by Clayton Wood
“Oh,” Kyle mumbled. He vaguely remembered the Dead Man telling him that in the Arena, the first time he'd been kidnapped. “So why didn't you just go to Earth before my dad grew up?”
“I didn't find Earth until a few Earth weeks ago,” Darius explained. “The ring I gave your father generated a signal...one that shot out in all directions, then teleported a certain distance, creating a burst of signals in all directions again. This happened over and over, until the signal eventually reached Doma...a process that took over two thousand years on Doma...and only about forty years on Earth.”
“Wow,” Kyle breathed. Then he stared at Darius, his eyebrows raised. “You waited two thousand years?” he asked in disbelief. Then he shook his head. “Didn't you get bored?” he added. Darius smirked.
“Actually, I gave up on ever receiving the signal after thirty years or so,” he admitted. “I had receivers planted all over Doma, but never expected them to pick up anything. You can imagine my surprise when they did.”
“So how did you find Earth?”
“It's complicated,” Darius answered. “Maybe I'll show you sometime...in your dreams, while I still can.”
“What do you mean?” Kyle asked with a frown.
“I can only send you my memories for a few more years,” Darius explained. “Something about how the brain changes with age...I haven't figured out how to communicate that way with adults yet. Not without permanently damaging their own memories.” Then he turned about suddenly, walking back the way they'd come. “Time to go back,” he declared. “We've been gone too long already.”
Kyle followed Darius through the narrow path back to the street beyond, winding his way through the lush vegetation. He felt a sudden pang of worry about his friends.
“Do you think everyone's okay?”
“I placed wards on your friends,” Darius answered. “They'll be safe enough.”
“Even from Xanos?”
“They're far more sophisticated than the Dead Man's shard,” Darius replied. “Normally they send a distress signal if your friends are in danger, but the signals can't reach Antara.”
“Why not?” Kyle pressed. “Couldn't you just teleport the signals here?”
“I could, Darius answered, not even turning his head. “But then I might give away the pattern for teleportation to my enemies...like Xanos.”
“Ah, right.” That would be bad. “So you can't teleport around Xanos?”
“Or around the Dead Man,” Darius replied. “Or any of the Chosen.”
“But wait,” Kyle countered. “Didn't you teleport all those Death Weavers into orbit? The Dead Man saw that.” Darius nodded.
“I cut his communication with Xanos right after I 'died.'”
“Oh.” Then Kyle frowned. “How did you know how to do that?”
“I've been studying the Dead Man's shard.”
“Oh.”
“The Behemoth was controlled by a similar shard,” Darius added. “I cut its communications too.”
“So Xanos has no idea you're Ampir?”
“Nope,” Darius confirmed. “And I want to keep it that way.”
“But why?” Kyle asked. “Why don't you just reveal yourself and protect the Empire? You're so powerful, no one could possibly beat you...not even Xanos!”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean?” Kyle pressed. “We need your help!”
“When you get to be my age,” Darius replied, “You'll realize that people do best when they're forced to help themselves.”
Chapter 20
Kalibar woke with a start, the high-pitched wailing of the emergency alarm assaulting his ears. He bolted upright, his heart pounding in his chest.
A muffled boom echoed through the Tower, followed by distant screams.
Kalibar leaped out of bed, padding across his bedroom with his bare feet on the warm stone, reaching the door. He cracked it open, peering out.
The main suite was bathed in darkness.
He opened the door a bit wider, scanning the suite. The usual wards, once placed to help him blindly navigate the room, glowed a faint blue in the distance, but there were no other sources of magic visible.
No assassins hiding in the shadows, waiting to strike.
He turned back to the safe hidden in the wall of his bedroom, rapidly weaving the pattern to unlock it. The safe door swung open, and he grabbed his magic staff from it, and his old Battle-Weaver uniform. Black metallic vest over black shirt and pants, the golden triangle on the left breast, representing the pyramidal peak of the Great Tower. Magical armor, built by Erasmus himself, it had served him well through countless battles.
He pulled it on quickly, then walked back to the door, peering out again. Still clear. The sound of countless footsteps running down the hall outside of his suite was barely audible through the thick stone walls, followed by muted shouting.
He opened the door all the way, sprinting silently across the room. If they were under attack, he and Erasmus would almost certainly be the ultimate targets. That he was not surrounded by Battle-Weavers was a grave sign; activation of the emergency alarm should have brought a half-dozen to his suite in under a minute.
Ariana, he thought, feeling fear for his daughter grip him.
Kalibar made it across the large suite, reaching the front door. It was transparent, as always, and beyond he could see armored men rushing past, shouting loudly. There was another loud boom, accompanied by an almost blinding flash of light. Flashes of blue light – magic, Kalibar realized – flew from some of the men – his elite guards – toward an unseen opponent. One of the guards – wearing red armor instead of black – was barking commands to the others.
“Get in front of the Grand Weaver's door! Shields up, form a line, damn it!” He turned to Kalibar's door, slamming on it with one armored fist. Kalibar recognized the man immediately; it was the captain of his elite guards.
“Grand Weaver!” he shouted, pounding on the door again. “Come out! We need to bring you to safety!”
Kalibar hesitated, considering his options. If he went with his guards, he would gain their protection...but at the loss of the enormous number of wards protecting his suite.
The same wards they neutralized to get to Jax, he mused darkly.
He opened the door, and walked through into the hallway. The captain grabbed his left arm, pulling him away from a long column of elite guards filling the hallway beyond, their gravity shields forming an impenetrable barrier. They were, Kalibar knew, acting as human shields, allowing him and Erasmus to escape.
“What's going on?” Kalibar demanded. The captain shook his head, breaking into a run toward Erasmus's door further down the hall, pulling Kalibar with him.
“They came through the underground evacuation tunnels,” the captain replied darkly. “Killed all the guards there, and somehow managed to open all of the doors.” Kalibar saw the door to Erasmus's suite burst open suddenly, saw two elite guards pulling a befuddled-looking Erasmus out into the hallway.
“Kalibar!” he shouted, trying to resist as the two guards forced him into a run down the hallway, toward the riser ahead. “Wait you fools, we're going the wrong way!”
“The evacuation route is compromised,” Kalibar shouted back.
A boom echoed through the hallway, bits of dust falling from the ceiling far above. The floor shuddered under their feet.
Kalibar glanced back, saw the door to the evacuation route at the far end of the hallway, the column of guards standing ready. He stared at that door, seeing the blue tint of magic within it, a hint of the numerous defensive wards – and locks – he'd had added only a week ago.
Then the blue light faded...and disappeared.
Kalibar shouted a warning, activating his own gravity shields in an instant. The door burst open...but there was no one behind it.
Kalibar and Erasmus made it to the riser at last, the captain instantly activating it. Erasmus's two guards stood in front of the portly Runic, their shields formi
ng a barrier protecting him. The riser began to descend slowly. They all stared down the hallway.
Something small and round rolled across the floor into the hallway from beyond the door, a small white sphere no bigger than an orange. It stopped at one of the guard's boots, then jumped into the air suddenly.
Kalibar's eyes widened.
Bright rays of blue light shot out from the column of guards, the walls, the doors. The light pulled into the levitating white sphere, vanishing inside of it. The guards' shields vanished one by one, the magic-powered lanterns on the walls winking out, leaving the hallway in complete darkness.
The riser descended, cutting off Kalibar's view of the hallway just as the screams started. Horrid, ripping sounds echoed through the hallway and down the riser shaft. Something small fell onto the riser from above, and Kalibar glanced down at it.
It was a finger.
Then Kalibar saw the blue light rise up from the floor of the riser, from the crystal on his staff, from his very body. Rays of it arced up toward the hallway above, toward that white sphere.
The riser began to pick up speed.
“My shields,” the captain shouted, turning to stare at the two guards next to Erasmus. “I've got no magic!” The two guards turned to Kalibar, who realized that his own gravity shields had vanished. He tried to weave magic, but couldn't.
He had no magic at all!
The riser continued to pick up speed, shooting down the well-lit shaft, toward the lobby forty stories below. Kalibar grit his teeth, planning his escape route. If the guard had readied an armored carriage for them, they might have a chance to make it across the city. With a contingent of Battle-Weavers covering their escape...
Kalibar slid to the left, and caught himself right before his shoulder slammed into the wall of the riser shaft.
“What the...”
The riser dipped further to the side, falling even faster now, one edge scraping the wall of the shaft, a horrible screeching sound assaulting his ears as sparks flew from the impact. One of Erasmus's guards lost his balance, sliding down the riser and slamming into the shaft wall.
He flew upward into the air in a spray of red.
“Drop to the ground!” Kalibar shouted, following his own advice. The three remaining men did so immediately, spreading their arms and legs wide across the riser floor. Kalibar dug his fingertips into the shallow depressions in the riser's stone, straining to prevent himself from sliding down its angled surface. He felt panic grip him as he realized what had happened.
The riser had lost its magic. It was in free-fall!
Kalibar grit his teeth, closing his eyes and willing magic to form in his mind's eye, to weave the gravity pattern. But there was almost nothing there...only an empty void, one that he had never felt before.
So this is what it's like to live without magic, he thought.
He looked up at the men around him, lying spread-eagled on the floor, and realized that his suggestion had been futile. Even if they didn't slide into the walls zooming past them, they were still going to die when they struck the ground.
Kalibar closed his eyes, feeling despair overcome him. Without magic, there was no way to save Erasmus...or his staff.
His staff.
Kalibar turned to stare at the white crystal on the tip of his staff. Except it wasn't white, as it had been before he'd been cruelly blinded by the Dead Man.
It was the faintest of blues.
Kalibar burst into action, sucking what little magic remained out of the crystal. He dropped his staff, grabbing Erasmus with one arm, and the captain with his other. The staff rolled down the riser, shattering as it struck the wall.
“Grab the guards!” he shouted at the captain.
Then he activated his gravity boots.
Kalibar rose through the air above the falling riser, clutching Erasmus and the captain to his sides. He grit his teeth, willing more magic into his boots, but he had little magic left; streaming what remained to his boots was enormously difficult. Still he fought, knowing that if he gave up, they were all going to die.
He stared down the shaft, seeing the riser falling faster and faster.
And then it shattered.
A loud boom echoed through the riser shaft, and Kalibar yelled as pain lanced through his left ear. He felt his concentration waver, felt himself accelerating downward, toward the rapidly approaching floor of the shaft.
He pulled the last ounce of magic from his skull, groaning from the effort it took, and shoved it toward his gravity boots. Their descent slowed, but only slightly. And he had nothing left...no magic in his brain, no magic in his skull.
He stared down at Erasmus, then at the captain. He opened his left hand, letting go of the captain.
Then he slammed his left forearm into the wall.
Unbelievable pain shot up his arm as it splintered on the unforgiving stone, the limb flopping grotesquely in the air. He wanted to scream, but he bit it off, grinding his teeth and bringing his shattered forearm to his forehead.
He pulled.
Magic flowed into his mind, and he redirected it to his gravity boots, feeling them burst to life. At the same time, he wove magic, thrusting the pattern at the captain falling helplessly below, encapsulating him in a gravity sphere.
They were only fifty feet from the floor now, and still falling fast.
Kalibar pulled more magic from the exposed bones of his forearm, pumping the gravity boots with as much magic as he could. He gripped Erasmus tightly, feeling more of the portly man's weight as he decelerated. He heaved upward, letting the gravity boots' stabilization fields pull his friend to his side.
Thirty feet. Twenty. Still too fast.
He groaned, sucking the last bit of magic out of his bones, sending them to his boots in one final burst.
Then the ground rose to meet him, and he closed his eyes.
* * *
Kalibar felt his feet strike the ground, felt his legs buckle underneath him, his butt slamming into the cold stone below. He cried out, falling onto his back, the breath bursting from his lungs. His left forearm exploded with pain, and he howled, letting go of Erasmus and clutching his broken arm to his chest. He heard a loud snapping sound, and a scream.
Then there was silence.
Kalibar took a deep breath in, then opened his eyes.
He was surrounded by chunks of shattered stone, the remains of the riser having scattered across the stone floor underneath. Erasmus was lying on his back to Kalibar's left, rolling onto his side to try to push himself off of the floor. To Kalibar's right, the captain sat propped up against the side wall of the riser shaft, his jaw clenched in pain. Kalibar looked down, and saw that the captain's right leg had been broken below the knee, the red armor covering his shin bent at an impossible angle. The two guards laid on the ground beside the captain, appearing to be relatively unharmed.
Kalibar groaned, then sat up slowly, hugging his broken forearm to his belly. It complained bitterly with the movement, and he stifled a scream, pushing himself off of the ground with his good arm. Erasmus struggled to his feet as well, staring down at himself, then at Kalibar. He looked dazed.
“Damn,” he mumbled. He glanced up the riser shaft, then down at the rubble at their feet, wiping sweat from his forehead. His hand was shaking.
“You okay?” Kalibar asked. Erasmus glanced up at him, then nodded.
“You?” he asked. Kalibar grimaced, cradling his broken forearm. Erasmus’s eyes widened with horror. “My god,” he blurted out. “Kalibar, your arm!”
“Yeah,” Kalibar muttered. “I needed more magic,” he explained. Erasmus frowned, staring at him blankly. Of course Erasmus wouldn't have seen the magic being sucked into that white sphere; he would only have sensed a sudden absence of magic in himself and the immediate surroundings. “That white sphere absorbed all of our magic,” he explained.
“Well that explains why I couldn't weave anything,” Erasmus grumbled. He stared at Kalibar’s forearm, shaking his he
ad slowly. “So you broke your own arm.”
“Right.”
“Of course,” Erasmus grumbled.
“It would've taken too long for the magic to back-fill from my arm to my skull,” Kalibar explained.
“You're a sick man, Kalibar.”
“Saved your ass, didn't I?” Kalibar countered with a grin. Erasmus chuckled. Then they heard a groan; they turned around, seeing the captain still propped up against the wall, trying to rise to his good leg with little success. Erasmus rushed to the man's side, unstrapping the metal greaves from his broken shin, then pulling the exposed black pant leg upward. Underneath, blood-stained skin shone, a ragged cut running down his shin. The sharp end of his shin bone was poking through the wound.
“Leave me,” the captain pleaded. “I'll just slow you down.”
“Like hell,” Erasmus retorted. He draped the captain's arm over one shoulder, then lifted him upward onto his good leg. The two guards rushed to the captain’s sides, holding the man upright. The captain yelled out as his broken limb hung uselessly at a grotesque angle. Kalibar walked up to him, kneeling down to stare at the exposed bone. It was glowing a faint blue.
“I need your magic,” he said to the captain, his tone apologetic. The captain nodded.
“Take it.”
Kalibar lowered his forehead until it was inches from the limb, pulling the magic out of it, feeling it fill his mind. The magic quickly left his brain, sucked into the starved bones of his skull. Still he pulled, until he had drained the limb of everything it had. Then he stood.
“Come on old friend,” Kalibar stated wearily, gesturing toward the hallway. They were hardly out of the woods yet; the lobby was only a short distance down the hall, but the enemy was still out there somewhere. With the riser out of commission, they would take a while to catch up, but Kalibar knew his lead would not last long.
The five men left the riser shaft, stepping up into the hallway leading to the lobby. They passed the painted carvings on either wall, of groups of enemy soldiers in black armor facing Ancient Runics and Weavers. They'd been carved by sculptors soon after the fall of the Empire, one of the few relics that had survived that age whole. Kalibar quickened his pace, ignoring the pain each footstep caused his left forearm. He realized that it hurt significantly less than before; he glanced down at his wound, and froze in his tracks.