The Legend of the Seven Sages: The Blade of Origin

by B. A. Scott

  “With all due respect, General,” Domini interjected. “Gabrel willingly assumed the role of ambassador when his predecessor fell in combat. He brought the Tears of Life from Allestron, and furenti from the Breyen junakothari to aid our soldiers at Caleton. He escorted our Queen safely to Benevar, fending of hordes of Daro’s ilk, and in doing so, discovered the lost city of Avenalora, where he obtained the one thing necessary to wield the Blade of Origin against Daro. He may not have the military experience you’d prefer, but even you can attest, some men who have done far less than Gabrel have been granted much more.”

  Gabrel felt like a bystander at his own trial. But he was more than surprised that the General’s discontent stemmed only from his new title. Fortenstar hadn’t said a word about him being a half-breed.

  “Men recognize leadership,” said the General. “It is earned. Not given. Lord Caladen may have done some fine things by our new Queen, his soldiers may have been commanded to follow his orders, but where we’re going, it’ll take more than a fancy new title to instill courage in their hearts.”

  “Valea?” Gabrel asked. “Why?”

  The General shook his head. “You don’t even know the lay of your own land,” he said. “Of all the ambassadors, I landed the greenest. They fear the Silver Passes.”

  Gabrel had never heard of the place, but decided not to share his lack of knowledge.

  “An easy place to ambush,” said Asos. “They stretch from the Western Valean Mountains, across the valley, to the Eastern Range. Like a river we must ford.”

  “Well, can’t we go around?” Gabrel asked.

  “That would add weeks,” said Fortenstar. “It would mean traveling up into the mountains. It is an unforgiving path—if even you can call it that. Hard travel. Slow travel. We’d lose men and horses to the climb, the cold. I dare say only a handful of this company would survive its bitterness. We’ll push through the Passes.”

  “I think I understand their fear,” said Gabrel, as two scouts rode up to meet them.

  “General Fortenstar,” one of them said. “Daro’s forces. Watching the road ahead. In the trees beyond that ridge.”

  “How many?” asked the General, halting the procession of horses.

  “Thirty in the open. Blessed Ones. Tearing apart what’s left of a horse cart. They saw us. They know we’re coming.”

  “It’d be suicide to attack us,” Gabrel said.

  “But they might risk it to take a few of us along with them,” said Domini. “Keep the roads dangerous. And they’ll be in the trees by now, waiting for us.”

  Gabrel was astonished how quickly Fortenstar processed the information before giving his order.

  “Send one hundred ahead.”

  An officer left the General’s side, relaying the orders to the soldiers.

  “You, keep your shield up,” he told Gabrel.

  Gabrel’s heart thumped wildly as he watched a chunk of his forces gallop into the uncertainty ahead. The pounding of hooves grew quiet, but not a moment before the faintest clashing of metal sounded on the air.

  It was a strange curiosity—hearing the distant, muffled sounds of combat, wondering what gruesome deaths were occurring while he waited in safety. Blessed growled. Men roared. Blades clanked and echoed, like a cacophony of furious blacksmiths, hard at work.

  And then, it ended. And at the sound of approaching horses, Gabrel felt relief. Though, when roughly fifty men returned, his stomach turned, for he’d hoped to see more.

  “The road is secure,” one of the soldiers said.

  “How many did we lose?” asked the General.

  “Forty-two. The rest are holding the road.”

  Gabrel felt better, but only for a moment. Forty-two men he didn’t even know were dead. And they died for him. Because of him.

  “What’s wrong with you?” the General asked him, reading Gabrel’s vacant expression.

  “They died. For me. I didn’t even know them.”

  “This is the world now,” said Fortenstar. “You make sure they didn’t die for nothing.”

  * * * * *

  “My Queen, you’ve only just arrived,” Lord Lirian spoke upon Benevar’s docks as Ayden prepared to leave on her voyage for Marinar. “I would be more than willing to make the journey to Marinar in your stead. I implore you to stay, for your own well being.”

  “You are an able emissary, Lord Lirian,” Ayden responded. “And I would trust you to the task. But my father always traveled to the Marineans himself. His ambassadors had a strange way of either returning unwhole or not at all.”

  “Then I’m afraid I must insist, your Majesty. You cannot put yourself in such peril.”

  “Tell me, Castus,” Ayden started to become annoyed, “as your Queen, how many times must I make a decree before it is obeyed?”

  Lirian bowed his head. “Forgive me, your Highness. I am only concerned for your safety.”

  “And I am concerned with your presumptions.”

  “My Queen?” Lirian asked for clarification.

  “I’ve spent hardly a day in Benevar,” said Ayden, “and already, I’m sensing an unpleasant trend. With General Fortenstar, with you. A trend among my council that is in dire need of immediate stifling. I value your insight, High Steward, and I appreciate your concern. But my commands are not to be taken as suggestions, debated over as mere fanciful thoughts. I expect to be counseled, but the next time I give an order, all I want to hear from you is, ‘yes, my Queen. It will be done.’ Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my Queen. It will be done,” Lirian complied. “But I would ask, at least let me accompany you. I have been to Marinar twice before. They were disagreeable endeavors, but I returned. I could help you navigate their hospitality.”

  “I need you in Benevar, Castus,” Ayden spoke informally. “I must do this myself.”

  “Return quickly, my Queen,” Lirian bowed his head.

  “I’m told it’s a quick sail to Marinar across the Orbian Strait,” said Ayden. “Keep the city safe while I’m gone.”

  Ayden strode aboard her ship, the Prowess, and sailed away from Benevar. A feeling of futility pervaded every corner of her mind as she sped toward the Island of Marinar. As if sending her half-breed ambassador to claim a legendary relic wasn’t ludicrous enough, the thought of asking the Marineans for help somehow felt even more nonsensical.

  “My Queen,” said Braela, Ayden’s handmaiden. “Do you truly believe this journey will prove beneficial?”

  “Honestly, not a chance,” Ayden responded. “The Marineans will not be keen to our arrival.”

  “Is that why we’re only taking a single vessel to their shore?” Braela asked. “To not seem a show of force?”

  “Partly,” Ayden answered. “I haven’t any experience dealing with Marineans, but I’ve been advised that a display of humility best accommodates their arrogance. This ship is by no means the grandest in my fleet, nor—if you’ve noticed—are these my finest gowns. I’ve been told it’s better to receive insult upon arrival than be turned away outright for blatant declarations of grandeur.”

  “Are they that self-righteous?” asked Braela. “I’ve heard stories, but—”

  “My father once said dealing with the Marineans was the most unpleasant thing he ever had to endure as King,” Ayden told her. “Even if it was merely abiding their company. If you knew the things he’d done—to make him say such a thing—you’d believe every story you’ve ever heard of their conceit.”

  “I suppose you’ll find out for yourself, soon enough,” Braela said.

  Ayden nodded, already dreading the encounter, and spoke, “I couldn’t be more thrilled.”

  * * * * *

  Daro watched from on high as Hadaan led Primen and Blessed east from the Adorcenn Tower. From the ground, the largest legion of Fated Ones he’d ever assembled leapt into the air, led by the eldest and meatiest of their kind, Orag the Scarred. They traveled southwest from the Adorcenn, like a great storm cloud.

  A large
number of each race remained behind to defend the Tower and complete the outer wall, though Daro felt any need for protection would be long coming. And the last great surge of his forces from the Wastelands would join him over the coming weeks.

  From a lower window, Dexius observed the departure with loathing and jealousy.

  I should be among them, he thought. How can I prove myself a warrior when I’m kept from war?

  His defiance swelled, and he raced to Daro’s chambers, knowing it would be some time before his father returned to them. He stood before the mantel, eyeing the Amulet of Oblivion, and the three silver amulets containing Alluvian jewels in their centers.

  Two of them, he knew, had been meant for Vexen and his mother, Velusia. But the third was always intended to be his.

  And so he took it, then started to leave, but stopped.

  Dexius eyes returned to the mantel where the Amulet of Oblivion hung.

  Father’s greatest weapon, he thought. It is I who could decide the battle, not Hadaan.

  He knew Daro wouldn’t approve. ‘Unworthy,’ he’d called him. But he would prove himself, and his father would see how mistaken he was.

  Dexius took the Amulet of Oblivion—the instrument of his redemption—and spoke, “I will show him how worthy I am.”

  Chapter 19: Bread and Board

  Fahren walked decisively through the obsidian palace of Kallenshar, flanked by Nova and Sahna. Deep they delved into the lesser known parts of the fortress, where only few were allowed to pass unchecked. Old and ancient, the architecture transformed from the perfectly crafted masonry, until they arrived at an unsuspecting doorway, humble in appearance, protected by two guards.

  “Remain here. I go alone,” Fahren told Nova and Sahna, and without another word, the guards opened the doors. Fahren entered a small chamber, fashioned to support a rocky cave bearing a single pool of lava.

  Hidden where only an Incinian could go, he thought to himself. It has laid there for centuries. Now, everything is going to change.

  Once the doors closed behind him, he stripped his robes, armor and clothing, leaving nothing but a crafted necklace and a dark undergarment. From his discarded items, he drew a mask, reminiscent of an Aeroli Keen mask, though of Incinian make.

  He stepped into the pool, pausing a moment to debate his decision one last time, then donned the mask, and submerged himself completely.

  At once, his necklace trembled, and Fahren found ease with breathing. The mask, capable of peering through the thick molten material around him, revealed the pool’s depths as though Fahren were looking through fire-colored water.

  He dove deep, finding a tunnel, which birthed a system of passageways. Fahren swam as fast as he could, reciting the proper path to himself whenever the caves diverged. “Far left, second from the right, lower, middle, middle, right, right,” and so on. The passage seemed endless, capable of ensnaring the uneducated in a maze of eternal hindrance.

  When he reached his destination, Fahren stepped from the lava onto firm, polished obsidian. Not a drop of lava clung to him, for the oils in his skin and hair repelled it completely. At his back, the rocky protrusion of the caves he’d just navigated were a sharp visual contrast to what lay before him.

  The polished floor he stood upon jutted out from the rock, like a peninsula, surrounded by a domed shield of magic. Beyond the shield’s protection, lava flowed thick, as the secret subterranean hall lay deep in the volcanic bowels of Kallenshar. The entire room was cast in a flowing red-orange light, and at the end of it rose a single pedestal from the floor. Upon it, the Gauntlet of Wrath was suspended in mid-air.

  Fahren slid his mask to the top of his head and stepped toward the furentus, determined to remove it from the place that concealed it for hundreds of years. Fahren stopped before the pedestal, and took in the Gauntlet’s appearance. It was elaborate, yet refined, with symbols and markings etched upon each finger.

  “Betrayer,” a voice sounded behind him. Fahren’s heart shuddered. “Devious little saint.”

  Fahren closed his eyes.

  “Father,” he said in response, yet did not turn.

  “You turn your back on your own kind,” Embros said.

  “As do you.”

  “Your wisdom is waning, Sage. It seems Lord Daro is not the only man to have a child go astray.”

  “Lord Daro has divided our people,” Fahren said.

  “He’s promised our people a future,” said Embros. “He will obliterate us should we stand against him.”

  “At what cost? Even now, the nations oppose him. This is our chance for reconciliation. For our people’s redemption—to prove our devotion to this world.”

  “And what would you have me do? Join this alliance with the other nations? Join with ancient enemies to battle a man who promises us sanction and peace? Your power exceeds your wisdom, Fahren. Daro’s revolution was always inevitable. We must prepare for this future. Our people must live.”

  “As slaves to a heretic!? You are unbefitting of your mantle, father. Half of your own people have renounced their loyalty to you in the span of these last few days. They will not stand for this cause.”

  “But this is why you are so important. You have the power to save their lives.”

  Fahren grasped the Gauntlet of Wrath. “No, father,” he said. “The Gauntlet will not fall into the wrong hands.” He turned to face Embros, but was surprised to see the King had not come alone.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Embros, who was flanked by no less than twenty soldiers. At his right stood Nova.

  “What is this?” Fahren asked. “Nova?”

  “You’re misguided, Fahren,” Nova said.

  “Where is Sahna?” Fahren asked. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”

  “Your Sahna is dead,” Nova said. “Her devotion to your conspiracy earned her her due reward.”

  “No,” Fahren uttered, grieving for the loss of his most trusted aide.

  The soldiers inched toward him, weapons drawn.

  “I will leave here unscathed,” Fahren said, filling himself with magic.

  “Not with the furentus you carry,” Embros told him, and with a motion of his hand, the soldiers advanced.

  Through the shield of magic, a healthy number of other soldiers emerged from the lava, dropping down, catching Fahren by surprise. Each wore a shield suppressor—bracelets that allowed them to pass through the magical barrier.

  With a frenzied reaction, the Sage blasted a slew of his attackers back through the shield wall with a powerful impellment spell.

  He quickly donned the Gauntlet of Wrath, and was taken aback by its affect. He felt invigorated, like he’d tapped an infinite pool of power.

  As spears raced toward his heart, Fahren unleashed the Gauntlet’s power, freezing every weapon and soldier in a block of ice, then blasting them apart with an impellment spell that sent shards of frozen innards everywhere.

  The spell was so strong that it shattered the pedestal and cracked the shield wall in several places, causing jets of lava to spray into the hall.

  Fahren quickly conjured new shields, plugging the holes as more soldiers swam through the barrier to confront him.

  Nova, still by Embros’s side, caught Fahren’s eye.

  She charged him, and Fahren swiped his hand, sending her through the shield with unrelenting force.

  Then, his gaze turned to Embros. Fahren held his palm toward the King, ready to wipe his existence from the plane of the living. And yet he struggled, for he could not bring himself to raise a hand against his own father.

  Finally, at the thought of Lord Daro, his resolve overcame his reservations, and Fahren accepted the necessity of Embros’s demise.

  “Forgive me, father,” Fahren said. Embros’s eyes grew wide with fear. But before the Sage could end him, a soldier bashed him in the back of the head with the hilt of his sword.

  Fahren crumbled to the ground.

  The remaining soldiers surrounded hi
s body as Embros approached. Quickly, one of them took the Gauntlet from Fahren’s hand.

  “My King, the Gauntlet,” he said, handing the furentus to Embros.

  Another soldier rested the tip of his spear over Fahren’s heart, ready to plunge it through his chest.

  “No,” Embros said.

  “He is not loyal to your majesty,” said the soldier.

  “He will die,” Embros assured him. He knelt by Fahren and removed his mask and necklace. “These walls shall be those of your tomb,” he spoke to his son. “Die in shame, Fahren Embros, Sage of Adoran.”

  * * * * *

  Kade and Faelia stood upon the Agile’s quarter deck. Kade wielded Gale to fill the sails with formidable winds, while Faelia surged the waters around them, gliding the Borean ship across the ocean with astounding speed.

  Kaven peered out across the waves, Kiara’s hem held tightly in his grasp. It was a sight he’d never beheld. Such beauty, such endlessness. Crashing waves of deep, dark blue, sunlight scattered across the sea, and the tranquility of gulls effortlessly keeping pace with the Agile. Yet his awe gave way to worry. For his eyes were constantly drawn to the skies.

  “You’re still in armor,” Faelia’s voice sounded behind him. The Borean had left her post, and was slightly winded. Indeed, Kaven had not removed his protective garments, nor his sword or shield. “Needed a breather,” Faelia told him.

  “The last time I was in a boat, Fated attacked from above,” Kaven said, stuffing Kiara’s hem in his pocket. “I barely survived. How safe are these waters?”

  Faelia chuckled. “It’s not Fated you’d normally trouble yourself with out here,” she said. “It’s the Marineans. Look there, you can see their vessels now.”