by B. A. Scott
THE LEGEND OF THE SEVEN SAGES: THE BLADE OF ORIGIN
By B. A. SCOTT
THE LEGEND OF THE SEVEN SAGES: THE BLADE OF ORIGIN
By B. A. SCOTT
Copyright 2017 Bryan Andrew Scott
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: The World’s Darkest Hour
Chapter 2: Skaelwood
Chapter 3: The Visiting Flame
Chapter 4: The Fadenward Canyon
Chapter 5: Journey to the Port
Chapter 6: Knowledge
Chapter 7: The Marinean
Chapter 8: Estimus
Chapter 9: The Celestial Blaze
Chapter 10: The Avenger
Chapter 11: Mind-marked
Chapter 12: Passage
Chapter 13: The Fire Gates
Chapter 14: Fahren
Chapter 15: Into the Fire
Chapter 16: The Fountain of Cyneas Dal
Chapter 17: Benevar
Chapter 18: Departures
Chapter 19: Bread and Board
Chapter 20: Marinar
Chapter 21: Enchantment
Chapter 22: The Silver Passes
Chapter 23: Return
Chapter 24: The Wind Rider
Chapter 25: Valea
Chapter 26: Parsali
Chapter 27: Preparations
Chapter 28: The Battle of Skaelwood
Chapter 29: Teréyu
Chapter 30: The Storm
Chapter 31: The Hall of Imminent Futures
Chapter 32: The Blade of Origin
Chapter 33: The Aftermath
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: The World’s Darkest Hour
Through the mountain jungles west of Avenalora, a dark figure walked silently amongst the ancient trees. Hooded and veiled beneath an Incinian cloak, the traveler stepped firmly, intent on his purpose. The light of a red dawn not only glimmered in the towering figure’s angry, sorrowful eyes, but cast a foreboding light on the Guarded Heart of Adoran.
Avenalora’s western gates stood in utter ruin. As the hooded figure approached them, a massive patrol of Incinian soldiers passed through the demolished outer wall, under the watchful eyes of those who guarded the gates from above. The figure slipped into their ranks with stealth and cunning, and entered the city he once called his own.
Everywhere he looked, his brethren and allies lay strewn about—slain, charred and dismembered. Mounds of dead bodies dotted Avenalora’s grand courtyard, ready for burning. Some, already set ablaze, filled the man’s nostrils with an ungodly stench, fueling his already abounding rage. He broke away from the formation and strode through the courtyard, past hundreds of thousands of soldiers, toward the Fountain of the Avenflame.
Upon reaching its steps, the figure stopped and raised his gaze to the enormous blue flame that hovered just above the fountain’s water. He clenched his fists, weighing the doubt and conflict in his mind against what hatred he possessed for his enemies. At last, his intentions solidified, and he began his ascent.
“You there!” shouted Aleraea, the Incinian Sage, upon seeing the man. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. The figure halted his progress at the seventh step, and stood perfectly still.
“Were you given permissions or orders to ascend the Avenflame?” asked Mizzen, the Marinean Sage. “Soldier, turn and speak!”
But the man held no intention of doing so. He lowered his head, and beneath his hood, his eyes flashed aglow. He spun around, thrust out his arm, and sent an explosion of Gale from his palm, sending all that stood around him into the air. The mighty gust also blew back the figure’s hood, revealing a man with deeply tanned skin. He was nearly bald, except for hair of pure white at his temples.
Aleraea and Mizzen’s bodies tumbled to a halt, along with the rest of their soldiers. Immediately, they raised their gazes to the Erygian man.
“It’s Idonitus!” shrieked Aleraea. “Kill him!” Both she and Mizzen scrambled to their feet as Idonitus stepped backwards, up toward the Avenflame once more. As the Fountain’s base was three-sided, with a set of steps upon each, Incinian and Marinean soldiers raced up the other sides, attempting to cut off Idonitus’s progress, while others hurled spears and fired arrows straight for his heart.
But Idonitus blocked every attack. He climbed higher and higher, combating those around him with magic cast from thought, palm and blade, until finally, he reached the fountain’s apex—his back, just inches from the fountain’s brim. Surrounded, Idonitus halted his attacks and glared into the eyes of Aleraea and Mizzen, who stood before him, their faces bearing equally malevolent expressions.
“What did you plan to do?” asked Aleraea. “Return alone, and kill us all? Retake Avenalora all by yourself?”
“Leave this city,” Idonitus threatened. “Or every last one of you will perish this day.”
“So that is your intention!” said Mizzen. “Look around you, Idonitus. We have you surrounded. How could you possibly deliver death to us all before we strike you down?”
Idonitus slowly opened his fists. Upon each of his open palms, he ignited a bright flame of hellish red.
“Oblivion,” gasped Aleraea, a sudden fear filling her eyes. “Kill him now!” she shrieked. She, Mizzen, and the soldiers around them brought a barrage of metal and magic against Idonitus. Without relinquishing the Oblivion Flame that grew in his palms, Idonitus conjured shields around him, deflecting his enemies’ attacks. With every spear, sword, and blast of Fury that sought to puncture his defenses, his hatred flourished, fueling the baleful fires. Upon seeing the red flame swirl around Idonitus, the terror in Aleraea’s eyes erupted.
“Retreat!” she shouted. “Get away from him!” At once, the armies spilled down the steps of the Avenflame like an avalanche, tripping and tumbling to the shaking ground below. They stampeded from the courtyard, making straight for the city gates.
But before any could escape, Idonitus’s hatred peaked, and the Oblivion Flame burst from him like a deluge of fire in every direction. It spread through every inch of Avenalora, consuming the armies, turning flesh to ash upon its very touch.
Not a single person, save for Idonitus himself, survived.
When at last the Erygian Sage dispelled the hellish flame, he fell to his knees, panting. The sight that met his eyes tore his heart to pieces. Heaps of armor riddled the silent courtyard, and a thick layer of ash blanketed the city.
Idonitus supported himself against the Fountain’s brim. As tears filled his eyes, he gazed into the Avenflame.
“Forgive me,” he uttered.
Then, dazed, unblinking and numb to the terror he’d wrought, Idonitus descended the Fountain’s steps. His feet shuffled through the ash, kicking up dark clouds behind him as he wandered the once lively and beautiful streets. He entered the grand palace of Avenalora, and made his way to a great balcony that overlooked the city. Idonitus drew his sword, and sat upon a throne of stone, gazing outward with misty eyes.
“This place has inspired nothing but death,” he said. “May its secrets be forgotten in time, until only the worthy find it again,” he said. “Let them come out of need, not want. And may their spirit forge it anew. In hopes of future peace.”
The Erygian Sage filled himself with magic, and with a thrusting of his sword into the stone beside his throne, he cast a powerful veil spell over the entire city.
Kade jolted awake. The vision of Idonitus had come once again. And ever since she and the others had taken shelter within the Erygian palace, each time the dream came, it grew more vivid. Kade wiped the sweat from her brow, and attempted to calm her racing heart with a deep breath.
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nbsp; Outside the palace, Gabrel and Kaven spent the morning attuning their magical abilities as Ayden watched on. Kaven sat cross-legged upon a stretch of sand-colored stone that was lightly splotched with patches of grass and moss. Around him, he levitated five fist-sized stones a foot above the ground.
Nearby, Gabrel set a thick log upon a tall, broken rock, stepped back a good distance from it, then filled himself with magic. A bolt of Fury raced from his hand, blasting the wood into a spray of shards and splinters.
The explosion rattled Kaven’s nerves and broke his concentration. Immediately, the stones around him fell to the ground.
“Blast it, Gabe!” he said. “I told you to warn me when you’re about to do that!”
“Kade said you need to practice amidst distraction,” Gabrel said as he approached his brother. “So really, I’m doing you a favor.”
“She also told you not to wield Fury without her, Gabrel,” Ayden scolded. “You two have been blessed with an incredible gift. I’d hate to see the first Human Enchanters in history squandered on account of some moronically unsupervised accident.”
Gabrel released his magic, knowing Ayden was right, yet confident he could manage light training without Kade’s guidance.
“Indeed and agreed,” Kade’s voice suddenly sounded from the palace’s grand entrance, a look of urgency spread across her face. “If you’d all please come with me, I’ve found something— something you need to see.”
Kade led the others into the palace at a brisk pace, and entered a series of hallways and chambers they’d yet to explore.
“Kade, where are you taking us?” asked Ayden.
“You will see,” answered Kade as she stopped before two large doors, barely hanging on their hinges. She pushed them open, and stepped out onto a grand balcony. The others followed behind her, and gazed out upon the ancient city. But Kade had no interest in the breathtaking view. Instead, her eyes remained fixated on the throne that had lasted through the ages, and the sword that stood beside it.
“I’ve been having visions of this place,” said the Sage. “This throne, this sword.”
“How is that possible?” asked Gabrel.
“My grandfather once told me that Sages are oftentimes blessed with visions of their ancestors and other Sages that came before,” answered Kade. “It is not something that can be controlled, or even summoned. Like a dream, they come as they will, shedding light on ages past. This...” her fingertips grazed the hilt of the blade, still embedded in the ancient stone, “...was Idonitus’s sword—the anchor for a powerful veil spell that keeps Avenalora hidden from the eyes of the world. It is the reason Avenalora vanished from the face of Adoran long ago.”
“How could you possibly know that?” asked Kaven. “And how can you be certain—”
“I know, Kaven,” Kade said firmly. “I’ve seen it.”
“Well, how do we lift the veil?” asked Ayden.
“By taking the sword,” answered Kade.
“And are you wanting to do that now?” Ayden asked.
“No,” said Kade. “As long as it remains, Lord Daro cannot find this city.”
“But we can’t stay here forever,” said Kaven. “We have to get Ayden to Benevar. How do we know that we’ll ever be able to find this place again if we leave? I think we should take the sword. What if we all die tomorrow and Avenalora stays lost for another few centuries?”
“I’d rather it stay lost forever than let Daro lay claim to it,” said Kade. “Imagine his power magnified by sipping from yet another fountain. Imagine if he were to take hold of this city, and use it as a stronghold for his forces—as he’s undoubtedly done with Caleton.”
“Then why’d you lead us up here, if not to lift the veil?” Kaven asked.
“This knowledge came to me in a vision, Kaven,” said Kade. “If anything were to happen to me, I don’t want that knowledge lost. So now you three know how to lift the veil as well, and reveal Avenalora to the world once more—when the time is right.”
“And when will that be?” Gabrel asked.
“I don’t know,” said Kade.
“Well, Kaven’s right about one thing,” said Ayden. “We can’t stay here. My people need their Queen. Most probably think I’m dead.”
“You know, there is a way you can let them know you aren’t,” said Kade.
“I’m not doing that, Kade,” said Ayden. “It’s not worth the risk.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Gabrel.
“It’s called visiting,” Kade answered. “A way to speak over great distances.”
“I’m guessing there’s magic involved,” Gabrel presumed.
“Dangerous magic,” Ayden warned him. “Too dangerous for the house of Mercer’s last remaining heir to chance.”
“Well I’m not as important as you,” Gabrel said. “So, depending on the risk, I think I’d like to try it.”
“Is there someone you need to speak with, Gabrel?” Kade inquired. “This should only be used in the direst of circumstances.”
Gabrel and Kaven exchanged a glance and a shared thought.
“Yeah,” said Gabrel. “Our brother.”
Chapter 2: Skaelwood
A hand reached toward the sky and grasped a cluster of deep red winterberries from one of the chilled vines in Skaelwood Forest. Having not slowed his pace in the least, Dareic snatched his afternoon meal, then gulped it down. He’d been running with the Skaelar army for the last four hours. Though his hunger teased him from time to time, having been blessed with the gift of Momentum, he’d yet to feel an inkling of fatigue. To his right, Treäbu ran alongside him, and to his left, ran Vega, whose wingless body had almost fully mended after suffering nearly fatal injuries at the Battle of Caleton.
As he passed a slew of stone totems, each graced by an armed Skaelar warrior, Dareic knew the end of his journey drew near.
Upon pouring into the realm of Skaelwood, a crowd gathered to greet the newly arrived Skael’adar. Families and friends reunited. Tears of joy and passionate embraces abounded amidst screams of agony from those who learned their loved ones did not survive the battle. In all the commotion, Dareic and Treäbu managed to find Treäla.
“Treäbu!” she shouted, nearly knocking her brother over as she threw her arms around him.
“I’m home, sister,” Treäbu told her. “I’m safe.”
Treäla released her embrace, wiped the tears from her eyes, then looked to Dareic.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Caleton is destroyed,” said Dareic. “I have no home left, Treäla.”
Treäla’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “And who is this Aerolus that accompanies you?”
“I am Vega… of the Valean… Aeroli,” Vega said, panting, with a hand-hearting. “And I’m alive today… thanks to these two. Though, I feel as though I’ve run the life out of me. I am not accustomed… to traveling on foot.”
“Your wings,” Treäla began.
“Were taken from me,” said Vega. “I fear my flying days have ended.”
“Lord Daro cut them himself, then blasted him from the Fountain Spire,” Treäbu said.
“How did you survive?” Treäla asked.
“Our bones and bodies are resilient—the Aeroli. Have you never seen a tiny hatchling fall from a tree and land unscathed?”
“No?” Treäla said.
“Well, my body is much tougher than a hatchling’s. You should see how far we fall when learning to fly.”
“Ambassador,” a strong voice commanded Dareic’s attention. He turned to see Ralian, the Skaelar Sage, approaching, followed closely by General Dúmeru. “Come with us,” said the Sage. “We must speak with the Skael’akron at once.”
Without question, Dareic, Treäbu and Vega accompanied Ralian and Dúmeru to the Temple Fortress. They passed the grand arena Dareic remembered well from his first visit to Skaelwood, and entered a large building of grey stone. Ralian led the others down hallways
lined with Skael’adar guards, and into a spacious courtyard.
As Dareic entered, he saw the Skael’akron seated upon thrones of vine, slightly raised from the ground, and arranged in a half moon formation. One of the thrones was empty, Dareic noticed. It must be Ralian’s, he reasoned. But the Sage did not take his seat. He remained at the General’s side.
Ralian, Dúmeru, Treäbu and Vega bowed, and gave the Skael’akron hand-heartings. Dareic immediately copied the action, and the Skael’akron returned the gesture.
“Welcome home,” Raia spoke to the Skaelar before her. “We are glad to see that you are all alive and well.”
“We are,” said Ralian. “But unfortunately, the same cannot be said for most who traveled with us.”
“How many have returned?” asked Kilo.
“Less than half what left these walls,” answered General Dúmeru. Each of the Skael’akron’s faces grew morbid upon hearing the grim news.
“And Caleton?” asked Evissian.
“The Human city has fallen,” said the Sage. “Our forces proved too few. But I doubt even our entire army could have swayed the battle in our favor, for Daro set his devastation upon Caleton in a single night.”
“What?” gasped Raia. “Did no other nation come to their aid?”
“None but the Aeroli and a handful of Erygian warriors, from what Vega tells us,” said Ralian, motioning to the Aerolus beside him. “Among them was the Erygian Sage, Athiux Amirraden. I fear he met his end at Caleton. There was a Transference upon the Fountain spire that night.”
“Athiux was very powerful,” said Kilo, sadly. “If he couldn’t best Daro in combat—”
“What chance do any of us have?” Vega finished Kilo’s thought. “Daro’s mask bears an Alluvian jewel, and I plunged a spear and the blade of a deadly furentus into his body, myself. They turned to ash. Whether by some relic he bears, or perhaps a spell upon his flesh, no weapon can harm him.”
“Then he cannot be killed,” deducted Raia. She and the other Skael’akron shared a moment of dread, processing the ramifications of an untouchable enemy.