The WorldMight

by Cyril L. C. Bussiere

Her heartbeat racing in her ears, she did not slow down and forced herself to hedge slightly toward the group as she came near them. The guards looked at her for a few seconds as she walked toward them and then resumed their talking. Aria exhaled slowly, passed them and reached the triage area. Even at this time of the day it was busy. Peasants, merchants, guards, and servants mingled in a flurry of noise. Every so often, Luis Rofel’s voice could be heard rising above the brouhaha to order shipments to their final destinations. Aria walked deliberately through the bustling crowd toward the northern gate. As she reached the edge of the triage area, she spied a group of merchants walking slowly behind a cart heading toward the gate. She hurried and caught up with them. She walked behind them and tried to blend in. She looked here and there, nodding as she would have had she been taking part in the conversation going on in front of her. The large gates quickly loomed over Aria, dark and imposing. A handful of guards holding torches waved the peasants and merchants in and out of the castle. Her group was almost there.

  “That’s it!” Aria thought, excitement and fear congealing into a tight ball in her stomach.

  Time always seemed to slow down as she was about to succeed in her escapism endeavor. She became overly conscious of the guards in their leather armors, their helmets low on their brow giving them a menacing appearance in the dancing light of the torches. She forced as neutral an expression as she could muster over her face, tweaked it with a hint of what she hoped was measured boredom, and kept pace with the group. The guards waived the cart through and visually inspected each merchant as they walked by. The entire group had just slowly crossed the threshold of the gate. Aria stepped into the torchlight without looking at the guards. In her peripheral vision she was all too aware of two of the guards on her right looking intently at her. She did not slow down, and she kept her stare steadily ahead of herself. She made an effort to keep her jaw from trembling and the little she ate for dinner from working its way back out of her.

  One step forward.

  “I should have added more brown powder to my face.”

  Another.

  “Do not blink so much.”

  She was ten feet from the guards now. They were still looking at her.

  “Oh, Hethens No! It’s my hair, I rushed it!”

  She felt burning hot in the cool air of that fall evening. It was a familiar feeling that gripped her each time she was about to get caught having done something she knew was wrong. The feeling brought back a random memory.

  “Like the time I was caught in the kitchens…”

  That had been shortly after her seventh birthday. She had snuck into the kitchens to have a taste of the cakes being made for the visit of the ambassador of La-shem, a rare and important event it turned out. The kitchen staff never minded her roaming around and having bits here and there, as long as she did not destroy anything, which she usually did not. However, on that day her mom had decided to make an impromptu visit to the kitchens to make sure all was in order and had inadvertently caught Aria forcing a hand-full of cake in her mouth.

  “Hethens! Was she mad at me!”

  Aria had, in what at the time had seemed a full-proof defense, gracefully denied having had any cake, which had not gone too well with her mom given that there was at least three different cake’s coloring splashed around her mouth and on her hands. Grounding had ensued and she spent the next seven days confined to her bedroom. Her tutors had come to her room, as had her meals and the only times she was allowed out was to go to the temple for services and for her lessons with His Highness Baccus. She remembered how a then-young Cassien tried to console her as best as he could.

  “Oh, Cassien, always so sweet,” she thought.

  The thought of him brought back the awkward feelings that arose while she was getting ready. A wave of tension flared in her groin and was immediately followed by confusion and embarrassment. She snapped out of her reverie only to realize that she was out of the castle. A rush of excitement and relief flooded her.

  “I made it!”

  She did not dare look back and had to willfully force herself not to start running. She followed the group of merchants down the road that led into town and shortly after slipped into a side alley. Cassien would be waiting for her by the old well in Haz-tny square. If she rushed, she could be there within thirty minutes.

  Anticipation beating hard at her back, Aria threw herself in a fast walk down the familiar streets of Syndjya.

  Chapter Seven

  Syndjya, Capital City of Alymphia.

  Year Hundred and Thirty of the New Age.

  Baccus ran up the hill to the castle, waved his way through the southern gates and paid no attention to the guards shouting at him to stop. As he pushed forward toward the inner curtain, his breath a hard rhythm, he heard footsteps picking up behind him and more shouts.

  “YOU! COME BACK HERE!”

  He was readying himself to feel steel at his back when another voice, strong of authority, stopped his pursuers in their tracks.

  “It’s His Highness Baccus you tavern-rats! Get back to your posts! NOW!”

  Then he was at the main keep’s gates. There, two more guards eyed the running man suspiciously. One of them stepped forward, left hand up, to stop him. Baccus slowed down.

  “What is your business?”

  “The king,” he asked. “Where is the king?”

  “State your business!” the guard asked again.

  As out of breath as he was, Baccus boomed over the guard:

  “TAKE ME TO THE KING AT ONCE!”

  The guard was taken aback, and suddenly seemed to realize who he was talking to. Embarrassment flashed red across his young face, though if it was due to not recognizing the temple runner or to being talked to in such an authoritative manner, one could not tell.

  “My apologies, Your Highness,” the guard fumbled. “My lord is receiving dignitaries from the United Provinces in the eastern courtyard.”

  Baccus took off again, following the wall of the keep to his right. He made a left when he reached the south-eastern corner and once again slowed down as he entered the foliage of the eastern gardens. He could hear voices coming through the thickly-leaved branches of the trees surrounding the gardens. He made out the voice of the king distinctly, alongside two others he could not place. He was about to walk along the path that circled the wall of trees and led to the eastern gardens proper when he stopped himself. In his rush he had not properly thought out what he was to tell the king. He could certainly not tell him of a group of women having come into Alymphia and how they were a grave danger to the kingdom. He would be thought to have gone senile before his time. The king trusted him, mostly, more than he used to anyway. But how far would he be willing to push that trust? That question, it seemed, would be answered today. Baccus tried to collect his thoughts as he caught his breath. For a moment, he battled with himself over what he should do.

  “I have to explain it succinctly, without mentioning the Other World.”

  “No, that won’t make sense. He has to know about it.

  “Right, I could show him indirectly, show him one of my daily exercises.”

  “Let’s say that it convinces him, then what?”

  “I need to tell him how dangerous they are, tell him what happened to my people.”

  “Won’t he be afraid? Angry even. That’s a lot of power, a lot of knowledge I’ve kept from him.”

  “There’s no way around it, I have to tell him everything.”

  “Well, not everything, right?”

  “Right, just enough to make him understand, just enough to persuade him.”

  Baccus appeared at the southern edge of the eastern gardens, rather well composed given that he just ran a good three miles from the Great Temple to the castle. That morning Brother Haycline had taken the cart to the market with some of the children and Baccus had not found another mean of transportation so his own legs had to do. The king sat on a large, richly ornamented chair. Leaning back, he w
as caressing his graying beard as was his habit when listening intently to people. Six chairs fanned in a semi-circle in front of him. Each was occupied by a man wearing a brightly colored robe of a singular color.

  “The dignitaries…”

  Something about the scene struck Baccus as strange. It was not because the king was faced with a bright rainbow, though that was comical to some extent. No, something else was off. Baccus took a step forward and, rather than really seeing it, sensed something move to the left of the king. He paused and focused his attention to that part of the garden. A dark shape seemed to come into existence in front of his eyes. Wavy at first, it somehow solidified as Baccus focused his attention on it. Within a second or so Baccus spied a man leaning nonchalantly against a tree a few feet behind the king where he would have sworn nothing was only moments ago. Despite his wearing black pants and shirt, the man somehow blended in with his surroundings. The round sword-over-shield embroidery on his shirt told Baccus as much as the man’s amazing appearing act.

  “An elite,” Baccus thought. “That would be Gewaltt, I think.”

  After all this time, the elites still managed to impress him. Not many could escape his vigilance. The elites really were a scary lot. Baccus knew the order had been instated shortly after the rising of the people by the newly enthroned King Brhegard GrandJoy, in response to an attempt on his life by supporters of the late Angry King. The elites were the best Alymphia had to offer when it came to warriors. They were trained in all aspects of the arts of war and combat at the Armed Academy. From one-on-one fighting to group maneuvers, infiltration techniques and full frontal assault, only those who mastered all the Academy had to teach qualified for the elite program. Once recommended by their commanders, the aspiring elites were reviewed by both Horm Earlong and Nikos Borrun. If they both separately agreed on a recruit, the young soldier was sent to the bowel of Alymphia’s holds to learn of the arts of shadow. This essential part of an elite’s training involved the recruit infiltrating the underground thieves’ guilds. This difficult task was demanding in that it required the recruit to survive on his own in a very unfamiliar, mostly hostile environment without giving away his affiliations to the army. For instance, the recruit could not display uncharacteristic combat know-how without risking being made-out. Only the most resourceful of them made it into the inner circle of the thieves’ world, let alone survived it. Once there, they were to learn all they could in ways of sneaking, deception, misdirection, projection and most importantly, social camouflage. Those skills honed over a period of three to five years, allowed an elite to disappear in plain sight, as Gewaltt had just proved to be remarkably gifted at. Highlighting the strangeness, for lack of a better word, of the elites was the fact that despite having spent the past fifteen years in the more or less frequent company of the king and thus of the elites, they remained utter strangers to him.

  Baccus stepped forward and coughed loudly in way of signaling his presence. King Rhegard did not stop talking but quickly looked at him from the corner of his eyes. Baccus took another step forward. The dignitaries were looking at him now. He hesitated for an instant, wondering if he should wait for the session to be over, but then decided against it. It was too important. Something had to be done as soon as possible.

  “My lord, I am deeply sorry to interrupt,” he said ceremoniously, “but I have urgent business to discuss with you.”

  The king frowned at him and was about to say something when Baccus went on.

  “I’m afraid it cannot wait, My lord.”

  The dignitaries all flashed the same appalled expression, obviously taking offense at the temple runner’s undignified way of talking to his king. King Rhegard eyed Baccus for a long moment, his expression tightening as he obviously struggled to both contain his anger at being so rudely interrupted and rein in his curiosity as to what had brought Baccus to such unbecoming behavior. The latter got the best of him. The king stood up and bowed slightly to the dignitaries who had sprung off their seats in unison with him.

  “I am afraid we will have to continue this discussion at a later time, maybe in the afternoon if possible. I apologize for the interruption.”

  Again in unison, the dignitaries bowed, deeper than the king had.

  “Indeed, matters of state, it is understandable; this afternoon hopefully, then,” the older of the dignitaries said before the colorful group made its way in a line past Baccus, purposefully ignoring him as they exited the gardens.

  “Temple runner, this better be important!” the king seethed once the dignitaries were out of earshot.

  “My lord, grave danger looms over Alymphia. It’s…”

  Baccus found himself uncertain how to proceed. Tell the king, sure, but where does one start?

  “Are we safe here? What I have to tell you cannot be heard by anyone else.”

  The king squinted thoughtfully. His displeasure was evident.

  “Please, my lord,” Baccus begged.

  “To the meeting room. Now.” the king ordered.

  He walked past Baccus, very much like the dignitaries had, and without another word headed out of the eastern courtyard. Baccus followed his king, his thoughts a jumble of semi-related ideas and his feelings an even worse mess. If he failed to persuade the king the consequences would be disastrous. He would have to face the Sisterhood on his own, which spelled nothing but his untimely death. And what of Alymphia then? A sinister shiver coursed over him at the thought. Baccus reached the meeting room on the first floor of the keep in time to see the king sit on his throne. The elite he had spied in the gardens was already by the door, waiting for him to enter the room.

  “How did he get here?”

  Baccus did not recollect anything about the man after first seeing him in the gardens. How the elite had managed to get to the meeting room before Baccus without him noticing even his moving was eerie to say the least. But Baccus had more urgent matters to address before he could allow himself to ponder the elites once again. He walked into the room and took a seat at the table while the elite closed the meeting room door behind him.

  “You have five minutes,” the king said coldly before Baccus was fully seated.

  “Yes, yes… Well, as I’ve said before, and few, if any, actually believe me, I originate from Hai-Ly, what Alymphians call the Hiddenest, beyond the Great Barrier, the tallest range in all of Har-lun, which, as you know, surrounds my homeland, hence its name-”

  “Spare me the geography lessons, temple runner,” the king interrupted. “Get to the point or this meeting is over.”

  Baccus started sighing and caught himself.

  “Before the moon rises temple runner!” the king snarled.

  Now it was Baccus’s turn to lose patience.

  “There’s really no reason to hold back anymore,” he thought.

  He straightened himself in his chair, shedding the subservient attitude he embodied when around Alymphians and stared straight at the king.

  “Rhegard,” he said, authority steeled in his voice, “there are things you do not know.”

  The king’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the casual way the temple runner addressed him and at the underlying threat in his tone. But before he could say anything, Baccus went on.

  “Powers Alymphians have not come to know yet. Powers - magic is what your people would call it - of such destructive potential you would shake in your castle could you grasp a fraction of what that actually meant. People wielding these powers, people of a terrifyingly dark nature, have entered Alymphia. They are a threat greater than anyone in this land has ever faced. If we do not act at once Alymphia is doomed to the same fate that befell my people.”

  Baccus paused a second without breaking eye contact with the king.

  “And if you must know, I am the last of my people.”

  Baccus let that hang in the air for a second. The king still looked shocked and Baccus was not sure if it was because of what he had just said or because of the way he had talked to him.


  “Do you understand what I am saying?” Baccus asked.

  The king gathered himself, anger brewing in every line of his face.

  “How dare you talk to me like this!” he bellowed. “You are nothing, temple runner. You live among us because I allow it. You are but a meaningless curiosity of sorts.”

  Baccus tried not to show how much the king’s words stung him, but his face must have shown more than he thought because almost immediately the king looked shamed. King Brehgard looked away and closed his eyes briefly.

  “I am sorry,” he said slowly. “It’s been a long day already, and you interrupted important and difficult tractations. I…”

  The king pressed the palm of his hands onto his eyes, sighed and went on.

  “You’ve done a lot for Syndjya, for its disaffected and its orphans. I have a lot to do today, temple runner, what are you talking about? Powers, magic?”

  “My apologies my king, I was out of line. But I need your full attention. I can demonstrate the powers I mentioned, however little I have left, since you will most certainly require proof of it. But the important thing, my king, is that Alymphia is being threatened by the mere presence of dangerous forces on its soil. You need to know what I am talking about. Allow me to demonstrate, and then I will tell you about what we face. Afterwards, you can make a decision.”

  “Try to be quick, temple runner. I do not have much time. And if what you say is true we have none at all.”

  “Yes, my lord, I need but a few minutes to gather myself.”

  Baccus stood up, considered the room and quickly decided to sit on the table itself.

  “Excuse my sitting on the table, but that would be best.”

  The king waved a hand in his direction.

  “Do what you have to, but hurry.”

  Baccus stepped onto a chair and then onto the table. He sat tailor-style at the end of it, facing the king, and closed his eyes. He forced his concentration toward the Other World and started the slow repetition of the words he had been taught so long ago.