The Legend of the Seven Sages: The Blade of Origin

by B. A. Scott

  “Have you seen Dexius?” Daro asked, aiding his son to his feet. “He left some time ago and has not returned. I fear he intended to fight—”

  “Dexius is dead,” spat Hadaan. “By Vexen’s hand.”

  Daro’s face drained of color, and his heart felt as if it would burst. He turned from Hadaan, hiding expressions of rage and remorse.

  “The Skaelar have the Amulet of Oblivion,” Hadaan continued. “And Dexius’s Alluvian Amulet. Their alliance is forming, Father. And now, they are strengthened by our relics.”

  “So much lost,” Daro uttered. “What of Valea?” he asked the Fated.

  “My Lord,” spoke Orag. “The Aeroli are all but removed from this world. Only so few could possibly remain, even aided as they were by Human soldiers.”

  “You do not speak tidings of victory,” Daro noticed, his anger growing.

  “We were met by a terror we could not withstand,” said the Fated. “We’d reserved the bulk of our forces to the skies, for even those that descended upon the Aeroli outnumbered them so greatly. Victory was imminent. It was irrefutable. But such Fury was unleashed that we could not escape its wrath. In a single blow, our forces were annihilated. Only a small number of us managed to flee, once the horror was ended.”

  Daro lowered his head. “Two battles, two defeats,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “Am I to do everything myself?”

  “Your defeats will continue,” Finwynn told him. Daro’s blood boiled. “Your forces will fail. Your Vexen has betrayed you. Your Dexius has disobeyed—”

  Daro reached outward with his gauntleted hand, ready to punish the Sage with terrible magic. But he caught himself, shaking with rage, not wanting to take any chances with Finwynn’s life.

  The Sage recognized how close Daro was to coming unhinged, in light of all the Dark Lord’s recent misfortunes. As such, Finwynn dared—as their eyes locked—to push him over the edge—past his limits of control.

  “And your most trusted, Hadaan, has failed you. So it is. All your children are disappointments.”

  Daro roared, then exploded the Sage in a burst of fiery magic. Finwynn’s burning remains splattered into every corner of the chamber as the Transference came, taking his power into the heavens.

  Daro glared at the beam of light, breathing heavily, wild-eyed, covered in the Sage’s blood. He roared in protest, cursing his compliance to Athiux’s goading, like a foolish fish to baited hook.

  The beam vanished.

  Daro looked to the Gauntlet, amazed at its power, then to Hadaan, who stared blankly forward in shock. Daro raced to the windows, eager to see where the Transference would appear from the sky.

  “Where is it?!” he said. “Where is it?!”

  Hadaan snapped to his senses and searched as well. They scrambled from window to window, yet saw nothing.

  “I do not see it,” said Hadaan. “It fell beyond the horizon.”

  * * * * *

  In the Temple of the Sacred Sky, the remaining Humans and Aeroli took shelter in a decimated amphitheater. Gabrel counted the living. Twenty-three Aeroli and just over two hundred Humans survived the attack, as had Ryla—the Borean Ambassador.

  “What now?” he asked Saléus. “What of all the dead? We have to start gathering their bodies.”

  “No,” spoke the Aerolus. “We must leave this place. How many thousands are there to burn? How many days, weeks would we spend collecting the dead? And you must be on your way to Benevar.”

  All of the gathered Humans and Aeroli listened intently, for their future never seemed so uncertain.

  “If we should linger,” Saléus continued, “and another attack comes, you’ll not be here to save us again. We would best use that time to get the migration underway.”

  “We can’t just leave them here, Saléus,” said General Fortenstar. “Our fallen deserve better.”

  “When we leave Valea, I will set this mountain ablaze,” Saléus told him. “For there is more death here, now, than life. Let the winds carry its ashes out to sea. I will enchant seedlings of Verdure, untouchable by fire, to withstand the inferno. And life will begin anew.”

  Saléus looked to the survivors’ forlorn faces. “We few that remain are the last of our kind, but with the promise of new generations. Thanks to this ambassador, this Captain, we are granted a chance to prosper once more. Were it not for him, we would not be standing here. And now, he possesses the tool with which to see this land free of Daro’s curse. That others would not suffer as we have suffered. That entire races would not be wiped from existence. He is our hope. Our warrior. Our brother in arms. Do not lose heart, my people—my brothers and sisters—for all is not yet lost.”

  While Saléus spoke, Gabrel’s heart raced, for an audacious thought entered his mind—a conviction he could not ignore.

  “I’m going with you,” he said, to Saléus’s surprise. “My men and I will escort you to Avenalora.”

  “Ambassador?” the Aerolus could not believe what he’d heard.

  “Gabrel, we must return to Benevar,” General Fortenstar argued.

  “We can inform Queen Mercer of our success here by another means,” said Gabrel. “The Visiting Flame. We can tell the Skaelar the same way, so they can start marching as soon as possible. Both armies can meet us in Avenalora.”

  “The new Queen would likely prefer the Blade of Origin in her company when she marches,” said Fortenstar.

  “The Aeroli need us more, General. You know it. The Queen will have to understand, especially if Saléus is with us when we tell her.” He looked to the Aerolus, who nodded. “And what would us going back to Benevar accomplish? We’d just make straight for Avenalora once we got there, anyway. We need to assemble the armies now. We need to mount an offensive against Daro, before this,” he nodded to their dismal surroundings, “happens anywhere else.”

  Fortenstar weighed the situation, then looked to Saléus. “To Avenalora then,” he said.

  “We shall never forget this,” said the Aerolus.

  “When we get there,” Gabrel said, “we have a lot of work to do—Avenalora lies in ruin. While Saléus carves his caverns into the Fadenward Mountains—to protect all his future generations—our men will prepare the city.”

  “Prepare it for what?” asked Minkara.

  “My brothers—even my Queen—have traveled to farthest corners of this world, just as I have, to forge our great alliance against Lord Daro. Should they have succeeded, Avenalora will play host to all the nations of Adoran. One incredible feat now lies behind us. The greatest is still to come.”

  Within the amphitheater of the Temple of the Sacred Sky, Valea’s survivors built a massive bonfire. Gabrel stood before it and pondered who he should venture to first—his brother or his Queen. Benevar or Skaelwood.

  It proved conflicting, deciding between family and duty. There was more that Ayden needed to hear than Dareic. And though both would learn of his success within mere minutes of each other, it did not ease Gabrel’s heart when he concluded that duty should prevail.

  Ayden, he thought, and summoned the Visiting Flame. It ignited in a blazing spectacle for all who watched on.

  Saléus joined him at his side, and Fortenstar at his other. Gabrel acknowledged them with a sense of sheer determination, then stepped forward and led them into the fire.

  For more information about the Legend of the Seven Sages series, visit

  www.sevensages.net.