by Kyle Johnson
The doorways leading to the left and right wings were, as he guessed, completely filled with debris and rubble. Nobody’s coming at us from those doors, at least he reassured himself as Geltheriel led him confidently through the room. The hall was long, wide, and spacious, with a high ceiling that would probably have made it feel roomy were it not for the fact that Aranos wasn’t confident the whole thing wasn’t going to come plummeting down on them.
They walked slowly but steadily to the doors to the Receiving Hall, not bothering with Stealth. Aranos had a sinking suspicion the Mistress knew exactly where they were and why they were here, the entire time. In fact, he was kind of assuming she did. The heavy doors to the next room hung open, barely connected to the battered walls, and the pair barely had to duck to get through them.
The room beyond was long and relatively well lit, with glowing orbs of dim light hanging in mid-air every 5 feet or so. The sides of the room were filled with the trash the edimmu had probably been collecting from the city for centuries, all piled higher than Aranos’ head against the walls. There’s probably some really awesome stuff in there, he reasoned, although, the way the city’s been drained of energy, probably nothing magical. Still, might be worth going through afterward.
The globes of light led them down what was probably once a carpeted walkway but was now a pitted, crumbled mess. They walked calmly forward, their eyes fixed at the dark figure waiting for them at the end. The figure was shriveled and emaciated, its skin completely covered in the dark, pulsing veins of blackness that crawled up Geltheriel’s arms and face. Its arms and legs were little more than bones wrapped in skin, with only a tracing of muscle visible beneath, and only a few patches of frizzled, gray hair clung to its head. It appeared to be dressed in a rotted, faded robe of some kind, although only tatters of it covered its frame. The figure sat almost perfectly still on a faded, cracked throne that seemed as if it would barely support even that tiny bit of weight.
As they neared, it held up a bony hand. “Close enough,” the figure hissed, halting them. “You may bow now.” Aranos glanced at Geltheriel, unsure of what to do, but the wizened figure continued.
“Excellent,” it purred, its voice crackling and trambling as if it were not used to speaking. “And rise. Why have you come to my Court, intruders?”
Aranos looked at Geltheriel again, who gestured at the woman. He rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “We’ve come here by accident,” he told her simply. “We are merely seeking the way out. Could you help us?”
“You lie,” the figure croaked, chuckling. “It is expected. All creatures lie, even me, even to myself. Have you come hoping to kill me?” Before Aranos replied, she continued, waving a negligent hand. “You are welcome to try; you will fail. I cannot be killed. It has been tried before, by greater than you.”
“Why would we try to kill you?” Aranos hedged, realizing from the woman’s words that she could sense when he lied. “What would that gain us? Are you not the Mistress?”
“Yes, yes,” she responded, her voice suddenly turning venomous. “I remember, now. You are not here to kill. You are here to steal! Steal from me, steal what is mine!”
“What did we steal?” he equivocated once more, not wanting to be caught in a lie.
The woman laughed, a dry, tearing sound that had no business coming from her throat. “You have been betrayed,” she purred, leaning forward. “That is appropriate, here, for this is the city of Betrayals, the birthplace of traitors.” She snapped her fingers, and a broken, crumpled shape began to crawl from behind her throne. It raised its head, and Aranos recognized the beaten face of Ekimmu.
“This one tried to hide what it had done,” the Mistress continued. “How it had betrayed me, its creator, by giving what is mine to another. And yet, in the end, it betrayed you, as well. A city of betrayers, just as I said.”
She leaned forward and held up her hand, and Aranos felt sudden heat behind him. He whirled around to find that a wall of scarlet flames had erupted across the path they had traveled, its heat uncomfortable even from here. “You will give me what is mine,” the woman continued, her voice dripping with scorn, “or I will take what is yours!”
Geltheriel screamed suddenly, and Aranos snapped his head around to see the rabisu hovering over her. He couldn’t feel its icy aura – he guessed that once you fought it off, you were immune to it – but the Keeper certainly could. She had collapsed to the floor, shivering, as it floated within easy reach of her.
“Wait!” he shouted, holding up his hand. “Don’t hurt her! You want the crystal? Fine!” He turned back and hefted the item in his hand, feeling its weight and the mana tingling within. “Here, take it! Just let us go!” He tossed the crystal at the woman, whose hand moved with deceptive speed to snatch it from the air.
She looked curiously at it for a moment, turning it in her hands. Then, her gaze flattened, and she gripped it in her fist, squeezing. “A fake!” she cried, raising her arm to hurl it at him. “Another betrayer! I will…”
That was as far as she got before the crystal in her grip detonated in a roar of mana. Aranos flung himself to the ground: he had managed to pack almost half his SP into that tiny, faceted version of his Mana Arrow, and the discharge was enormous. The shock wave struck him like a hammer blow, even laying on the ground, and the overpressure swept through the room, extinguishing the flame wall and even hurling the rabisu several feet away from the cowering Getheriel. The room was filled with the light of the explosion, and the shadowy, floating monster cried out, flinging its arms up at the influx of light.
Instantly, Getheriel uncurled from the ground and struck, her mana-filled blade tearing through the rabisu in a blaze of energy. It cried out again and fell back, but she pursued it, slashing over and over with her sparkling blade. I wasn’t sure if that would work, he admitted silently as the woman seemed to activate an Ability and her blade flashed through the creature three times in rapid succession.
Aranos turned back to the Mistress, summoning a Mana Arrow, but suddenly a wave of force flashed out from the throne, crashing into him and hurling him from his feet to land ten feet away with a crash. He groaned and rolled to his feet, but a snakelike tendril of silvery mana leaped out and smashed him back to the floor, coiling about one leg before lifting him up and flinging him back toward the throne.
He landed hard, his Mana Armor flickering around him. “Mana Armor?” a dry voice chuckled from above him. “How quaint. I once knew how to cast that, yes, but I have forgotten. So much, forgotten. But, I will have it back. Now, give me what is mine!” The woman emerged from the shattered, smoking remains of the now-destroyed throne. Most of her remaining hair was gone, the right side of her face was peeled open so that white bone was visible beneath, and her right arm below the elbow was simply gone.
Aranos was not idle during her rant, though, and spent the time summoning his improved Mana Barrage. Activating Rapid Shot, he lifted his arms up and unloaded the explosions directly into her chests, sending her flying backwards. He followed her with the Spell, driving her back, pummeling her into the floor.
The woman gasped and rose unsteadily to her feet, her entire chest now a ragged mess of bone and dangling flesh. “That Spell I have not seen,” she coughed appreciatively before flicking her hand out. A bead of orange energy shot at Aranos, and he dove to the side as the Spell erupted into a mass of flames that burned and clawed at his dying Armor.
He sucked in a ragged breath, but a spear of mana darker than night suddenly slammed down into his leg, piercing his armor and pinning him to the floor. He screamed as pain lanced up his leg, but a fist-sized orb of solid air slammed into the side of his head, stunning him. He blinked, realizing that his Mana Armor was gone, and that the woman was approaching him.
“I did not wish to kill you,” the woman hissed, reaching down and grabbing his face in her remaining, bony hand. “You have impressed me, and I am not easily impressed. You title yourself ‘First Sorcerer’, but know that you
were not the first, you were the last, and with your death, so ends the line of Sorcerers.
“Now,” she breathed, squeezing his face and making his scream in agony, “GIVE ME WHAT IS MINE!”
Aranos began to form a mana saw behind the woman’s head, but as he did, he heard Geltheriel shriek in pain. He tore his face from the Mistress’ grasp and looked to see that the mana in her blade had faded, and the rabisu was grasping her, its face pressed against hers, draining her life.
He hesitated for only an instant: he had enough SP for one Spell, no more, and with an effort of will he released his forming saw blade and wrapped the rabisu in a Crystal Prison, pouring his SP into it until it sealed completely shut. The mass of crystal dropped to the floor with a thunk, and Geltheriel scooted back, weeping and clutching her face.
“A noble gesture, child,” the Mistress replied, “but noble gestures fail. I will reward you, however: I will kill the woman myself, and spare her the torment of the rabisu. Simply give me what is mine.”
At the woman’s words, though, an electric jolt of recognition raced through his body. A noble gesture, child, she had said. Memories of the clues given him churned in his mind, and he wondered how he hadn’t seen it before.
You must give her what she wants.
So much, forgotten. But I will have it back!
You must lose to win, and your victory will not be joyous.
“Yes, yes,” he finally shouted as realization struck him. “I will give you what is yours!” He reached up with both hands and grasped her balding, scabrous head, pulling her close. She tried to break free, but with only one hand she simply lacked the leverage. He pulled her down until their foreheads were touching and then, as intuition struck, he willed himself into her, pushing into her mindscape, plunging into her darkness.
He opened his eyes and found himself standing on an empty, endless, wind-swept plain. Overhead, complex patterns of mana churned in storms of power, but he noticed those storms seemed thin and weakened, almost translucent. The entire place was filled with nothing else but swirling dust, as far as he could see.
“You brought us here, child?” a dry, barking voice sounded from behind him, and he turned to see the twisted figure of the Mistress standing behind him, completely healed. “You know I have greater power here than anywhere else, yes? Why would you trap your mind in here for me to torment?”
“Because it’s the only way to give you what you want,” he answered quickly. “I know what that is, and it isn’t the crystal. The crystal is empty, spent, because someone else took those memories away before you could retrieve them. Now, I have them, and I’m giving them back to you.”
He concentrated, willing the memories of the Last Sorcerer to well up from within him and manifest. His head ached and his temples pounded, but he poured his focus into it, and a moment later, the diaphanous form of Lythienne swirled into view before him.
“What have you done?” the woman gasped, looking around her. “Lythienne, what has happened to this place? It was green, full of life, a thing of wonder and beauty…”
“I remember none of that,” the Mistress – Lythienne, he corrected mentally – snapped. “None of it! My parents? Gone. My childhood? Gone. My training? Gone, vanished. My students? I remember but one, the one who did this to us!”
“You did this to us,” the ancient elf replied. “It was your choice.” She gestured, and a much younger Lythienne appeared, speaking to an elf Aranos didn’t recognize.
“This is, perhaps, the finest memory crystal I have ever forged,” the younger Lythienne spoke. “The Darkness is upon us, and we will soon be at war. So many have fallen already; if all is lost, my teachings must go on. There must be another generation of Sorcerers to continue the war. Once I have placed my memories within, you will take them and follow these directions…” The image faded, and Lythienne spat toward it as it did.
“Yes, indeed, the finest crystal,” she sneered. “Too fine, too flawed! It did not copy my memories; it stole them! Ripped them from me, left me with none. Left me with nothing but emptiness.”
She gestured, and the mindscape shifted again to form an image of an old elf standing next to Lythienne, who stood above a sea of waiting elves. “I knew the Darkness was coming,” she purred. “I had enough of my knowledge, my Spells, to see that. So, I convinced them I could save them.” The image continued, and the gathered crowd screamed as tendrils of magic tore into them, sucking out their life force, feeding the Spell Lythienne would cast. “I didn’t remember how, but the rabisu knew. I called it, and it showed me. It couldn’t cast the Spell, but it could teach me. I sucked out their lives and wove a shield around the city, one that would protect it from the Darkness. From their bones and souls, I fashioned the gasha and edimmu to protect and guard me. What did I care? I did not remember them, did not know them, did not love them as they thought.”
The image darkened, and he saw the rabisu laughing as swirls of Shadow raced through the city, animating the creatures but also sinking into the ground, corrupting it, changing it. Tendrils of darkness plunged into Lythienne, racing down her arms and up her throat in veins of corruption.
“And yet,” she finished hoarsely, “the Darkness found us, anyway, and took us. It has sat at my side for years – how long, I do not know, as my ability to mark the years seems to have vanished with my memories – always whispering, always trying to turn me to it.
“But I remember that!” she crowed. “I remember that the Darkness lies, and that what it offers is not power but slavery. That much was left to me, so I have never turned. I have been Corrupted, my body ravaged, my soul blackened, my mind shattered…but I have not turned!”
Lythienne whirled to face her memories. “And now, with you back,” she purred, “we can make it right! We will start with the souls of these two – with my memories, I will know how to drain their power without turning them into more edimmu or gasha – and we will feed that energy to the Tree! We will make it bloom, and the others will return!”
“No, Lythienne,” the ancient elf said quietly. “I cannot allow that. I will not give you what you desire, and if you try to take it, I will fight you. If I win, you die; if you win, I will perish, and your memories will be lost forever.”
“No!” Lythienne shrieked, holding a hand toward Aranos. “I will punish this one until you relent. I do not love, but I know of it, and you love this one! Watch him suffer!” Streaks of mana lanced from the storms above toward Aranos, who flinched and fell back, but they crashed into an invisible wall before they reached him.
“No, you will not,” the specter said calmly, also holding a hand toward Aranos. He felt the pressure of her will, and suddenly, he was flung out of the mindscape and found himself lying on the floor.
Lythienne’s body jerked and spasmed as the battle raged within her, and Aranos took the respite to run over to Geltheriel and drag her away from the rabisu. The creature was still trapped in its prison, and Aranos touched the crystal, pouring what SP he could spare into renewing it, before helping Getheriel to her feet and half-carrying, half-dragging her toward the door.
A cackling sound rose from behind him, and suddenly a new wall appeared before them, one made of pure, sparkling mana. “She failed!” Lythienne crowed in exultation. “She failed, and my memories return! They…”
The woman’s voice halted, and Aranos spun to see her fall to her knees, staring down at her remaining hand in horror. “What have I done?” she whispered. “By all the Light, what have I done?”
At those words, something in Aranos snapped. He laid Geltheriel gently down on the floor, stroking her face. “What have you done?” he rasped as he turned to face the woman whose memories had trained him. “What have you done?
“THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!” he roared, gesturing at the room. “You killed thousands in your cowardice! You bound their souls into agony to soothe your emptiness! You gave this whole land to the Darkness in your blind ignorance! You brutalized Geltheriel with your ca
llous indifference! Worst of all, you destroyed the only creature in this world who reached out to me in pure kindness, just to have your way! That is what you have done!”
The woman drew herself up, power flaring in her eyes as she rose to her feet. “Do not bark at me like you were my better, child,” she said threateningly. “I have power enough to wipe you and that elf from the face of Ka. I am Lythienne, last of my line, now ruler of Haerobel. Who are you to presume to instruct me?” The woman shrieked the last words, spittle flying from her ruined mouth.
Pure rage rose up in Aranos’ chest, rushing into him, burning away his doubts and fears. “I am Aranos!” he screamed at her, the power of the Tempest echoing in his words. Energy rose around him in a swirling wind, whipping his hair and tearing at his clothes. “I am the Ascendant!” he shouted as the wind lifted him into the air in its fury.
“I AM THE FIRST SORCERER!” he roared, power racing from him and slamming into the woman and her pet demon. “AND I AM YOUR DEATH!”
His hands shot out, summoning the power of his Ascendant Spell, and the Tempest of Rage exploded into the room. The storm of mana crashed over Lythienne like a wave, slamming into her hastily risen shield with a clap of thunder. The storm raged, but her barrier held it at bay, and she seemed to relax after a moment.
“No!” Aranos grated, driving the storm with his will. An image of Geltheriel, imprisoned in her own filth, flashed into his mind. Another arose of the Ekimmu, locked forever in torment. Finally, he saw the smiling, waspish image of the ancient sorceress in his mind…an image that was gone forever.
The fury in him burst forth once more, and he shoved the power of the storm against Lythienne’s shield, driving it with all of his rage and anger. The shield wavered, held for a moment…and collapsed. Lythienne screamed as the pellets of mana tore through her body, punching completely through her, spinning and tearing her flesh until she vanished in a haze of red and black blood.