Captain Hargonnas restrained himself, however. Malus was not one to cross. ‘With those who lack mana,’ he continued in a controlled and strained voice, ‘such as dwarves and gnomes, we have to readjust our senses to pick up on the small amount of life energy they emit, as opposed to the mana lacking in their bodies. Even though they can cast no magic, they still have a traceable energy that we can sense. But this boy – alongside the fleet he came with – emits nothing. I can sense nothing, feel nothing, and see nothing within the net I cast – even if he is inside the strands. To me, my lord, he merely passes through my net as though he does not exist! He could blend in with any group of Mana Knights and go wherever he pleases, and we would be unable to sense him.’
‘That would be disastrous!’ Malus said insistently, his hand upsetting the parchments on his desk.
There was a moment’s silence, then a raised eyebrow from the captain. ‘If I may, my lord, I fail to see how this boy could cause us so much trouble. He is powerless to do anything. I assume we can allow him to leave with the Mana Knights and go wherever–’
‘You fool!’ Malus said. ‘I will not repeat myself. We must stop the boy! If you insist on knowing the reason, know this – the Pariah wants to use him to awaken Murasa, the Lost God. The boy is an Einar, a race that had once served this god before the Celestial War. Therefore, he is the only one on this side of the Dark Sea who can approach Murasa without being consumed. Do you understand?’
The silence was longer, more profound this time. Sergeant Selkis gasped.
‘Very well,’ Captain Hargonnas finally answered. ‘If that’s the case, we must stop him, but how would you suggest I capture him when he is in the care of the Mana Knights?’
‘The knights seem to be headed to Vadost, which is next to their stronghold, Valour Keep,’ Malus remarked. ‘Because of your blunder – and insolence – I am temporarily relieving you of your post as captain and reassigning you. You will undertake a covert operation into Vadost and help me locate this boy.’ The dark elf held up a dismissive hand upon seeing the captain about to protest. ‘Fail me in this and you will join the line in the execution yard.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ the now-former captain said coldly, his face darkening. ‘If I may, once more: how shall I find one boy in such a place? Vadost is the second largest city in Ordonia.’
‘I already have spies working there. Take your place among them and work together to find this boy. As for you, Sergeant Selkis,’ Malus glowered at the hapless elf, ‘it has come to my understanding that you are one who allowed the boy to slip your grasp.’
Sergeant Selkis lowered his head, and cast a sidelong glance of hatred at Captain Hargonnas. ‘I have no excuse, my lord,’ he said acidly. ‘I have committed a grievous error by pre-emptively taking the griffons back with me to Cape Caipora, and I will accept responsibility.’
Malus snorted. ‘At least somebody knows their place. Very well, you are relieved of your post in the Grimaldi Flying Squadron. You will be reassigned to the new prison. You and your men will take charge of the prisoners, overseeing their labour, especially with their new project – the latrines.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ came the subdued voice.
‘Both of you are dismissed,’ said Malus, waving a hand. ‘Now get out of my sight. Especially you and your black leather, Hargonnas!’
The elves exchanged glances, turned to leave, shuffling out of the room – or in Hargonnas’s case, creaking, due to his tight leather outfit squelching with each step.
Malus watched the two leave. When the door shut and the sound of footsteps from down the hall ceased, the dark elf slammed a fist into the desk, upsetting the ink jar and scattering precious documents. Quivering in anger and fear, he sat at the desk for many hours, staring unseeing at the black ink seeping into the parchments, staining them with its darkness. His thoughts revolved around one topic over and over again.
The Pariah and the Lost God.
* * *
The rolling hills became taller, growing into rugged mountains before shrinking back to rolling hills, which gave way to farmland. The clear sky had only a few wispy clouds, but showed no signs of griffons.
Kairos, Galen, and a small company of half a dozen knights rode along the road that cut through a mountain pass and made their way past the farmlands, stopping along a few farmhouses along the way. Kairos had noted that the knights asked for provisions rather than taking them, and paid for everything with coin. His thoughts drifted back to Logres, when the Einar raided each other for food and supplies. The enemies’ reactions were either fear or anger, or a mixture of both. These farmers regarded Galen and the knights with a different look: respect.
So many things were different in this land, especially Galen.
Kairos rode in silence next to the armoured warrior, who treated him more like a son than his own father, Karthok, ever had. In fact, the knight had taught him how to ride a horse before they left Gersholm, cheerfully explaining the basics, and demonstrating calm patience when Kairos made a mistake or didn’t understand something. Galen did not beat him like Karthok had, and much to Kairos’s surprise, he found himself liking the older knight instantly. It was then, he realised, that he did not miss his father much. He was quite happy with the knight, though he did miss Thylar… and Farina. He tried not to think about them.
Kairos did not speak his thoughts, but listened to Galen or the other knights as they travelled, trying to learn about this strange land and its culture, and to occupy his mind from the recent nightmarish incidents. More often than not, his thoughts still drifted inwards, thinking about his future and the decisions he had made. His life had changed in ways he could never have imagined only days before. He was eating well and now, in the sunshine, with the cool breeze on his face, life didn’t seem quite as terrible as it had been a few days ago. There was still an ache deep inside that threatened to surface at any moment, but he pushed it back down, focusing his attention to his next objective at hand.
Vadost.
Kairos wanted to return to Logres right away to inform the Einar of this luscious land full of life and opportunity, but he had no choice in the matter. He felt helpless – and indebted to Galen Avenal. Regardless of what the knight said, an Einar always repaid his debts, and Kairos felt a debt of gratitude to the man who saved his life.
There was something else that bothered Kairos, as well… Magic.
The knights used it everywhere. Kairos watched the knights create fires for cooking (though these were built in a pit for concealment), or set up alarm spells around their camp to protect against beasts or even Malus’s army. The boy heard Galen caution his men on keeping spells to a minimum to conserve mana and avoid detection from enemies, but he clearly remembered the powerful spells that felled his elven captors. Malus’s army also wielded this deadly power. These thoughts made Kairos feel even more dejected. The Einar never had a chance, despite being bigger and stronger than the people in this land. Even if they arrived here, they would be at the whim of these superior forces.
For now, he would venture to this city called Vadost, and learn what he could about fighting Malus and his army. Maybe even learn how to use this magic. Then he could return to Logres with his newfound ability and guide his people to prosperity. And save them from the Blight.
Part Two
Ordonia
Chapter four
Vadost
Godshard. A small crystallised essence of a fallen god’s soul that contains enormous magical power. It has the ability to create or destroy civilisations. The godshards are the only remaining evidence of the once-powerful gods.
Ethelstan Crowley, Salforian Priest
A
lthea Avenal looked ordinary enough. She sat on a large rock on the shore of Lake Turquoise. She had long blonde hair and soft blue eyes. Her face, cute with the promise of beauty, was etched in the lines of a frown. She threw rocks into the lake, listening to the sound of the higher splash when the rock hit, and the deeper splash
when the water came back together to fill the void.
Earlier that day, a couple of boys and girls who were around her age – she was fourteen – had been making fun of her. They conjured gusts of wind and gouts of flame to show off their magical prowess. They called her a ‘badger’s tail’ to make her feel bad. A badger’s tail was the lowest of the low of those who wanted to become a Mana Knight. Although her father, Lord Galen Avenal, was a Dragon Knight, she barely had enough mana to light a candle. Yes, she looked ordinary enough, but she was a failure. Still, her father always seemed to be proud of her. He was supposed to be returning home later this evening from a two-month absence.
‘Knightly business,’ he always said. She never liked him to go, but she always liked him to return. He usually brought her some sort of present from his journey, a token from wherever he had been to show that she was always in his heart. He was gone so much that his recent gifts rarely appealed to her changing taste, but she would act delighted for her father’s sake. She stood up, throwing the last few rocks, and turned towards home before they even hit the surface of the lake.
The distance from Lake Turquoise to her house took an hour, but Althea was glad of the long walk. She needed time to compose herself, for it would bother Stella if she came home with a long face. Stella was the dwarven housekeeper, and Althea’s nanny, since her mother had died eight years ago. Not having any children, the dwarven maid fussed over Althea like one of her own. Stella was a woman most men feared and with whom few would pick a quarrel. She came from a rough upbringing in the dwarven homeland of Dvergar, and when she moved to Vadost, her pots and pans instantly became known to smash a few heads. She was quick to anger, and while she never raised a hand to Althea, the young girl had learnt to avoid conflict. Even her father, Galen, knew well enough to steer clear of Stella’s wrath.
If Stella had witnessed what the kids had said to Althea earlier in the day, then she would have tracked them down and given them a walloping to remember. Althea knew she could not hide everything from the dwarf. She needed to say something about what had happened, just not the worst details. Stella had threatened other bullies before, but that only led them to further torment Althea.
By the time she got home, the street lamps were just starting to flicker to life. They were powered by the Sapphire Shard, one of the major godshards that was kept and protected in Valour Keep. Godshards were the last remnants of the gods. Most of them had perished in the Celestial War, which had been fought centuries ago for reasons only the gods and scholars knew. Godshards held mana, the power of magic. They could power an entire city – from the street lamps to the mana cannons mounted on the city walls – with their massive energy. Nations fought wars over the smallest of godshards. As a result, the Sapphire Shard made Vadost, the city near Valour Keep, a beacon of civilisation to neighbours and a target for enemies.
Althea thought about this as she walked. She had always been a good student. And with a father who was one of the five highest ranking Mana Knights, she had the very best education. She knew glyphs some of the instructors of Valour Keep did not know. She was good at writing, inscribing, and casting them, much better than those kids who picked on her. But her mana level was the problem.
She did not tell her father about her problems. He had other matters to attend to. According to the rumours circulating the kingdom, Malus’s army had attacked several towns and cities throughout Ordonia, even taking a lesser godshard from the smaller kingdom near the border of Salforia in the process. These actions concerned the Mana Knights, resulting in more work for her father; even now, he was away from home, answering the call of duty. He had been gone for over two weeks, and she fretted over his safe return. No, she thought, she would not worry her father over her troubles. She softly closed the front door of her house, which in fact was a manor, behind her, and looked to her right. Her father's helmet – a sure sign he was home – was not hanging on the armour rack next to the door. Her hopes sank.
Stella heard the door shut. She knew something was wrong; Althea rarely failed to slam the front door. She came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her spotless apron, and saw Althea’s neutral face and troubled eyes.
‘Hullo, Stella,’ Althea said simply.
‘Oh, my! What’s happened, lass?’ Stella asked, concern etched all over her face.
Althea’s brave face crumpled. ‘Claudius and Vaughn called me a badger’s tail. And Nacole said Father was embarrassed because I can’t cast magic. I know loads more glyphs than those three together and I can cast them, too! But I just can’t do much magic.’ She finished in a whisper, leaving out the part where Claudius used the wind spell to raise her skirt, causing all the other kids to laugh. Stella would lose her head and probably have murdered the boy over hearing that.
Stella hugged the girl tightly and guided her to a chair at the dining room table. Althea was so close to a woman, but still as tender-hearted as a little girl. It was her blessing; it was her curse; it was what Stella loved about her the most. ‘Oh, I know that hurt, Thea! They’re just being mean because their hearts are hurting, too – though I have half a mind to go and sort them out right now, ya know. Let me get you a piece of star-apple pie. I baked it for your father’s return, but he’ll never know if a small piece is missing, and who knows when he’ll be back.’
‘Thank you,’ said Althea. She dabbed at her eyes while Stella set off to get the pie. ‘Stella?’ Stella turned. ‘You’re the best. Did you know that?’
‘Of course I do, lass,’ she said with a wink that made Althea laugh. ‘And your father couldn’t be more proud of you, remember,’ she added.
Althea's mood lifted as she sat outside on the veranda of the manor. Stella brought out a slice of star-apple pie for each of them, and they ate in companionable silence. The grey moon, Paollus, had already risen over the Gloaming Peaks in the west, and the evening was warm as the last rays of sunlight dyed the sky a violet hue. Althea enjoyed the view, one of the best in Vadost, due to her father living high on a hill that overlooked the city. She gazed at the hundreds of colourful street lamps dotting the cascading landscape, their reflection rippling on Lake Turquoise. Sounds of laughter carried from below, likely from the taverns which were beginning to come to life. The tantalising smell of roasted meat wafted up to them from time to time on the light breeze.
A pair of mounted men approached from the path leading to the Avenal manor. They passed under a street lamp, and Althea could see them better, though not clearly as they still were too far away. The lead rider was armoured, had a metal helm hanging from his saddle. A short staff – Althea knew it was a retracted mana lance – strapped to a baldric was slung over his shoulder. A Mana Knight. The second rider was accoutred differently, wearing the clothes of a peasant.
The Mana Knight rode up the path with a familiar gait, and even though Althea could not see his features from this distance, she knew who it was.
‘Father,’ she cried, leaning over the railing of the veranda and waving frantically.
Both riders looked up, and the armoured rider returned the wave and spurred his steed onward up the path. The second rider followed.
Before Stella could utter a protest about finishing the slice of pie, Althea jumped up and rushed through the manor to meet her father. He was galloping up the cobblestone path near the entrance as she bounded out of the house.
‘Thea!’ boomed a cheerful voice, and the tall figure of Galen Avenal loomed in front of her. The familiar jovial smile flooded Althea with warmth and melted her worries. Well, most of them. The stinging words of Vaughn and Nacole still lurked beneath the surface, but she suppressed them for now. Her father did not need to know.
‘Father!’ Althea ran to hug him as he dismounted.
Galen returned the hug with affection. ‘So did you treat Stella well while I was away? You didn't set the house afire again, did you?’
‘Of course not! Set the house afire, I mean,’ Althea added, wincing at the memory of when her fire
spell actually did something for once, much to the chagrin of the entire household. ‘What about you, Father?’ Did you fight any monsters this time? Or travel to any foreign lands? What about a present? Did you find anything interesting?’
Galen Avenal beamed at his daughter. ‘Slow down there, Thea. You need to breathe sometimes when you talk. And no, I wasn't able to bring you a present this time, but I do have a surprise.’
‘Really! What kind of surprise? Is it the latest fashion in elven boots? Or perhaps a fae bracelet? I heard those grant you the ability to shrink. No goblin-tooth necklaces this time, please. Stella had to burn my dress because she couldn't wash the goblin stench out, and I really liked that dress!’
‘I told you it was a surprise, not a present.’ He gestured behind him.
From where she stood, Althea could now make out the lone rider straggling behind. She looked at the figure silhouetted in the darkness. As he rode up towards the manor and into the bright light emanating from a multitude of lamps (Galen Avenal often told Althea that a well-lit manor kept out the prowlers at night), Althea was able to pick out details as the rider dismounted and approached. He was a man with dark hair. He carried himself with the confidence of a full-fledged knight, but wore the ragged clothes of a peasant – no, even peasants dressed better – a street beggar.
‘Father, don’t tell me you hired another servant. Between me and Stella, we get the chores done–’
‘He’s not a servant, Thea,’ Galen interrupted.
As the man got nearer, Althea studied him more closely. From afar she had thought him older. Now she could see that despite the hard edge on his face, he was probably not much older than her. Under the grime of long days of travel, his piercing grey eyes shone with a cold intensity.
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