The Tomb

A/N: Hello again. I have another chapter to deliver. Will it be as long as the last? Maybe. To Serindraxx, without whom I would never have discovered Fanfiction. Give her a hand, people! And check out her stuff! She's awesome.

Jacyn

Being Pandora's son was far from what she seemed to think. Jacyn was currently in her library, reading one of the thousands of books. She had everything, and magic made trips to the bookstore unnecessary. Jacyn knew that this house had been her refuge for many years, when she'd been too weak to confront the Council of Five.

Pandora herself was currently in a meeting with her lieutenants. Jacyn should have been there, but he would rather annoy Pandora by ignoring her. As much as was safe. Brand was always with her. Ever since the Rite of Immortality, he'd been following her like a little puppy. He was completely under her control, as Jacyn knew she wanted him to be.

He looked up as the library door opened, revealing a small being no more than a foot tall. It was grotesque, with boils and sores splattered across it's tiny body. It had mismatched eyes, one red and glowing, the other a sickly white. It was deathly pale, and only magic kept it alive.

Pandora was nowhere near as powerful as her mother, the Sorcerer Queen Terithia. She learned from her, and knew abominable magic, but could not match her pure power. In her reign, Terithia had created monsters that could destroy a village in seconds, decimate armies by themselves, and pose a threat to even the Order of Masters. The most powerful of these had been Terithia's 'pets'. They were truly fearsome, and when she was defeated, they were locked away with her.

And Pandora was searching fervently for her mother's tomb. She knew there was power there. It was unclear whether she wanted to free her mother or just take her power, but either way, the result would be catastrophic.

The creature walked up to Jacyn, and tugged at his robe. Jacyn kicked it away, repulsed. He got to his feet, and left the library. He walked past several more creatures, all as deformed and useless as the first. Pandora's attempts to emulate her mother had gone horribly.

Jacyn reached Pandora's throne room, and walked in as though he owned it. He knew that would piss her off. And sure enough, she threw him a look of deep annoyance from where she stood with her servants. They were magic users, none as powerful as her, and Brand, who was nearly as powerful as Jacyn. Jacyn slouched into a chair, and tried to look very bored.

Pandora threw him another annoyed look, and said, "Jacyn, what of your information? What use are you to me if not as a spy?"

Jacyn answered dully. "I abandoned my order, Mother. They will not welcome me back. How can I be a spy? But I am a powerful magic user, as you've said yourself."

Brand stepped closer to Pandora, and asked, "Can I go to the library? I'm bored."

Pandora nodded, and Brand walked away, his step fluid. No doubt Pandora had enhanced him physically. Jacyn's mother turned to her lieutenants, and ordered, "Leave."

They did, with many a bow and a murmured, "Yes, Mistress."

Jacyn waited till they were gone, then said, "You like that, don't you mother? You like for them to call you Mistress. Are you mad that I don't call you that?"

Pandora's face didn't change. "I've nearly become bored of your insolence, Jacyn. Do not forget that I can do whatever I like, and that includes doing whatever I like to you. You are expendable. All I need is the location of that blasted tomb. When I find that, I'll be unstoppable."

Jacyn made a bored noise. "If you can beat the guardians. I know where the tomb is. But you won't be able to enter it."

Pandora whipped around to face him. "What? You know where it is and you didn't tell me?"

Jacyn shrugged. Pandora advanced a few steps, and said softly, "I think you forget your place, my son." And she flicked a hand at him. Jacyn fell out if his chair, pain lancing through his body. He clamped his mouth shut, not making a sound, while he writhed on the floor at her feet. At last, she let off, and Jacyn went limp.

Pandora left him there, and sat on her throne. She surveyed him through slitted eyes, and said, "You will tell me where the tomb of Terithia lies."

Jacyn panted, trying to work the pain from his system. At last, he said, "It's buried underneath the Palace of the Masters. You would have found it if you'd taken Queen's City."

Pandora's jaw dropped. Then she smiled coldly. She left her throne, and strode t a window. "They built their stronghold . . . on top of their greatest enemies. 'An empire built on the graves of my enemies.' That's an old Empire saying. Mother rather liked it. Naturally, with the Council of Five there, they could prevent the tomb from being opened from the inside. Terithia will be much weakened. But not destroyed."

Jacyn was only half listening. He drug himself up from the floor, and hoped to whatever gods there were that the Masters could deflect Pandora's next attack. Or at least make it easy for him to kill her. Once and for all.

Ander looked up. That was the only real way to look, without looking back. They had ridden for two hours from Fillholme, and reached this shrine. It had been built shortly after Terithia's fall, and was meant to worship the Aren.

Ander had hoped that getting to their city would be easier, but he hadn't expected it to be that easy. He knew where it was, thanks to a handy spell, but he wasn't quite sure how to get there.

Actually, he knew how he was going to get there, but not how Tristan would. Ander would simply fly there. But Tristan would either have to stay where he was, or grow wings.

Ander made up his mind. He turned to Tristan, who was looking around the shrine. His Apprentice looked up as Ander walked back to him, and explained his plan. Tristan looked dubious, but Ander explained the urgency. Tristan nodded, and set about making camp. He would stay there for two days, and if Ander wasn't back by the third morning, he was to head for Fillholme, and wait there for another two days.

If Ander still didn't appear, he would go back to Queen's City and report that Ander was missing. Ander didn't give him much time to ponder, but snapped his wings out, and took to the sky. Flying with a cloak was harder, but not impossible. Just more tiring. He was above the clouds in a few seconds, and then he could see it.

The city of the Aren was gorgeous. Built of marble and bronze, it shimmered in the sun. It was built to look like a palace, and it put any palace Ander had seen to shame. There was one tower, rising in the center, with four large halls at it's cardinal points. Other corridors and such things were open to the sky. Around the city, Ander could see winged beings darting through the wispy clouds.

Ander flew closer, and they scattered, like birds avoiding a predator. He landed in a large courtyard in front of the palace, and slowly folded his wings.

Three of the strangest looking beings Ander had ever seen approached, all staring at him. They were dressed differently from each other, with the two on the flanks wearing long white tunics belted at the waist, with long slits in the back for their large white wings. They were like solid pureness, they were so blindingly white.

The Arenian in the center wore a long white robes. He looked Ander up and down, and said in a lofty voice, "What is your purpose, Thaumaturgist?" It was slightly disconcerting. All three were almost identical. They all had black eyes, without white or pupil. Their hair was platinum blonde, and they were all so fair in complexion that they put snow to shame.

Ander bowed to them, a formality he wouldn't use on humans. "I am here to speak with your patriarch, if that is acceptable." He removed his hood, not wanting to appear rude.

The Arenian regarded Ander for a second longer, then responded, "Yes. You may speak with him. I will lead you, Master."

Ander was surprised. He hadn't know that Arenians regarded Masters with respect. He followed the tall being, aware that he was taller than Ander. But the other two had been of average height. So It must not have been a predominate feature of their race.

They passed many other Arenians, all of whom stopped to stare. The halls were all made of marble and bronze, and polished quite brightly. Ander could see his reflection in it.

They stopped outside a large marble door, engraved with symbols in gold. The Arenian guiding Ander reached out, and touched door lightly. With a hollow boom, they swung open. The Arenian bowed. "Master Dante awaits."

Ander nodded politely, and walked into the room. It was like the rest of the palace, except instead of bronze, it was gold. A throne made of pure white marble sat between two lancet windows against the far wall.

Another Arenian lounged on it, this one with the same platinum hair, but instead of black, his eyes were solid gold. He wore robes of solid gold, which would likely drag on the floor if he stood.

Ander bowed, and asked, "Lord Dante?"

The Arenian inclined his head. "I am called Master here, Master. And you of course are here on orders from Master Damon?"

Ander froze. How could Dante know Damon? Why wouldn't Damon have told him that? Ander covered his shock by saying, "The entire Council of Five, actually. I was sent to ask your help on a most important matter."

Dante leaned forward. "What matter is this?

Before Ander could answer, the door opened with another loud boom. Ander turned, and saw another Arenian standing there, but he had the same gold eyes as Dante. He had long golden hair instead of platinum, like most Arenians Ander had seen. He was dressed in long white and gold robes, which brushed the floor. His wings were a soft brown, only accenting his strangeness.

The new Arenian spared Ander a glance, before saying, "Father, I wanted to-"

Dante cut him off with a sharp gesture. He stood, and stepped down from the dais that the throne stood on, and crossed to the younger Arenian. He stood before him for a second, then turned to Ander. "What were you saying Master? Before we were so rudely interrupted?"

His son flushed, bringing some color to his pale face. But he didn't speak. Ander glanced at him, then went on, "The Council of Five extends invitation to a council of the races. They wish to discuss many things that involve the entire world."

Dante raised a delicate eyebrow. "Such as Terithia's rise? The plot to free her?"

Ander didn't nod or otherwise respond physically. "It will be discussed, Master Dante."

Dante nodded. "I will attend. When is this meeting to take place?"

Ander pointed up. "On the next full moon."

Dante smiled. "I assume that you will travel to Terithia's other races? The Aelf, the Del, the Aedal? And perhaps the Vampyr and Lycans?"

Ander shuddered. The Vampyr were the stuff of legends. They were mankind's demons. They were dead, if the old stories were to be believed. They could appear to be into whatever their victim most feared. They drank their victim's blood, and it kept them young. They could fly, though they didn't have wings. And they could invade people's dreams.

And the Lycans, or Wolf-men. They existed, of course. But many years ago, during Terithia's reign, they'd been enslaved by the Empress. Many hundreds had been killed, and now there weren't many. They still lived as slaves and servants, though. Ander had never met one.

"I do not know the Council's mind. You might ask them, at the meeting."

Dante nodded thoughtfully. He turned towards his throne, and his son spoke, "Father, I wanted to ask, may I-"

Dante spun around, and backhanded the younger Arenian, sending him to the floor. He didn't explain his action, instead turned back to his throne. He spoke over his shoulder to Ander. "I will be at the meeting. Inform your Council."

Ander nodded, threw a sympathetic look at the younger Arenian, and bowed. He walked out of the room, and met the Arenian who'd guided him to the throne room. He informed him that he was prepared to leave, and then followed him back through the large palace.

When they arrived at the courtyard, Ander thanked him, and spread his wings. He jumped into the air, and dove down from the palace. He stayed close to the cliff, enjoying the challenge. He knew that if he changed his trajectory even a little bit in that direction, he'd splat on the rocks. He could already see the shrine, and something bothered him. No smoke. That was strange. The first thing Tristan should have done was start a fire.

Then he heard something behind him. Ander glanced over his shoulder, and saw something hurtling towards him. He pulled out of his dive, and turned to face it. He sang, intending to immobilize the thing, whatever it was.

The magic seemed to slip off it's target, like water off a metal roof. The thing increased it's speed, and hurtled straight at Ander. They collided.

Ander felt like he'd hit a tree at around thirty miles an hour. His breath gushed out, and he instinctively attacked, kicking and punching with quick, precise blows. Each was followed by a small hiss of pain, and Ander kicked away from his attacker, and gained the strategic higher air.

Ander couldn't believe his eyes. It was an Arenian, but that wasn't what shocked him so. It wasn't just any Arenian. It was Dante's son.

Ander glided to the mountainside, and the young Arenian followed cautiously. Ander set down, and waited patiently while his attacker did the same. Then he grabbed his robes, and slammed him into the cliff face. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He coughed, and responded, "Wanted . . . to follow . . . you . . . ."

Ander raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

He shook his head weakly. "You wouldn't understand. Can I come with you, please?"

Ander's eyes widened, but then he remembered Tristan. No fire, and that concerned him. "For now. Hurry up and let's go." Ander released him, and then jumped off the cliff, his wings catching the air. He could almost feel the Arenian behind him, but he didn't care.

He knew what had happened before he landed. The horses were gone, there was no fire. And there were signs of a struggle. Ander cast a quick spell, to determine where Tristan's captor had gone, and then he jumped into the air again, ignoring the surprised sound the Arenian made. He had just gotten an Apprentice. He'd be damned if he lost him.

Ander took maybe three seconds to make up his mind. Then he was flying again. He could hear and feel the young Arenian behind him, but he made no sign that he knew, or cared. He really didn't. All he cared about at the moment was getting his Apprentice back.

They only flew maybe three miles before the small group came into view. Ander surveyed them critically, and deduced that they were only highwaymen. They had probably though that a Master would be carrying valuable things. Tristan hadn't yet removed the black cloak. He was a sure target. Ander dove, and landed a few hundred feet down the road from them.

Ander sang, weaving himself into the air. He looked down, and could barely make out his outline. But his shadow was easily visible. He sang again, quickly, and his shadow vanished just as the men came into view.

The men and their incredibly attractive leader. She wore tight leather pants and a leather jerkin. She had a sword belted at her waist, and two knives strapped to her arms. She had long black hair, and sharp eyes. Tristan was slung over her saddle, like a trophy. They'd removed his cloak, and his hair had blood in it. He was unconscious. Ander could see the Arenian circling high above, but he didn't know if he would descend. Hopefully he would be smart, and stay up high.

Then the woman stopped her horse. She threw up a hand, and said a few words in a language Ander couldn't understand, but then, neither could her men. Her eyes widened, and she yelled, "Trap! Weapons!"

Ander sang again, and she was thrown off her horse. Ander moved, still singing. Three of her six men gasped, clutching their chests. They fell into the dust, their hearts stopped. The other three fell from their mounts as well, but they were only bound, not dead.

The woman leapt to her feet. Somehow she'd thrown off Ander's magic. She had her knives in her hands, and then they were flying. Ander sang, and one of them made an odd sound, as though it had been deflected off a crystal bell. The other moved too quickly, though. It whipped under Ander's spell, and struck him in the wing.

Ander hissed in pain, and the woman yelled in triumph. She drew her sword, lightning fast, and ran at him. Ander sang, and the sword burned white hot. She screamed, and dropped it, but tackled Ander anyways. She knocked him off his feet, and they rolled through the dirt, each trying to gain the upper hand. But Ander was Prodigious. He was much stronger and faster than a normal person. He overpowered her, and sang, harder and faster, with more passion.

Then another voice joined his. He looked up, and saw Tristan lying near her horse, his eyes shut, but his mouth moving as he clumsily sang along. The woman screamed again, clawing at her throat. She tore a small pendant from her neck, and threw it away.

At once, the combined magics of both Ander and Tristan overpowered her. She lay inert, unconscious. Ander rose, and retrieved the pendant. He could feel his magic weaken, and sang softly. At once, he detected an enchantment on the trinket, and he had a feeling it was an anti-magic spell.

He dropped it, and went to Tristan. He could see that the Apprentice was having trouble moving, and he helped him to sit up. "What hurts? What did they do?"

Tristan didn't answer right away. Then he said, "They surprised me. I had a detection spell, but that pendant negating it. Before I could defend myself, she was on op of me. She hit me in the head with a club, and that's all I remember until a few minutes ago. I don't know what they wanted, but I don't think it was money. I didn't have any."

Ander nodded thoughtfully. "No, they didn't want money. That pendant is magic, so they must work for a magic user. Though artifacts like that have to drain on the user's own energy. She wasn't a magic user, so we overpowered the artifact. I wonder why she wanted you, though. Maybe . . . ."

"Maybe what?" Tristan looked curious, but still pretty hurt. Ander shook his head. "Nothing. Here, lay back, I'll heal you."

Tristan looked surprised. "You can do that?"

Ander raised an eyebrow. "Obviously." He didn't want to tell Tristan about the war, mostly because he only knew some of the story, and none of the details. He helped Tristan lay back, and pressed a hand to his head. Tristan hissed in pain, and Ander lightened up a bit. He knew he could heal him, but didn't know how.

Ander sang, pouring energy into Tristan, thinking of cuts healing, bruises fading. He was using magic he didn't fully understand, and he didn't like it. But Tristan might have had a concussion, and Ander knew they couldn't ignore that. Tristan sighed, and Ander raised his hand and cut off the flow of magic. He helped Tristan to his feet, and Tristan said, "Thanks, Master."

Ander nodded, and said, "We have a companion. He's Aren, and he seems to want to go with us, for some reason." He pointed up, and Tristan whistled as he saw the Arenian gliding down towards them. Then Ander remembered the woman and the three unconscious men. He turned, and saw that he had to strike that. The woman, and two unconscious men. The third had disappeared.

Ander swore, and Tristan stared at him. Ander didn't explain but he knew that the man couldn't escape. He sang, loud, cold, and hard. Tristan shuddered, feeling the death in the melody, and he turned to the Arenian. Ander, however, continued to sing until he felt, in his heart and through his magic, the man was dead. He turned to the others, and knew that he had to kill them as well. He sang again, and they died painlessly, never waking up.

The Arenian walked over to Ander, and said, "I met you in my father's court. Amongst my people, it is polite to introduce ourselves. I am Za'miel."

Ander nodded wearily. "I am Master Ander. Around other Masters or members of my order, besides Tristan, you will address me only as Master. Otherwise, just call me Ander. Tristan, you can call me Ander under those circumstances as well."

Tristan nodded. He pointed at the woman. "What will we do with her?"

Ander shrugged. "We'll take her to Fillholme. We have to keep moving. We have a mission to accomplish. We have to get to Vana as soon as possible." He referred to the small village where the Del lived. It was outside the borders of Endon, in the swamplands to the west. The west was generally divided into the distinct areas. The Swamps, which were in the northern wild-lands. The Forest, which was on the southern coast, and the Mountains, which stood between them. Conveniently, the Del lived in the swamp, the Aedal in the Mountains, and the Aelf in the Forest.

Ander looked off in that direction, and almost thought he could see where the air grew thicker above the dismal marshlands. He could almost taste the heavy, stagnant air, and feel the moisture. He didn't exactly want to go to such a place, but duty was duty.

"All right, let's go."

A/N: Well, this chapter's done. We've met the Aren! And to those who might know, what does Za'miel mean? PM me with the right answer and I'll send you a nice spoiler. PM me if you want to beta, and everyone, please Review! Reviews make any author's world go round! They make us feel warm and fuzzy! Review!

Arciadrian