a complete accident.

  I only hope that the Circle sees it that way.

  The great, carved doors of the tower swing open as we approach, revealing the grand antechamber and the fluted columns in the center. Few mages are about at this hour, which results in our footsteps echoing loudly on the polished marble floor.

  Looking over at Owyn, I can see the same look of astonishment on his face as he had worn outside the tower. His eyes dart this way and that, trying to take in all the sights, only to finally settle on the columns in the center of the room.

  "Why are they painted different colors?" He wonders aloud, his voice cutting through the silent chamber much more loudly than he perhaps intended.

  "Those are the lifts," I whisper back. It feels strange being quiet in a room that is usually bursting with activity. "We use them to get from floor to floor in the tower. Those symbols represent the different levels and which ranks have access to them."

  Owyn nods, but he clearly does not quite understand. I don't blame him. The lifts are something that usually have to be experienced firsthand in order to be believed.

  Our group makes its way to one of the larger columns in the center of the cluster, its side painted with black, turquoise, and violet symbols.

  The lift to the Circle of Magisters.

  An elder mage stands at the base of it, his hands tucked into his billowing robes and his wizened face studying us curiously. As we approach he raises a white eyebrow and fixes each of us with an unblinking stare.

  "May I help you?" He asks, his voice like the cracking of ancient leather.

  "We are here to see the High Magus and the Circle of Magisters," I declare, doing my best to sound confident and self-assured.

  The old mage's eyebrow climbs even higher as he regards me, no doubt curious as to why one so young would address him with such authority.

  I can feel my cheeks growing red under his stare.

  Roth takes a step forward to interject. "It is a matter of great importance, I assure you." His voice is as level and dry as ever. "The High Magus has been notified of our coming."

  The old mage regards us for a moment longer, considering, before nodding to himself and turning around. He places a gnarled hand on the pillar, and I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end as he channels.

  Light blooms around his fingertips, and a door materializes in the column itself, large enough for our entire group to fit through. In total there are six of us, including Owyn, myself and the other mages. Wordlessly we shuffle into the lift, the door closing shut behind us and sealing us in darkness.

  A few seconds later, Owyn jumps as radiant magic begins shimmering beneath our feet, forming a translucent platform of solid, blue energy. I place a hand on his arm to let him know that this is normal, and he seems to relax at my touch. As soon as the platform is formed, we begin to rise, ascending in the hollowed-out column so smoothly that it is almost imperceptible.

  I had forgotten just how unnerving the lifts can be to someone who has never seen them before. The ranger's apprentice goes as rigid as a statue, eyes wide as he senses us going up. With my hand still on his arm I squeeze, and he shoots me a grateful, if not brief, glance.

  It is not long, however, before the magical lift comes to a halt. The doors once again slide open, only now we are on a completely different floor, an area near the very top of the Pillar of Radiance that I have never been to.

  The floor belonging to the Circle of Magisters.

  Our group exits into a dimly lit entryway, lavishly furnished but otherwise appearing abandoned. Through thickly-paned windows we can see out over the city, the winking lights a stark contrast to the blackness of the sky.

  A man in his mid-thirties enters the entryway a moment later, wearing immaculate white robes and a head shaved completely bald. He is tall and broad shouldered, and he eyes us uncertainly, as if surprised that our motley group is standing in front of him.

  "You must be the mages from Arch-magister Tyrande's group," he says, giving all of us a feigned smile. "Welcome back. My name is Elwyn Mathis, and I am the stewards of the High Magus." He looks us with an appraising eye, his look of confusion deepening. "If I may be so bold, where is the Arch-magister?"

  An uncomfortable silence settles over our group, each of us eyeing each other uncertainly.

  After a moment, Evoker Roth speaks up. "She's dead," he says bluntly. "We have information that is for the High Magus and the Circle only. Please notify them that we are here."

  Elwyn's eyes are so wide they look like they are going to pop out of his skull. Abruptly he coughs, then nervously smooths the front of his robes with his hands. "I will, uh... notify the High Magus at once. Please, follow me."

  With that he turns, walking briskly down a hallway without another word.

  We follow him, making our way through a series of twists and turns until eventually coming to a small waiting room. Several plush couches line the walls, but otherwise the room is plain, lit by a couple sconces set into the stone.

  "While the Circle and High Magus prepare to meet with you, you will wait here. Several of the magisters have already returned home from the night, so they will need to be retrieved. It should not take too long, however. In the meantime, please rest yourselves. You are no doubt tired after such a long journey."

  He gives us a nervous grin then departs, leaving us all alone in the little waiting room.

  For what seems like an eternity, we wait. Most of us sit down on the furniture or on the floor, the rest pacing nervously. The room is quiet as nobody inside feels much like talking. Eventually, however, the same smiling steward comes back, gesturing for us to again follow him.

  The time has apparently come.

  We are taken into a wide, circular room lit by a single magefyre chandelier hanging from the middle of the dome-shaped ceiling. Our group, along with the trunk of evidence, is ushered into the center, where we find ourselves surrounded by men and women sitting in high-backed chairs, regarding us with mild curiosity.

  I recognize some of them, having seen them around the tower at various times during my training. This, I realize, must be the Circle of Magisters... the lawmakers of the Conclave.

  One of the chairs stands out from the rest, its construction more ornate and its back considerably higher. The woman sitting in it, however, is what catches and holds my attention.

  Sylvania Holdyn, High Magus of the Conclave of Mages, sits regally in her chair, her white robes pristine and tailored to perfection. I have seen her a handful of times, but never up close. She is much older than I had imagined. Her hair, nearly as white as her robes, is cropped short, almost in a boyish fashion, and even in the low light of the chandelier, I can see wrinkles branching out at the corners of her mouth and eyes. She is incredibly thin, yet despite her appearance, her gaze his sharp and intelligent and her head is held high.

  The steward closing the door behind him snaps me back to reality.


  We now stand before one of the most powerful ruling bodies in Tarsynium.

  I follow the other mage's leads and bow my head in reverence, waiting for the High Magus to wave her hand as a signal for us to speak.

  "It isn't often that the Circle is called to meet after hours," she says at long last, her voice as queenly as her regalia. "Please, stop with all of the bowing. What is it you managed to learn while you were out?"

  Roth, who has been standing at the forefront of the group, speaks up. "High Magus, much has happened on our venture to the border town of Forest Hill. I'm afraid that we bring dire news."

  "Where is Arch-magister Tyrande?" One of the members of the Circle asks, an older man with a snow-white beard.

  "I regret to inform the Circle that she has been killed in action," Roth replies gravely, his eyes dropping to the floor. "Our investigation was met with much resistance, and many of our brothers and sisters have died."

  His words cause the entire Circle to whisper worriedly with one another, and more than a few gasps echo in the circular chamber.

  To quiet them down, the High Magus raises her hand. "The death of an Arch-magister is no small thing," she says, her voice cutting through the whispered conversations like a knife. "But what of our suspicions? Is it as we have all feared?"

  Roth nods his balding head. "Yes," he declares simply. "The R'Laar have breached the Arc of Radiance."

  If news of Elva's demise had shocked them, the revelation that demons had penetrated the Arc brings on a full-fledged panic. Cries of alarm sound out in the meeting room, as well as curses and prayers to the Light. A few of the magisters begin arguing vehemently with each other, and one of the old ladies even faints in her chair.

  "Silence!" The High Magus shouts, causing all of the noise to halt almost immediately. A deathly silence fills the chamber. Then, once order has been restored, she continues. "That is an incredible claim. How can we know for certain that what you say is true?"

  As if on cue, Roth strides over to the wooden chest and opens it, pushing it on its side and spilling its contents out onto the floor.

  Severed heads and limbs flop onto the polished marble, carrying with them the stench of rotting flesh. Leering darkhound snouts and the mottled skulls of gorgons roll about on the floor, causing the entire room to erupt in shock and dismay.

  "Hopefully this evidence will suffice," Roth says evenly, his expression perfectly calm.

  After a moment, when things quiet down, High Magus Sylvania speaks, her voice now tight with gravity of the situation. "This is troubling news. I want you all to tell me everything."

  For the next hour, the assembled mages draw every ounce of information out of us, everything from what the demons looked like, to how the final battle was fought and won. They want to know about the Nightingales and the citizens of Forest Hill, and are especially curious as to how we were able to band everyone together and fight as a united force. We also go over in detail the attack by assassins on the road, and name every mage and soldier who died since the mission began.

  By the time we are finished, I feel like a washcloth that has been completely wrung dry.

  The High Magus leans back in her chair, no doubt overwhelmed by all the information just heaped upon her. For a moment, an uncomfortable silence settles over the assembled group.

  I look over at Owyn, who had not done very much talking during the exchange. He looks rather uncomfortable, standing there in a room full of mages.

  Finally, the High Magus speaks up. "You there, Initiate Dennel, was it? What do you make of all this?"

  My heart skips a beat when I realize that she is talking to me directly. "Me, High Magus?"

  "Yes," she replies, fixing me with her intense gaze. "You were Elva Tyrande's ward. From what I've gathered, your heroic efforts probably saved this endeavor from being a crushing defeat. I'm curious to know why you acted the way that you did."

  I can feel my cheeks begin to flush with heat. Everyone in the room is looking at me. "It really wasn't anything. I only did what I thought was right."

  "A strong moral compass, then," the High Magus says appreciatively, nodding her head. "Were that more mages around here had that virtue."

  "Before she died," Roth interjects softly, "the Arch-magister wished for Initiate Dennel to be raised to full mage. Everyone here is a witness, and we all support her decision."

  I am gratified to see that all the mages around me are bobbing their heads. Even a few of the magisters look as if they approve.

  "It is rare that an initiate is raised before his or her time," High Magus Sylvania replies, thoughtful. "But not unheard of. Initiate Dennel has indeed proven that she possesses not only the skills requisite to become a mage, but the character as well. We will hold the ceremony first thing tomorrow, then move forward with what needs to be done on behalf of the kingdom."

  My chest swells with pride at her words, and I can't help but beam at the praise being given by the most powerful Magus in the world.

  "But a word of caution to everyone before we depart," she continues, leaning forward in her chair and sweeping her eyes across the room. "This is an extremely delicate matter, and we all need to step carefully if Tarsynium is going to survive. Nobody will utter a single word about this to anyone outside of this chamber. Is that understood?"

  I, along with everyone else, nod emphatically at her command.

  "Good," she replies, relaxing a little. "The last thing we need is a panic on our hands. Roth, you and the others will be taken to temporary sleeping accommodations while we sort all of this out. Until then, we will all think long and hard about what our next steps should be. Dismissed."

  The magisters all stand up, and begin filtering out of the room. All of them give the limbs on the floor a wide berth as they depart.

  Chapter Nine

  Owyn

  The grip of my father's hatchet feels comfortable in my hand, the grain of the wood worn smooth from years of use and giving me some measure of comfort as I creep through the brush, my footfalls silent and sure.

  The sky above is a garish red, the color of blood, but I ignore it. My mind is sharp like an arrow point, my eyes focused on the beast standing in the clearing ahead, completely unaware of my presence. I have become the hunter.

  No... I have become the predator.

  With a snarl I leap forward, striking like a snake and bringing my hatchet down on the darkhound's back. The blade bites deep and the demon howls, twisting to see what has attacked it so brazenly in the open.

  Twisting the handle of my weapon, I swing myself onto its back, wrenching the hatchet free and bringing it up for another strike. The darkhound bucks desperately, trying to dislodge me from its back, but its efforts are useless. My legs are wrapped tightly around its sides and my fingers grasp a fistful of coarse, black hair.

  I bring the hatchet down again and again, breaking open its skull with savage ferocity.

  The beast mewls in pain, buckling under the onslaught of attacks, and it isn't long until it collapses, dead and split open like a melon.

  Casting my father's hatchet aside, I let out a scream of victory, a bestial sound that tears my throat in an oddly pleasing way. When my lungs are empty, I look down at my prize, breathing heavily from the exertion.

  Without hesitation I plunge my hands into its open wound, feeling the gore and viscera between my fingers and bringing it up to my mouth.

  I feast.

  Tasting the creature's warm, wet blood in my mouth I bring my hand back down for more, frenzied with hunger.

  Everything in my vision becomes red.

  I THRASH WILDLY, TRYING to untangle myself from my sheets as I sit bolt upright in bed.

  My eyes dart around the room, looking for something, anything that can remind me of where I am in the darkness.

  Drenched in sweat and panting like I have just run up a mountain, I realize that I am in one of the guest bedrooms of the Conclave. The memories of what had brought me here come rushing ba
ck to me in an instant.

  What in the Hells was that? I find myself thinking, my pulse sounding thunderous in my ears. It felt like I was a demon... Light, I can still taste the blood in my mouth!

  Burying my face in my hands, I shiver violently, for the first time feeling the sheen of icy-cold sweat covering my body.

  A bloody nightmare, I think, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to forget the memory. It was just a bloody nightmare.

  But it had all seemed so real!

  It takes a moment for me to calm down, but eventually my breathing becomes even and my heartbeats slow to a normal rhythm. Sucking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly, I push myself off the mattress and put my bare feet on the cold stone floor.

  When I have a hard time falling back asleep, I find that pacing and exercise helps. Walking to the center of my rectangular room, I get down on my hands and begin doing push ups.

  The strain on my muscles feels good, and for a time I am able to forget myself in the repetitive motion.

  Up. Down. Up. Down.

  I begin to lose count after fifty.

  Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

  Arms and chest burning, I finally push myself up to a sitting position. The room itself is dark, lit only by the solitary window in the wall adjacent to my bed. After a moment, I decide to go look outside, not having anything better to do.

  Through the glass I see the lights of Tarsys gleaming down below. The Conclave is made up of a series of towers in the center of the city, and although the one I am in is not as tall as the Pillar of Radiance, it still looms over the city from an impressive height.

  Suddenly feeling a wave of vertigo at being up so high, I back away from the window and sit down heavily on my bed.

  What in the Eleven Hells am I doing here? I wonder for perhaps the thousandth time. The mages did not seem interested in my take of the story at all. They barely asked me any questions!

  Burying my face in my hands, I try to sort through my jumbled thoughts.

  I've never felt so alone or without purpose in my entire life. To make matters worse, things between Zara and I seem strained, our conversations forced. I miss the way things used to be between us, the way we would make each other laugh, and her smile...