The Lure of Fools

by Jason James King

  Explosions of fire, bolts of lightning, and waves of raw force knocked dozens of swooping peacekeepers from the air. Jenoc thought it would be harder to attack and kill his own people, but his rage burned inside him like an ever-expanding forest fire. Allosians would, of course, wither like anything else if they were dealt fatal blows. But that was just their residual Apeiron being sucked from an already lifeless body.

  He stepped over one such body, still clad in white, form, fitting armor. The talis’s Apeira well-shard, mounted in the center of the breastplate, went dark when Jenoc brushed the armor with a foot. That was fascinating, but the question as to why he couldn’t just keep pulling on the Mother Shard through a talis didn’t entice him like it once would have. He was no longer a scholar, or a master of the College of Disciplines, or even an Allosian. Jenoc was something else. He was terrible. He was vengeance incarnate. He was death!

  Thousands of his children flooded the streets of Allose, leaping onto jewel-haired victims. Slack smiles of ecstasy shone on his soldiers’ faces as they fed. Of course, their feast would end when Jenoc cast the inversion spell and destroyed the Mother Shard. Fortunately, until then, his children would be preoccupied with their new source of food and would not seek his prize.

  Hundreds of Allosian men, women, and children fled in a wild mob. It made Jenoc feel like a lion surprising a herd of wildebeests with nowhere to run. He smiled and shot a bolt of green lightning at the retreating Allosians.

  But the bolt didn’t connect. It struck something small and white floating in the air and then dissipated. What was that? It looked like a glowing ball of light. More appeared like stars in the night sky. One streaked for Jenoc and caught him in the chest. It slammed into him with tremendous force and hurled him backward. Jenoc found himself on the paved street, and quickly scrambled up to all fours. He looked up and through a curtain of blonde hair he saw them.

  They appeared as if from the air itself. Wavy heat lines resolving into reptilian humanoid forms. Vorakk. Hundreds of Vorakk. They were spread out in front of Jenoc’s army, forming a wall between them and the fleeing Allosians.

  Jenoc growled and stood. How had they found Allose? Why had they come? Could they have known about his coming? Impossible!

  Jenoc cast a whirling cyclone of pure force around himself, and lunged forward. The white balls of energy came at him, but he knocked them back with his tornado of force. They could block and resist Moriora, but apparently the Vorakk’s magic could not do the same for a regular spell-casting. That would protect him, but he was the only spell-caster among his army.

  Jenoc descended on a Vorakk shaman, batting away the lizard man’s orbs of light. He dropped his shield and shot out a hand taking the Vorakk by its scaly neck. His touch grayed the lizard man’s bronze scales, and it withered before him as its life energy suffused Jenoc’s core.

  The brittle leather skin of the beast fell before him like a dropped satchel, and Jenoc kicked it out of his path. This development was unfortunate, but ultimately didn’t matter. His forces would surely overwhelm the comparatively small force of Vorakk. They just wouldn’t be able to provide as much of a distraction for him as he’d hoped. It would take longer for Jenoc to reach the Mother Shard if he had to fight his way through the city.

  Something crashed into him from behind.

  Jenoc reflexively cast a bubble of force with him at the epicenter and threw his assailant off. He stood at the same time Prince Raelen rolled and sprung up into a ready crouch. Why was the prince still whole? That much contact with Jenoc should’ve withered him so severely that he would be incapacitated. Jenoc manifested a Moriora tendril and whipped it at the prince, but it evaporated the instant it touched him. He frowned.

  The prince smirked. “What’s the matter, Pariel?”

  Jenoc tried again, but met only the same result. “You are not one of us–your eyes are blue.”

  Raelen charged, leapt, and spun in the air. Jenoc was so shocked that he didn’t move fast enough to avoid Raelen’s fist, and the prince landed a jaw-cracking blow that staggered him. Jenoc regained his focus in time to avoid the follow up attack–two clapping fists, each intended for a side of his head. Jenoc ducked the attack, and slammed his own open palm into Raelen’s chest. His hand struck something hard. The prince grunted, and tried to step away from Jenoc, but not before he grabbed the prince’s shirt and tore open the front. The sweat-stained cloth fell away to reveal a bundled object hanging on a leather band about the prince’s neck. The wrapping was open just enough for Jenoc to catch the glint of an emerald green crystal beneath.

  He grinned. “You have made a Moriora talis. Very clever.”

  Raelen roared and charged, but this time Jenoc was ready. He unleashed a bolt of emerald lightning, striking Raelen in the left shoulder. The prince cried out as he was hurled into the white wall of a building. He slumped, then crumpled to the ground.

  Jenoc laughed. “Your protection might gain you advantage over one of my children, but they are not spell-casters, as am I.”

  Raelen lifted his head, blue eyes wide, his face red.

  The idea of showing the prince just how outmatched he was enticed Jenoc as much as the Mother Shard tempted him to feed on it. But his discipline won out–something that was becoming increasingly rare and difficult–and he turned away. He had to get to the Mother Shard first, before any of his children corrupted it by leaching off its power. Plus, some of his growing sadistic need was satisfied by the thought of Raelen witnessing the inauguration of the catastrophe that would end mankind.

  Jenoc spell-cast and launched himself into the air, smiling at Raelen’s impotent howl of rage. He rocketed into the sky above Allose. With an inexhaustible source of food, he was free to spell-cast as he once had, without concerns for the extra Apeiron it cost him.

  Two flying peacekeepers swerved to intercept him but he lashed out with tendrils of warped greenish force and used them as conduits to draw on the Mother Shard and fuel his flight spell. His robes fluttered as he soared toward his goal, the paralyzed peacekeepers in tow.

  Jenoc! Help!

  The psychic scream broke Jenoc’s concentration and he fell from the sky, landing hard on his right leg and shattering it completely. It was a momentary inconvenience as the power he sucked through the two peacekeepers quickly restored him. They landed behind him a heartbeat later, their corpses withering when their heads struck the pavement.

  “Kairah,” Jenoc whispered. The scream had come from his sister.

  Jenoc unconsciously felt in his pocket for the geode and was surprised when his fingers brushed its jagged edge. With all his fighting and flying it ought to have fallen out, but it was still there–like his concern for his sister was still there. He clenched his teeth. No! Kairah had betrayed him! She’d sided with the humans! She was dead to him!

  He took several running steps in preparation for resuming flight but stumbled to a stop as the memory of lustful men surrounding his sister struck his mind like a physical blow. She’d cried out in exactly the same way then, and Jenoc had torn the would-be rapists to pieces with all the power he could then muster.

  Other memories streamed in unbidden. He remembered Kairah helping his exhausted self walk as they stumbled back to Allose, orphaned and helpless. He remembered Kairah clinging to him, sobbing on their first night in the wild. He was so burnt out from spell-casting beyond his normal ability that he couldn’t even light a fire to keep them warm. And Kairah had been so young that she hadn’t learned any spells yet. He remembered Kairah’s proud smile as she presented him with the overpriced geode. A worthless rock that had become his most valuable possession.

  Jenoc looked in the direction from which the psychic call had emanated, and recognized the tower keep of Shivara the Allosian Oracle. He pulled the geode out and stared into its purple crystals.

  “It looks like an Aeose,” Kairah had said so many years ago when she gifted him the overpriced bauble.

  She was in danger somewhere inside the
Oracle’s tower and needed his help. He had to go to her, to save her, didn’t he?

  No.

  He deposited the geode back into his pocket and looked away from the tower, refocusing his attention on the Mother Shard. Kairah had made her choice. And he had made his.

  She was on her own.

  Boom!

  The doors to Lady Kairah’s apartment shook as some kind of magic struck it. Or maybe it was just the peacekeepers themselves. Perhaps their white form-fitting talis armor gave them greater strength? Fine cracks spider-webbed across the door as another impact shook the whole tower.

  Tyrus gripped his stun baton tightly, ridiculously pointing it at the doors as though it was a nova wand, or a concussion rod. The squat, fat whore mistress, Graelle, stood in the same position, but she actually had a concussion rod, apparently smuggled past the peacekeepers who’d searched them by hiding it in her ample cleavage. That mental image made Tyrus shudder.

  This was a nightmare.

  Jekaran was no better for their attempt to heal him, and now they’d lost the advantage of his powerful sword talis. The boy, Mulladin, who Tyrus had always known to be a dim simpleton, was no longer able to touch or wield the weapon. He glanced over his shoulder at the atrium. Through the glass doors he could see Mulladin kneeling next to Jekaran’s body, the monk Irvis and woman Keesa standing vigil.

  Could sure use her lightning ring right now. The urgency of their need had made him break decorum and ask to borrow it, to which the girl just laughed. Not that it was hers anyway, filthy Rikujo thief. And what was it she had said about being Jekaran’s cousin?

  Another boom refocused Tyrus’s attention on the breaking doors. He glanced around at his comrades in arms. Hort stood in front of the atrium’s glass door, spinning the black wood scepter in his hand as they anxiously awaited the inevitable peacekeeper intrusion.

  “Stop spinning that about!” he snapped.

  Hort stopped spinning the polished black shaft. “Why?”

  “Don’t you know what it does?”

  Hort grinned. “Sure do.”

  “Just don’t let any of the lines touch,” Tyrus said. “You’re likely to tear this whole room to pieces.”

  Hort laughed and resumed twirling the scepter. It was infuriating.

  Tyrus refocused on the shaking doors, cracks now glowing with the light of the outer hall. They had only seconds left before the peacekeepers stormed the room, and–if they were lucky–captured them. Though, by now, Tyrus was certain the Allosian’s tolerance of them had expired, and even the peaceable fey folk were angry enough to kill.

  I’m sorry, Kybon. I tried to save your son. I tried to honor your memory.

  Everything fell silent.

  Tyrus exchanged looks with Graelle, and then Hort. The big mercenary stopped twirling the void scepter, and slowly stepped up to the set of cracked double doors. After listening for a long moment, he opened them.

  “Are you mad?” Tyrus shouted.

  “They’re gone.” Hort swung the door completely open to reveal an empty corridor.

  Graelle lowered her concussion rod. “They had us cornered. Why would they just leave?”

  “I’d praise the goddess, but my gut tells me something else drew their attention. Something more urgent.” Hort walked back toward Kairah’s atrium.

  Tyrus couldn’t help but agree with the brute. He’d been caught at sea in a storm once, dragged along with Kybon on one of his stupid adventures. The sea had been eerily calm just before the massive storm struck. They’d made it back to land, but three days late and as soaked as drowned corpses. Kybon laughed about the whole affair afterward, but Tyrus remembered the horror in his cousin’s eyes while the ship rocked, and waves pounded them.

  The peacekeeper’s sudden retreat felt like that calm before the storm descended upon them. But then, perhaps the storm was already here.

  Tyrus followed the others back into the atrium where Hort gave Irvis, Mulladin, and Keesa a quick explanation of what just occurred–well, as far as they were able to explain it.

  “It’s probably a good time to get the hell out of here,” Hort said.

  Irvis shook his head. “We can’t move Jekaran.”

  Hort frowned. “We did before. It ain’t gonna hurt the boy.”

  Mulladin pounded the grass with a fist. “The sword won’t move and we can’t touch it!”

  They stared at each other, and Tyrus felt the crushing defeat settle on all of them at once. “Let me try to reach him.”

  They turned as one to gape at him.

  “You just have to touch the sword talis, right?” Tyrus shrugged.

  “That sword sucked a man’s life away because Jek didn’t like him.” Mulladin shook his head. “He hates you! What do you think will happen if you touch it?”

  Tyrus looked at the ground, and then at Jekaran’s empty face. “He’s my cousin’s son.”

  Mulladin threw up his hands. “What, is everyone here related?!”

  Tyrus ignored the outburst and continued. “Lord Kybon El Toreevan III.”

  Keesa gasped. Apparently, the lass knew the name. Well, why not? Kybon was from one of the great houses. Everyone would know the family name.

  “He was a philanderer and a reckless fool.” A tear slipped down Tyrus’s cheek.

  “Jek’s the bastard of a noble?” Mulladin’s wide eyes made him resemble the dim simpleton from Tyrus’s memories.

  “Not a bastard. Kybon fell in love with and married Anarilee. I performed the ceremony. For obvious reasons, it was kept a secret. He planned to reveal the marriage. He just had to convince my uncle–Lord Toreevan II, to accept it. He was murdered before that could happen.” Tyrus sniffed, his voice sounding more nasally than usual. “Since then, I’ve tried to keep an eye on Jekaran, though he’s gone out of his way to make that a very distasteful charge.”

  “Does he know?” Irvis asked.

  “I tried to tell him after he was arrested in Aiested, but…” Tyrus met their stares in turn. “Kybon was like a brother to me. I owe it to his memory to try and wake Jekaran.”

  Mulladin shared a look with Keesa. “He might kill you.”

  “I know.” Tyrus knelt next to Jekaran. “I just touch the sword?”

  Irvis slowly nodded.

  Tyrus wiped his eyes once more and then extended a trembling hand.

  Suddenly he was standing in the village square of Genra. It took a moment for him to orient himself, not because he didn’t recognize the location, but because a heartbeat earlier he’d been inside Kairah’s atrium in Allose.

  The scene was so real, complete with villagers milling about and children laughing as they chased each other around the well that Tyrus almost wondered if everything else had just been a dream–almost.

  He found Jekaran surrounded by a group of smaller children. He was trying to vertically balance a wooden dowel on his nose. He succeeded for a few seconds, to which the children clapped and cheered. They let out a collectively jeer of disappointment when the dowel tipped to the right and fell. Jekaran snapped up his hand and caught it before it hit the ground. Then he made an extravagant bow, complete with flaring an imaginary cape. The children laughed, took the dowel, and ran as a mob to their next distraction. Jekaran laughed and smiled a grin that could’ve been taken straight from Kybon’s own face.

  When Jekaran noticed Tyrus approaching him, the smile faded. “What do you want?”

  “I–I…” Tyrus didn’t know what to say.

  Jekaran cocked an eyebrow. “The great Lord Gymal at a loss for words?”

  “Your father was my cousin,” Tyrus blurted out.

  Jekaran stiffened. “What did you say?”

  “He was a lord who married your mother in secret.”

  “Have you been piping cannabis again?” Jekaran shook his head and turned away. “Wait until I tell Ez! He’s gonna love this. Any chance you can wait here while I go fetch him? Maybe we can get Hyric to color trap your…”

  “You’re my k
in, Jekaran. The son of a cousin who was as dear to me as any brother.”

  “Damn, you are fuddled!” He stepped away.

  Tyrus shot out a hand and grabbed Jekaran’s arm.

  “Let go of me, my lord,” the boy said through clenched teeth.

  “Listen to me, Jekaran. You have to wake up. You have to come back to us.”

  Jekaran threw off Tyrus’s hand. “You should go to Hyric’s and buy some bread. I’d wager you’re gonna be hungry enough to eat today’s entire batch.”

  “I’m not fuddled!”

  Jekaran spun to face him. “Okay, so if this lord is my father, then where is he? You said he married my mother, so that implies she was more than just a tryst. Why did he leave?”

  “He was murdered by a jealous ex-lover.”

  Jekaran’s anger appeared to ebb. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re saying we are family?”

  Tyrus smiled. “Yes, yes! That’s right.”

  Jekaran burst out laughing. “Does that mean I’m a lord?” He turned and walked away. “That was rich. Too bad you’re not going to remember this when your brain fog lifts.”

  “Jekaran, please. The peacekeepers could be back at any moment. We have to escape.”

  Jekaran just kept laughing as he walked away.

  Tyrus waved at the village around him. “This isn’t real. You’re in Allose. Your mind is broken because you accidentally slew your uncle.”

  Jekaran stopped. “Get out.”

  Tyrus walked toward him. “You have to accept it. Forgive yourself, or whatever it is you need to do so Irvis can heal you.”

  Jekaran whirled. “Get out!”

  “Jekaran you need to―”

  Pain struck Tyrus’s head like a physical blow and the world washed out.

  He woke to Hort patting him–none too gently–on the cheek. Tyrus waved away the mercenary and sat up. All eyes were on him. He glanced at Jekaran, now several feet away from him.

  “He won’t listen.”

  Mulladin nodded. “I wouldn’t try that again if I were you.”