by Ember Lane
Chapter Thirty-Three
A God’s Plan
There were no soldiers, no guards. A vast open pit spewed flames up to the next level. This level was less than half the size of the one below. The next was clearly smaller again. Five priests faced me. These were no wraiths, no pretenders. These were flesh and blood and arranged like an arrowhead. The largest was at its point then two and two radiating out. Their silence was unnerving.
Sutech covered his mouth and whispered in my ear. “This formation is familiar. My informants told me the Kobane wizards used it to magnify their magic as they tore through Tharameer. Take care.”
I glanced up again, unnerved, wanting to attack but sensing a trap. They had their heads bowed. The lead one looked up, his crimson eyes glaring at Pog, then Sutech, Mezzerain, and Faulk. Each in turn slid backward, pressed against the chamber wall, wrapped in magical crimson rope and clearly unable to move.
“The dead don’t concern us,” the priest said, discounting Billy and Charlotte.
“What does?” I asked.
He smiled. His skin was the color of old snow, like his body was devoid of blood. Sallow, pink lips framed his yellow teeth as he smiled. “Haven’t you guessed yet?”
“No.”
“Only you. Let them have the stone, it means little to us. Take it as a token of Belved’s gratitude.”
“Gratitude? Why does he extend me any gratitude?”
The priest’s foul grin grew. “Because you’ve taken his burden from him. Because you will do anything to see the dancer survive. Because you love the boy.”
Doubt riddled me. Had I been that easy to trap, to confuse?
“I will do all in my power to see Zender survive.”
“They are one and the same. Their sanity is linked. To save one is to save the other.”
“So what is all this, then?” I asked, spreading my arms wide.
The other four priests raised their heads, and I saw they were all identical. “This is your final test.”
“And if I pass?”
His lips pressed together. They glistened as if the upcoming fight had whetted some gruesome appetite of his. “You get what few would want. You challenge a god.”
Crimson suddenly crackled around their triangle. Their power grew, but I recognized it as my own, held hostage, eager to get back to me, and I understood exactly what I would face. This was no battle. This was a trial.
I knelt, holding my Nexus Rod out in front, like a staff, like a wolf pennant. I let my mana dissipate to every nook and cranny my body had. I emptied my Nexus Rod, absorbing its power within me, and in doing so, I left myself at their mercy. When I’d prepared, I looked back up, stared them down, and I waited.
“Do your worst!” My defiant words ripped across the room.
Their crimson power gathered. Its heat brimmed, consuming the triangle and forming a ruddy wedge. It increased in intensity until it shone like a ruby. Its light grew in ferocity, becoming almost white before it withdrew, shrank, and became more concentrated, and in doing so, it magnified farther. It hovered in the triangle’s center, a sphere of pure power, then split it in two, shooting up, dancing within the firepit’s flames. They separated, vanishing behind the last priest in line. Their glow lit the triangle like a deadly aura.
And I understood how it would come.
The balls of magic were locked and loaded.
And my revulsion with Barakdor was complete.
The lights shot through the priests, blood spewing up in a plume of vileness, converging on the fifth body, fusing as they passed through his guts and then, like a laser, exploding out and speeding into me, smashing into my Nexus Rod as one fast, furious, ball of concentrated power. The lead priest exploded, showering me with his guts.
I held the rod firm. For a moment I thought I had it, thought I could contain it. But the power was pure, it was untainted, and it was every speck of mana that I had sent to them. It yearned for me, demanded sanctuary in my body, invaded me, whether I had the space or not.
My very fabric began to expand, like my flesh was made of rubber. I refused to scream, clamping my jaws firmly shut. I needed to contain the power. I had to command it, to dominate it. There was no room for weakness. The Nexus Rod pulsed and expanded, not once but twice. The pressure built within its lattices, forcing it to balloon out. I willed it to contract, to coerce the manas into me. It was my turn to protect the rod—a favor returned, nothing more.
I thought back to the katrox, to how I’d crushed it, flattened it to a disc. An idea came to me, and I began to concentrate the manas, focusing on my center, the channels in my groin. Slowly, a little at a time, I crushed them to a single mixed core, condensing them like I would a glowsphere. Once formed, it began to attract other mana to it. My mana polarized on it, guiding in from all over my body.
The core strained, tried to explode like Pique had, tried to rupture and burst through me. But my way was sure. My mana stores went crazy, passing all my previous numbers. It was like Ruse was gifting me unlimited power, and I understood that should worry me.
But it didn’t.
I faced a god next.
I needed all.
My mana kept expanding, the numerous magnifications coming into play.
I was all powerful now.
I’d beaten them.
The priests had shown me a path, and I’d followed it. They’d tipped their hand and laid their cards bare. I understood all. I knew I could house an infinite amount of it and was doing just that. No one could best me anymore. My mana, like my magic, was infinite, and I intended to use that. I had to best Belved next, and he’d find I’d mastered the source, that I now understood each mana’s place—their close relationship.
The pressure relented. I flicked my hand around, releasing Pog and the others. One snap of my fingers saw the fiery cauldron snuffed out. I got up, my stomach afire with power. It was like I had a mana engine in me, spreading power from my core. But above all else, tranquility reigned within me.
I was ready to meet a god, so I strode toward the final set of steps.
Pog grabbed my arm. “Remember, it’s just an AI. It has one task, and one task alone, to make sure Zender and ShadowDancer live.”
He was right, of course, but that didn’t stop it all being real. I climbed the spiral steps. My feet felt heavy as though they wanted to delay the confrontation, and those steps ended far too soon.
The final floor had hardly any walls, just pillars holding up an open roof, which was a mere ring of stone. Under, a smaller, but infinitely fiercer, fire pit raged, it flames reaching up through the ring, clawing at the sky. The heat was incredible.
Belved stood across the chamber, his hands behind his back.
The god wore his golden armor but had enhanced its look with regal purple—a cloak, linings, garters around the top of his boots. A gold leaf headband adorned his mostly bald crown, just a border of gray hair sitting under the band.
“You’ve come on well,” he said. His voice was educated, clipped, and matter of fact. “Taric is dead.”
I heard Mezzerain gasp.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why did I kill him, or why is he dead? I’ll presume the first. He was no good. He’d never endure. Taric was too erratic. There was a chance he’d bring us all down, so I ended him, thanks to you.”
“To me.” I asked the question but knew the answer. “I completed him.”
“Indeed.”
“And Morlog?” I asked.
He laughed at that. “You don’t regret that death, even I know that, and I’m isolated here. Morlog was evil. She only coveted her machines, and she’d shed her directive.”
I took a chance, walking over to him, standing by him, looking out over Ruse. “What about you? Didn’t you try and dominate Pique? Didn’t you destroy it and shed your own directive?”
He grunted. “Pique was dead before I turned the prism on it. No number of Poleynas could have saved it. I got my comeuppance, though. This land was alread
y destroyed by the time they woke me.”
“Yet you found a reason to continue.”
He laughed. “I found a reason to win, and you can’t stop that. ShadowDancer will wage my revenge, and in doing so, he will guarantee his survival.”
“But he hasn’t even got an army.”
Belved turned to me. “No? We’ll see.” He backed away from the edge, standing just in front of the fire. “Armies come in all shapes and sizes. Your demise will see Poleyna fail. Once she fails, her mists will fall. They already weaken. Sakina’s magic fades as it would with death. Her banes falter. Castle Zybond becomes vulnerable. The prism's quest trail will eventually fall apart, and Mandrake will fall. There will be no strength there once you have succumbed.”
“What if I don’t fail?”
“What level is the Nexus Rod?”
“Ten. Why did you give it to me?”
He held his hands out in supplication. “To see you succeed? To have this chat? Perhaps we could come to an accord? You help me protect the boy, and I let you walk free.”
“I don’t need your permission to do the right thing.”
“But do you need me to do the wrong thing?”
“Wrong thing?”
Belved clicked his fingers.
Pog yelped.
I glanced over at him. He was wrapped in flaming gold magic, like a cocoon. Belved lifted his palm, and Pog rose in the air.
“You see these friends you cherish so? Perhaps I’ll destroy them one at a time? Shall we start with this spiteful, little fellow? He’d knife me soon as look at me.”
“Put him down!” I growled.
“Why should I? He’s not part of my prime directive—two words this little boy likes using? Why, when he’s in my way? Why, when he’s the most likely, in all probability, to beat ShadowDancer?” Belved laughed, watching Pog arc above him, slow, so slow I could see Pog writhe in pain. I could hear his silent screams. “He’s in quite a bit of pain; perhaps holding him over the cauldron would hurt him more.”
Belved beckoned Pog to the center of the flame. My Pog began to scream. It bled through the cocoon. His agony was entire.
My anger instantly gathered, a cold rage like I’d never felt before. I sent a wall of magic at Pog, pushing him away from the flame, but Belved countered my force easily, and Pog’s torment carried on.
“Shall we turn the cauldron up?” Belved asked, and I noticed the evil glint in his eye.
My magic exploded, sending a punch into the bastard’s gut. Belved stood; he took it, and he sent it back to me. “That’s better; that’s what we’re here for. Kill me, and you walk. Fail, and I kill them one by one.”
“No!” I screamed. It was a trap. It had to be.
Pog’s wails intensified.
My rage grew. It was familiar now. It was part of me.
Belved’s face taunted me. He positioned Pog over the firepit. Its flames reached up, surrounding the cocoon. Pog writhed, his agony complete.
I sent another wave of magic at it, trying to push the cocoon away, but the solution came to me as quickly as the dread of its conclusion wafted over me.
Either Belved or Pog had to die. That was my choice.
I faced the god, blocking out Pog’s suffering.
It was just code.
It was no god.
“You win,” I told it, and I gathered.
I gathered every speck of mana from every recess in my body, and I poured it forth. The god stood before me, his arms wide, and he accepted all, took my blast with a twisted grin on his face.
And then a golden rod appeared in his hands, and he held it up, and he screamed like a madman, firing back my magic in a spinning vortex of hatred.
It slammed into my rod, flowed around it, and it punched against my gut sending me crashing against a pillar. The stone column cracked and folded around me. Rents snaked across the stone ring.
Pog wailed in agony.
I scrambled back to my feet, kneeling right away and closing my eyes as I sought out my power. Belved had devastated my channels, but I dealt with them quickly, nurturing them, forcing my mana back into its condensed core. I sent my awareness toward the god, and I saw his aura—saw him properly for what he was—pure thought, pure calculation. I sent his magic back, multiplied ten times by my Nexus Rod.
It crashed against him, crackling through him, disrupting his pathways. The cauldron blinked in and out of existence. Belved staggered back into its flame. Inside its embrace, he was like a wraith, a fire sprite. Yet his code prevailed. The fat god held my magic.
Pog screamed.
I had an idea.
Belved sent my magic back again.
“Attack!” Pog’s image stuck fast in my mind.
I surged forward, ready, my Nexus Rod raised. His blast hit me, ripping into my flesh. Without a hint of hesitation, I sent it all to an abandoned place within my groin, a spatial void left by the absence of my new core. It polarized as if sucked into a black hole. I accepted all his magnified power without breaking stride, and in an instant, I was on him.
Holding my Nexus Rod high, I swung it down on his bald head, smashing it with everything I had and releasing my magic at the same time. Belved stood defiant dead center of the firepit, and he took my blow like it hadn’t even tickled him.
The power of my magic then spilled into him, but something was wrong.
His head opened, a hole appearing in its top. My mixed manas streamed into his brain, and he morphed into a gold-and-purple tube. His code went crazy, forming a golden mesh that extended down, through the firepit, through the next floor, plunging, dropping, floor by floor, until it reached the tower’s base.
The tube’s sides solidified to pure gold. My magic cascaded down, like it had found infinite space for its relief. I emptied. My new core exhausted itself. Pog fell to the floor, scrambling around, rolling, writhing. Every ounce of my essence vanished into the tube. Once spent, once my mana had gone, the tube collapsed down.
“Oh shit!” Sutech screamed.
I darted to Pog, unsure what was happening, helping him up, and dragging him over to Sutech, who was staring, openmouthed at Ruse, at its barren lands.
At first, I couldn’t make out what he was seeing.
I wish it had stayed that way.
Silver magic filled the land around the tower, silver magic—my magic. It radiated out in thick veins then crisscrossed in a spider’s web. The magic pulsed, like it had a heartbeat. I watched in morbid fascination.
“What the hell’s going on?” Mezzerain asked.
Pog downed a health potion then another. “I have never felt pain like that,” he said.
“What’s going on?” I shouted as if the answers would come if more of us asked the question.
“Belved?” Pog asked.
“Dead,” I said, and in that moment, I knew my words to be true.
“Then what we are seeing is his master plan.” Pog drank another health potion.
Dread truth crawled through me, but I didn’t reveal my thoughts. They were too bad.
My silver magic pooled like a master smithy had poured molten metal into a mold. It filled all the channels between the dead pods. Its glow lit the tower's base, a ghostly aura, a sign of things to come.
The veins began to fade as if my molten magic was cooling. I gasped as my dread thought became reality. The pods began to glimmer. Each lit, leaching the magic into their cores. They glowed, individual rectangles of light. In a way it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. In another, it was the foulness of necromancy; it was an abomination of natural law.
The light from the rectangles polarized into the shapes of glowing bodies, and the pod’s lids began to open. New soldiers were born. Ruse’s army rose. Belved’s plan bore its deadly fruit, and rank upon rank left Slaughtower. They converged into one great column, marching away like automatons.
“They head east,” Billy said. “They head to the coast.”
“We gave him his army,�
�� I whispered. “Nothing can stop him now.”
“How was it us?” Sutech asked.
“My mana,” I told him. “He couldn’t rouse them without light mana. I gave him all he needed. I brought his solution to him, even had a special, damn vial made for him.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Mezzerain said.
“I…” My words failed me, my knees buckled. The army marched away.
Pog took my hand.
“Let’s get out of here. Let’s go home. We’ll face them there.”
The End
Once again, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed The Gates. I had a blast getting back to it. I’ll be working on the final book in the series early next year with a view of releasing it in the middle of the year.
If you enjoyed The Gates of Striker Bay, please leave a review.
Thanks,
Ember.
About Barakdor
The Land of Barakdor was conceived over ten years ago as homage to a few MMORPGs namely Evony, Lords of Ultima, Dragons of Atlantis and the like. ZyBandian played a number of NA worlds, and a few Ultima servers. Alexa Drey was known to ride the odd dragon. Barakdor is an on going series, with seven books currently written. The series will conclude with eight books. I hope you enjoy them, and thank you for reading,
Ember
Website - www.emberlanebooks.com