"If there was any a thing which my heart does not wish, it is to be married off to someone as Philionel De Sailune! They all speak of his wealth and of the love the people have for him. Smart talk, these gossipers will never have to walk with such an ugly ox for the rest of their lives! And yet, for all I can rant and rave, there is nothing I might do to resist my uncle's will. Hellishly bent on taking Lumeria, he wants me off so that the King of Sailune won't act.
Damnation. Could there be anything worse to befall me?"
-From Valmatia Della Sar Elmekun's memoirs, shortly before her departure for Sailune, 983 AR
Chapter Five
"Is there anything wrong, my brother? Your face speaks of disquiet."
Salemir Elin Sar Elmekun, Duke of the Westlands of Elmekia, met his brother's eyes evenly. Although he felt more than a passing tingle of dread as his older brother and ruler speared him with keen green eyes, looking across the linen-drapped table and the sumptuous dinner the two brothers were sharing. Ferlin had always been the most intelligent of them both, and both knew that well.
"I was merely thinking, My Emperor. Pray don't concern thyself." he replied. As an answer, the monarch gave out a snorting chuckle.
"Now is know something bothers you for certain, Salemir. You never use titles on me except in public or when your mind is clouded. Come now, what could it be? It certainly couldn't be the war. After all, our ultimate victory is clearly insured."
That last was a truth. Weren't the brothers dining in the castle of one of Lumeria's greatest lords, eating off the good sheep and beef he kept in his private larders, as well as cheese, wine and vegetables taken from the man's lands. Not that he would mind as he was now, rotting at the gallows as a sign of Elmekia's unrelenting power. The Lumerians were flying before the might of the Empire's soldiers, cavalry and wizardry. They were dining but a half a hundred mile from their capital, and if all went well, it would fall within four months.
No, the war did not bother him.
Not in itself.
"It isn't the war per se, Ferlin. Rather about something attached to its fruition." He took a bite off the sheep meat on his table. Perfect taste, perfect amount of spice, perfect cooking. Of course. The Emperor of Elmekia wanted the best with him in all things, from generals to cooks.
The man who had once sparred with him when they were boys frowned slightly, gulping his cup of wine in one long trait and holding it out to be refilled, which it was barely an instant later. "Leave the bottle on the table and leave us." the emperor took a deep breath. "Salemir..."
"I know what you're about to say. And I know the stakes and the politics only too well. And yet, to give...her...over to this oaf of a noble, Prince Phillionel..."
"She could do worse, my brother. Far worse." The emperor interjected.
"He is a buffoon! A youth always looking to right some improbable wrong, always crying about some vaunted and ridiculous form of justice. His silliness may hold the people's sympathy, but he will never be a good king. He has NO intelligence!" Salemir raged, taking off a huge bite of sheep, washing it down with his wine. In front of him, as usual, Ferlin remained calm, calculating, serene. He wasn't an evil man, the Duke knew that very well. But then again, he had never needed to. Emperor Ferlin Gredon Sar Elmekun the Second, after all, could convince anybody of anything. Convince the people to wage war. Convince the nobles to pay for it. Even convince mighty Sailune to remain out of the conflict. No one resisted his brother when he wanted something, and what he wanted was to see Lumeria broken, annexed, and entirely his.
Salemir didn't mind that at all. Lumeria was far from his own lands, it could burn or be swallowed by the desert for all he cared of it. However, giving Valmatia, the brightest, most beautiful of his daughters...
"My brother, as ridiculous as the prince may seem, he is very wealthy, and will one day sit on the throne of Sailune. Your daughter is very intelligent indeed. If he displeases her, I am quite certain she will have him dancing on her strings if need be. " He drained and refilled his cup. "More importantly, I had to give the King of Sailune something to keep his army out of our affairs. Taking over a whole country is rather straining to our military, and we didn't need them barging in on us.
That was true. After all, Sailune's army was second to none, better even than the Imperial Army, or the Magic Forces of Zefielia. To keep them out of the war was essential. To buy them off was always hard. Salemir took an apple from a basket of fruit and began to eat it thoughtfully. "I still dislike the idea of my wife's beauty reincarnated being sullied by this..."
"In all endeavors, Salemir, there must be concessions to be made, sacrifices to be made." The emperor reminded him.
"That is what father always said." he sighed. Never a day passed when the deceased Emperor wouldn't repeat it to them, along with many others of the same ilk. His brother had been a very good listener and learner. "Mother always told him he talked far too much for his own good."
"Yet in this case he was quite right. Diplomacy is critical in everything." His calm eyes fixed him. "And so is loyalty."
Salemir bristled slightly. "And what, pray tell, does that mean?"
"Nothing else than what it says."
The Duke of the western lands looked at his emperor almost furiously. Hidden away a mere moment away were guards, many guards ready to jump him or kill him if he even tried to lift a finger at his brother, and for a moment it depressed him. For striking was exactly what he intended to do.
"Do not ever question my loyalty, Ferlin. I would never betray you or the Empire. Haven't I proven it to you once long ago?" he gestured at his neck, which showed three deep scars going down into the collar - the strike of a maddened bear.
It had been long ago indeed. Both were young princes, and looking for adventure they sneaked away from the imperial country residence, and had gone into the forest. A naive, youthful escapade which had nearly turned to tragedy when the two had met a large grizzly bear, maddened by an old wound, which had attacked Ferlin. Salemir had pushed him out of the way, receiving the strike and falling to the ground. It would have been the end of him, but then guards, who had been tracking them down, burst into action and slaughtered the beast. The scars had been so deep they had never faded away. However, it had cemented the trust the brothers had for each other.
Ferlin's eyes shadowed for a moment, and a spasm of regret crossed his face. "I know, my brother. I know that you would never betray me. But your are angry, and that I can feel."
"Its not at you, its at this...this situation!"
"I myself did not enjoy giving her away much. Valmatia is extremely intelligent, a cultured beauty who can enchant the coldest heart. Certainly she is better than my brood." He spat in slight irritation. His children, three of them yet, all fell short of their father's expectations yet. "If she had been mine, I would have given her the throne as her heritage. But she wasn't. So I gave her Sailune's." He spread his hands widely. "One can't always get all he wants, even when he is an emperor."
Salemir threw away the apple's core, then finished his wine. Finding his glass empty. He started to rise to go and get the bottle at the other side of the table, and stopped in surprised as Ferlin rose with it and went to fill his glass. He looked at it for a moment.
"She looked so like her mother, as enchanting as she was. Losing her is like losing my love once again. Not to poison this time, but to a young foolish nobleman."
The emperor said nothing. Moments passed. Finally he reached for his drink.
"If that Philionel ever makes her life miserable, I will end his. You know this."
"Yes." was the stated, matter-of-factual reply. Salemir looked at his brother. The two of them had always been so close. Despite the differences in charisma, despite the rumors, despite everything, they had always seemed to understand each other so well. Nothing, it seemed, would make him break that link. And so, once again, quite calmly, his brother had won him over.
He raised his glass. "I have given the memory of my wife for your war. Except for my life there is little of a greater sacrifice. For this I want your vow, your vow that it will not be in vain, that Lumeria will fall. Only that will sate me of my loss."
"Brother, if you'd wanted more I would have given it. But I assure you, we WILL destroy it. You have my vow as your ruler and as your brother."
Salemir looked at his cup. "Then all is said. Let the Lumerians suffer for my pain."
And he drank the wine his brother had given him.
* * * * * * * * * *
Loerik looked around and sighed deeply. Why, in all of the places in the world, did they have to be in this one? This great, ancient ruin, so obviously elven that it reminded him of home at once? The Gods were definitely playing a very bad joke on him. He looked around the place one more time, dismissing sight of the horses, or of his friends, to stare at the large structure, with its crumbling pillars, formerly all slender, its statues so exquisite no human hand could have made them. Certainly, it was decaying, but the telltale traces, the fine details still apparent, all of that spoke of Elvenkind.
His mother's kind. His siblings' kind. Even his father's kind, though adopted.
But not his. Never his kind. His exile, and the grief of the parting with his family, dredged up the old sadness, the bitterness. He turned away from the sight, to be granted trees and shrubs and bushes, the deep of the wild forests of Sailune. Forests, right now, were however an unwelcome sight. He sat on a broken column's stump and closed his eyes. Still, the memories of happier times, of growing up in the safety of his family on Mipross, still haunted him.
"Mother, father...how I miss you!" he whispered sadly.
"Sorry to hear that. But sometimes you have to look forward, and not backwards!"
The fact that the voice which cut through his depressed mind so efficiently wasn't of anyone he knew factored in. His eyes flew open, and he saw a man garbed in priestly robes grinning down at him happily, his purple hair ruffling just slightly in the breeze. The man was bending slightly, so that his face was very close to Loerik's and his smile seemed to fill all of the warrior's vision.
The next instant Loerik had drawn his blade, taken the man by the neck and slammed him against a broken elven statue, angry and unnerved. He hadn't felt any presence, his shrewd second sense had told him nothing at all! How the heck had the man managed to do it, anyway?!? he thought as he pressed his blade against the priest's neck. A priest who seemed not the lead bit worried over his predicament.
"My! Aren't you a touchy one." the grinning one mused.
"Who the heck are you, priest? How did you manage to sneak up to me?" Loerik asked grimly, pressing his blade a little harder, incensed by the easy grin. Again, there was no noticeable change in the priest's demeanor. Indeed, the joviality in the tone actually INCREASED. The pries t lifted a finger.
"No need to get all worked up over nothing! I wasn't going to attack you. I'm a very stealthy kind of fellow, so its normal that you wouldn't sense me. As for my name, well its..."
"Xellos!" Marcus's voice resounded in surprise from behind Loerik. The others had hurried as soon as they'd seen the beginning of the altercation. THEY, at least, Loerik had felt coming. "What are you doing here?" the voice added, and as it did an heavy hand fell on the swordsman, armored shoulder.
"If he has not harmed you or meant harm to you, then I must ask that you release this man. It is uncouth to hold him like this if..."
Loerik snapped off Phil's hand with an irritated shrug. "I don't like people sneaking up on me, Prince." he growled "And thats what he just did." he put his face right next to Xellos' "Don't do that again." he warned, and released him with a huff, striding a few steps away, not really caring about his friends or the fact that they were watching him as he walked. He collected his thoughts, turned away from them, as they talked with the newcomer.
"Marcus, you know that weirdo?" Fezra asked.
"Barely. He once gave me some advice and then just left. By the way, Xellos, you haven't answered my question. What are you doing here?"
"Well, I was in the neighbourhood, you see. Was just strolling around-"
"In the middle of uninhabited forest?" Berwen cut in sarcastically.
"Why yes! And so I saw you, examining those ruins - I know of them, its kind of one of my places to be to reminisce - and stumped about this stone you've found."
Loerik looked sideways, where the rest of the group, still at a somewhat cautious distance from the priest, were discussing intently. Hallia was the only one who turned to him as he looked, giving him a concerned look he responded to with a gentle shrug and a shake of his head. A stone? When had they found a stone? Not that he WOULD know, since he'd spent the day trying to do anything BUT looking around the place.
Fezra was starting to get worked up over this Xellos, that was plain. "So you were just around, coincidentally. You saw us, coincidentally. And finally, always coincidentally, you saw the stone we were just arguing about!" She glared "Did I get all of this right?"
The priest only kept grinning. "Not quite, not quite. Coincidentally, I know just whom you need to understand the LANGUAGE on the stone." At that, he glanced at Loerik pointedly. All froze for moment, before all eyes locked on the swordsman.
Being the center of attention wasn't something Loerik Gabriev yearned for, or wanted. Three years of solitude, of mindlessly following orders and of spending lonely days sharpening his swordsmanship and trying to ignore the filth and injustice around him couldn't be erased by a few weeks with others who, seemingly, had the ability to bring back the young man who had been exiled from all he had. He frowned at Xellos darkly.
"I don't know what this...guy...is talking about." he said gruffly, daring anyone to say anything. He saw Fezra open her mouth, and he grinned inwardly. Trust her to walk into a very deadly glare and not care about it, he thought. Before she could start in a tirade, he raised his eyebrows dubiously. "But since you found a stone, I'm willing to look at it and - what- HEY HEY HEEEEEEEEEY!" He shouted suddenly, as Marcus, Fezra, Berwen, Hallia and Phillionel all seemed to SHIFT from a few meters away and near him, grabbing him all and hoisting him. His mind was barely seizing on to the fact that he was being transported - and that that annoying priest was following behind, snickering merrily - before being deposited just as swiftly.
He shook their hands off him, although he frankly minded Hallia's less than the others', and glared at them. "DAMMIT, YOU PEOPLE ARE CRAZY!!!" he screamed in complete exasperation - his shout had no effect on them all, as he'd surmised, and he turned round in dejection. Thats when his eyes fell on the stone.
Tall, like a rough pillar of white marble, it stood at the base of the stairs leading to the crumbling, once-majestic entrance to the ancient elven temple. Words, he saw, were indeed wrought upon it, all graceful letters of a language no one knew today. Almost no one, except a few old scholars.
"And people from Mipross." he sighed as he saw the words. It read
Deliani askara linaithe salanka
Zelth commol-khaï nuh karastha
Oprue deliani shol ku sal-thara
Ancient elvish. Used only amongst the clerics of Mipross today, however though it had been the war language of the allied races during the war of resurrection. As his mother, Mellyroon, had been an elven priestess of some consequence, he knew enough to know what the words mean, even though it eluded brighter people such as Fezra, Hallia, or even Marcus. With a sigh, he drew the Sword of Light's hilt, and activated it, holding it in front of him.
"Zelth commol-khu fer valada. S...err...um...Shukilan sha...ah! Shukilan sha-bokhy als valada!" he intoned in the halting Ancient Elvish the entire family had been taught since they could talk. For a moment, nothing happened, and he heard grunts from behind him. Yet he didn't budge, still holding his sword in front of him. He expected something, they all did, yet they were all surprised when it happened.
The stone shone brightly for a moment, and he squinted as a form flashed into existence. He blinked. Then blinked again. He couldn't believe it.
In front of him was the image of a man. Tall, nearly as tall as Phillionel, he had an athletic physique to match, an hard, granite-like face with roughly cut brown hair, wearing a suit of heavy armor with seemingly frightening ease. But what made Loerik quiver was the look in the man's eyes. A deadly look promising a swift end if one crossed his path, a terrible ruthlessness wrapped in tight, overwhelming honor and integrity. At his hip, the Sword of Light lay, looking far newer. Even before the image spoke, Loerik thought they all knew who the man was.
"Greeting." boomed a strong, no nonsense voice ripe with quiet power and dignity. "Bearer of the Sword of Light, worthy swordsman. I am Gabriev, the one they call The Swordsmaster. You have come here to enter a place barred from all but the worthy, for what this temple contains, no ordinary people may use. The stone has felt your soul and has felt your worth. You may enter." the apparition paused, then seemed to skin Loerik alive. "To the new bearer of the Sword: never fail it, never fail yourself, and victory shall always be yours."
And with that, Gabriev, one of the First Knights and the very first Swordsman of Light, vanished, leaving them all dazed. It was then that Xellos, who had been standing not far away from Loerik's position, seemed to say the impossible, even as the ruined doors began to open.
"Strange. I remember him being a little bit taller than that... Oh well! Lets all have fun!!!!"
* * * * * * * * * *
"The sea. Such a beautiful song, such a work of nature's power. If I could see it, if only I could, this city would be perfect."
Rezo, of course, could 'see', in a fashion. His powers were vast, and had afforded him that much. He had spells which could help him read just like he was a normal person, spells which could allow him to walk about unaided, just like those with the wondrous gift of sight. He even had an ongoing spell on himself which permitted him to 'know' the details of objects and people, of his whole surroundings.
That is why, as he stood on his mansion's balcony and looked out, that he 'knew' what made Sairaag such a beautiful cities. A city of faith, rivalling Sailune itself with its churches and temples, made it an architectural wonder of pillars, towers and soaring buildings. He could 'see' the docks farther off, where ships upon ships were docked, carrying goods from the rest of Lyzeille and from farther lands, he distinctively 'saw the many gurgling fountains doting the city, the small parks where he himself sometimes strolled in the evening.
And beyond all other beauties, there was the Holy Tree Flagoon, looming powerfully and benevolently over the area, a gift from the Swordsman of Light, who had rid this place of a terrible evil when he had been but an apprentice. Sairaag was truly today a city of peace, a place to be admired as the best that mankind could accomplish.
But for all that beauty, it remained that he didn't truly see it. His eyes, closed since the day he was born, refused to allow him sight, and no matter what he did, no matter the remedies he concocted or the spells he crafted, nothing worked. Only this void ever greeted his vision, this nothingness which didn't understand colors or shapes. Sometimes, the unfairness of it all truly overwhelmed him.
Born blind to middling sorcerors, he had been lucky that his parents, seeing his blindness, hadn't cast him out, but instead sacrificed their studies to craft the first spells which artificially afforded him a form of sight. Soon learning that magic might cure his blindness, that its force was a power which had produced miracles, he had devoted his life to it, enduring the ridicule those with sight bestowed upon him.
He had learned white magic, going from apprentice to white sorceror in a matter of years. And yet the solution didn't appear. He then travelled to Zefielia and learned Black Magic, making money quite quickly with his powerful concoctions, and devoting much of it to opening places where the maimed or deprived ones could have care. He became a master the dark arts quickly - strangely quickly, a part of his mind had always nagged him. And yet it wasn't enough. He had then gone around learning all he could of high-level shamanism from the hidden cabals, doing his best to help others, whether killing trolls attacking a village or curing a ailing baby. He had become a master of Shamanism as well. His image had become famous. He had become revered throughout the known world. The people called him the Red Priest, and did him honour. Children came to him in the streets. Women blushed and giggled as he passed. Warriors and sorcerors alike bowed to him.
He was loved by all, respected by all. And yet, at times, he would give it all away, if only to see the sunrise just once.
"There's no time for this bout of self-pity, you old fool." he remonstrated himself sternly, turning away from Sairaag itself. "Don't flatter yourself so much. Its not like you never made mistakes, no matter what the ministrels say. Now let go of that which is beyond your reach yet and concentrate on the problem at hand."
This scathing, self-reproving talk worked...barely. The longing remained, but his mind managed to shake off the depression he felt. He had work to do.
"Father? You called for us?" an hesitant voice called out and he turned towards the sound. Immediately the spelled relayed distinctive information, and he knew everything.
Kala Redcloak looked at him, small and fragile, her brown hair cascading down her shoulders, her mauve eyes looking at him firmly and willfully. She had inherited much from her mother. He winced inwardly. His mother, whom he had bedded in ignorance, had actually been the child he had had as a very young man with another apprentice. He hadn't been told until too late, yet the guilt remained the same. He had slept with his own daughter. The horror of the thought had made him scorn any further intimate relations with anyone. Kala, his daughter and yet granddaughter, knew nothing of this and never would, if he had any say in the matter.
Beside her, a young man. Lionel Greysword, average, lanky, dressed in apprentice garb as she, he was a man of intelligence and clarity, even though he could sometimes be aloof with others. Rezo knew that he and his daughter were beginning to feel sentiments which went beyond friendship, yet he didn't try to stop it. He wouldn't ruin things when they seemed to be going so well. Of course, however, if Lionel hurt her, the magical retribution would be severe. Very, very, severe.
He nodded. "Indeed I did. I wanted you to hear about the message I've received from the Guild in Atlas. It appears they've sent a lad by the name of Marcus Jaderam to investigate our suspicions."
"Jaderam?" Lionel mused in his serious fashion. "I've heard of him. Extremely talented sorceror, they say."
"True. I have heard he might be the best the guild trained since..." he smirked slightly "Well, since me, I suppose. Whatever the case, what imports is the last message he sent to them. It seems that there might be trouble in the southern forests of Sailune. More precisely, around the elven ruins we visited once."
Kala frowned. "Elven magic? I cannot believe they would seek it. It would be no help to them."
"We may have been looking at this all the wrong way. Maybe those temples aren't clues to the Hidden Lores...." Lionel retorted in risen excitation.
"...but in fact, they might just be where the Hidden Lores are hidden, or at least some of them."
"But the spells on the ruins are impenetrable."
"Nothing is if you have the tools. And if Jaderam has gone there, it is perhaps a sign that such tools might be going in use shortly." he paused for a moment, then cleared his throat. "I cannot move yet. Jaderam is known as a loose cannon, and so repercussions would be minimal if he messed up. I can't help because I am not a loose cannon, and that I can't take sides." he pointed at them "But you two are still my apprentices. You are not yet bound by the guild. That is why I must ask you to help me."
"Anything, sir." the young man said readily. Rezo nodded, then uncovered a thick book, with an ancient, wrinkled leather binding and covered in crafted runic symbols. Both apprentices looked at it intently, and the Red Priest knew they had felt the power coming from it.
"What you are feeling are the spells the writer of that manuscript used to keep it safe. It is full of magical traps and musn't be read by the unwary. However, you should read it because its magic does not permit my magical eyesight to do so. Finding out what she wrote will be important, and I fear it might not be enough. We are running to catch with whatever is about to happen. Things are going to pass, and we must be ready as can be."
"On The Magic Sealed Away, Mysteries Best Left Untouched, by...Sai Lune of the Faithful Men?!?" Kala read with a gasp, looking at Rezo. The Red Priest merely turned back to observing what he could sense of Sairaag. "Father, is this...is this truly...?"
"Yes. This was written by Sai Lune, shortly before he was crowned King by the people he had shepherded after the War. It will help us." he sighed "I only hope this will be enough."
"Sir?" Lionel inquired.
"Elven Temples. Forbidden Lores. War and people rushing to things unseen. Something is about to happen. And I fear none will be able to stop it all this time."
And although he couldn't see their faces, Rezo knew they understood, and feared the meaning of his words. The world, as they said, was going in for a ride shortly. He only hoped his work and the work of others would prevent it from having too many disastrous bumps. Because if it did, things might tip over.
And if that happened, Ceipheed help the world.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dallomir knew they were close. Very close. The magical traps had been harder and harder to detect and unstring, the twists and turns in the labyrinthine catacombs built beneath the temple. Once used to hide elven wealth from marauders, then used as a futile hiding place when Lei Magnus' forces had slaughtered the entire priestly order, it had been strengthened manyfold by survivors of the Triad Army under the orders of the First Knights, the greatest heroes who had fought in humanity's name against the Mazoku. It was a very clever labyrinth, and he was quite certain that, in usual conditions, he never would have made it to the end. After all, this was the work of people who had made their way through the lethal labyrinth where Lei Magnus made war upon the world, controlled as he was by Shabranigdu.
However, they had left plans of the maze intact...just in case.
It was known that Falana's scroll remained sealed away somewhere in Zefiela, and Sai Lune had sealed his own somewhere around the future capital of the realm bearing his name, while Gabriev had simply burned his. Two had been lost over the years, and had become legendary, then mythical. People didn't believe in them anymore.
But Dallomir had. Even before the THAT battle, he had believed. He had believed because SHE had. Because she was always right, and that was that. She had always been able to predict anything, his Sheila. His perfect goddess, Sheila.
"But they thought they'd be clever and thought they could kill you, Sheila, they did think that." he muttered voicelessly so that the other two - the foolish idealist and that childlike psychopath - could hear their conversation.
'They were fools, of course, my love. I had it all prepared, everything was there for you, to make them pay for their insolence.' came a voice he knew as hers. She always talked to his mind.
He studied the plan, placing his hand on different sections of what appeared to be a bare wall, feeling the blocks shift under his hand. "They'll be sorry, my love, they will. Your plan is swiftly coming to fruition." The voice didn't respond. A second later there was a clicking sound, then a rumbling noise. "All this because of the plan you found Sheila. Your legacy to all of Lumeria." He turned to the other and spoke loudly, drawing himself stiffly. "Beware. If this information is correct, this is where they hid some of the Lores. Although the plan has helped us evade the various traps, I daresay they prepared something, just in case someone ever managed to get a hold of one."
Jomekin actually grinned at this, his childish face showing the sort of glee no innocent child could ever have, while Mellinius looked rather worried. The weak fool's resolve was weakening by the moment, eh? Well, they would see about that when he had whatever was in there.
Firmly they entered, a place where darkness prevailed, with only their light spells illuminating. With a conscious effort, Dallomir concentrated and illuminated the room. When they could see all there was to see, the middle aged sorceror's heart nearly stopped, so much did rage take him.
"There's nothing here!" cried Mellinius.
It was nothing more than the truth. The room they were standing here might once have been a chamber used to hide non-combatants away from harm, for the circular room of stone was very large, large enough to accomodate at least fifty people. But it was bare. Its walls were smooth, with no adornments anywhere. There wasn't even a piece of furniture, much less the wealth of magical knowledge he had hoped to uncover.
"How can this be?!?" he muttered in fury "Everything points to this, everything seems to say that the First Knight sealed items and scrolls of power here!" He shook his fist at the empty wall. "WHERE ARE THE LORES, DAMN YOU TO OBLIVION!!!!" he screamed, his voice reverberating and echoing to and fro between the walls.
"All of this for nothing!" Jomekin griped bitterly "All of our work, all the hard labor, for an empty room!"
"Then Lumeria is truly vanquished." the younger sorceror lamented. The man-child gave him an angry look that spoke volumes about how much he cared about THAT, yet didn't respond. Was there indeed any point to it anymore, now that their hopes had been cruelly dashed?
Dallomir felt, for the first time in many years, completely lost. Sheila, the beloved woman who had known so much, the person who had been killed by those wretched Elmekian sorcerors, had been wrong. It could not be, his mind raved, but what else was there? There was nothing here, nothing but blank walls which stared back at him impassively, an high ceiling of polished stone and a tiled floor which...
Which...was...uneven?
The mage looked more closely at the floor, even going out on his knees to inspect. Clearly, some of the tiles were just slightly higher. So slight was it, that it would take a very observant eye - like his own were - to notice the difference. Slight elevation...which form seemed to be reminiscent of...
He frowned in deep thought, a task he found very taxing due to the lamentations going on behind him. "SILENCE!" he roared, and they obeyed, out of surprise if nothing else. Still he fixed the tiles, deciphering a pattern. There was something here, a curve of some kind. The glow of the light spell didn't help, he reduced it slightly, poking around, moving until he had an idea of what to look for, then rose and looked at the floor entirely.
Then his frown left his brow, and he began to chuckle, an amused, awed chuckle to those who had almost thwarted him. "So little seen! The plan was only a part! You begone rascals, how very cunning!" he exclaimed in his mirth.
"I know this is going to sound silly to ask, especially since you have all of this figured out," Jomekin griped, his absurdly youthful face greatly negating the glare he was giving "But wouldn't you mind sharing the secret, sir. Just so we might know what is so damn funny!"
Dallomir grinned at them smugly, inwardly wondering why he'd brought such fools to witness the true triumph his perfect Sheila had left behind. He remembered a time when he had valued Mellinius' knowledge and zeal. There was even a time where he had felt pity for the poor Jomekin, and had tried his best to steer the man away from his path of self-destruction. All of this today was clouded, that part of his mind seemed far away. A dream. All he could think was that Sheila had been right, and that he had no time to waste on futile explanations.
As such, he merely lifted his arms and called upon the powers he had, filling his soul with the sweet power that was magic. "Energy of Eternity, Power of the Eternal Light and Darkness, bring forth your true face and allow us on our way. The Power Commands and I decree, rise and allow passage to these who know!"
As his incantation ended, the rock which had been elevated split asunder, revealing golden stems which rode out of the ground, arching slightly inward, while a piece of the ceiling also split, revealing a descending globe of pure silver. The globe ended its descent far above Dallomir, who now stood in the center of the slim gold pillars, and sparked brightly, filling the room with a light outclassing normal spells. A humming noise began as the gold and silver touched, and the globe shone as the sun. Dallomir grinned in giddy realization, muttering excitedly as his low-intelligence accomplices shielded their eyes, and then gawked at the construct.
"Ceipheed preserve us all." Mellinius whispered in a mixture of fear and awe. "What is that construct."
"Do you not recognize it? I am disappointed in you, Mellinius. A loremaster like you should remember an Asvai-Kadellin!"
"Asv...are you telling me that this actually is...?"
"Yes!" he laughed "An elven transport device, which can run to long distances, hundreds of miles if I remember. Used extensively by the elven and human armies during the War of Resurrection, nearly all lost or destroyed today. So OBVIOUS! The First Knights didn't put the Hidden Lores in some Ruins! All this map is supposed to tell us is to take us where the TRUE hiding place for them are!"
"Then... this means that all the traps we bypassed because of the map..." Jomekin muttered.
"All deterrents. All a trick to keep us away from THIS!" he gestured at the transport device wildly. "And now we are ready! We will find the Hidden Lores they hid away so long ago!" And then he started to laugh again, uncaring of the others, uncaring of anything but one thought.
Sheila, I will have your legacy fulfilled!
* * * * * * * * * *
"AAAAAAH!"
"LOOK OUT, HALLIA!"
It took a moment for Hallia to register that a great boulder was falling directly on her from the ceiling, a split second to scream and realize the shouted warning Phil gave as the peril became clear. None of these were in any way helpful to her situation, and the end result would probably have been that her short life would have ended abruptly, crushed by a falling rock. So lame it wouldn't even be laughable.
However, fate intervened. In the form of a large body which slammed into her, cutting off her breath, air gushing out of her lungs as she was thrown away and seemingly crushed under a terrible weight. A moment of confusion and panic followed, but by the time her wits once again gathered, it had shifted away from her. She gulped in air by mouthfuls, thankful to be alive, yet hurting from the fall and stress. Forcing herself to a sitting position, she looked right into a pained Loerik's face, who was holding one arm close to his body. He gave her a wan grin.
"That was pretty close, eh, priestess? Sure glad you didn't end up flat." he gasped.
She gave him back his look. "You could have been killed too, you know. Why...?"
She was fortunately saved from this suddenly rather slippery and uncertain conversation by the others in the groups rushing. Fezra looked like she wanted to laugh at the incident, but couldn't her relief apparent. Berwen looked upset about it all - this not being the first time they had set off a trap in pursuit of those they by now knew were before them. Marcus and Zashtla were looking at the Boulder critically, as if they could understand everything from its surface. As for the prince, he looked ready to lunge at something to smite it, but couldn't find a target. Narie...well...luckily they had left Narie in the hands of priests back at the town. She never would have survived the stress in her precarious state.
An hand came to help her up, and she took it. She rose to her feet and only then looked at the one who had helped her. It wasn't any of her friends. It was HIM.
"Weeeeeellll!" Xellos said to her with that insufferable and ever-present grin. "Close is the right word! One second later, and you BOTH would have been squashed." She shivered when she almost detected a wistful note to the last part. Unreadable, and possessed of a dangerous personality, the so called 'Trickster Priest' had. She truly didn't trust him.
Nor, it seemed, did the others. At his words all of the others glared, and Fezra grabbed him, dragging his face to her angry one. "What do you mean by that?!? You sound like you'd enjoy that!"
"Now, I didn't say I'd ENJOY-"
"And what about the fact you always seem to know about the traps but only tell us when we're just about to set the thing off." Zashtla growled, hefting a blade which should have been to heavy for her frame.
He sighed, his grin disappearing. "Well, if you must know..."
Everyone waited expectantly. Then the grin reappeared
"...THAT is a SECRET!"
Fezra punched him once. In the face. Hard. He was knocked backward, and before he could recover she was on him, obviously trying to throttle him, flinging curses at him. Although neither liked Xellos much, Marcus and Phillionel interceded, peeling the ranting sorceress off as Zashtla and Berwen looked on with a certain degree of grim amusement. Hallia shook her head and looked at Loerik, and found him clutching his arm more tightly.
It was then that she realized why her chest had felt so crush, that her breath had been cut off so abruptly. He had cushioned their fall - protected her - and had broken his arm in the process. And was too darn proud to say it, too! Snorting in exasperation at the dumb feelings men sometimes entertained, she stepped to him. He regarded her arrival warily, his eyes trying and failing to hide the pain he felt.
Before he could do or say anything, Hallia put her hands on the arm, focusing her powers to direct the white magic flow into a quiet healing spell. He gritted his teeth as the bones began to reset, but his face cleared again - in obvious relief - when the pain receded.
"Thanks." he said fervently. She sniffed.
"If you'd just told me you were hurt, I'd have healed you right away."
"I know, I know. Sorry. Mercenary habits - never to show weakness - die hard." he answered with finality. Although she yearned to continue the discussion they had begun on weakness and strength, she swallowed her words and chose another burning point.
"Thats twice you've directly put your life in danger for me." she swallowed, an unusual feeling making butterflies in ther body. She licked her lips. "Why did you do that? I mean, you told me it was a debt repaid with that bastard swordsman, but you owed me nothing now. Yet you just...well, thank you." she said, at a loss, her words and feelings mingling. He kept looking in her direction. Yet he wouldn't meet her eyes, she noted.
"I suppose I got that from my parents and my upbringing." he said at length
"Your upbringing...." she reflected on that "Wait...upbringing...what was your upbringing? I mean, you could actually read an ancient type of elvish, I..."
"Kallantai."
"What?"
Loerik looked away. "The elvish you're talking about...its called Kallantai." he said at length, undefinable emotions playing hide and seek in his voice. His posture, his tone, everything about him told of containment, something simmering in his soul. "Its...its very ancient. I don't think...I don't think many humans would know of it today. But then I'm...special."
"Special?" she asked curiously. What could he mean? He was an exceptional master swordsman, she had seen enough of those to know that much in the last three years. He was rough, yet hiding a sort of sadness. Not knowledgeable of some human lands, and yet knowing of elvish. Her eyes started to widen. He said he came from Elmekia, didn't he? But, in a legend, they say that in Elmekia...
He nodded, probably reading her expression. "Right. I come from Mipross."
She felt like her head would explode. Mipross? The elven lands lost to humans, disconnected from the world thirty years ago. But the elven lands...I mean, the elven lands were elvish. And the man didn't look elvish one bit, and she couldn't resist blurting it out like a fool. "But you're not an elf!" she hissed, and immediately regretted it as he flinched, his face paling a little.
"No..." he swallowed hard "No, I'm not. I'm an half-elf. An half-elf who chose humans as his race when he came of age." he looked down and away from her, his face, always so strong, now vulnerable. Not knowing what she was doing, not recognizing why, she stepped forward and took hold of his forearm. He turned his face to look at her, his expression surprised. Surprised, pleased and...wasn't there a spark of something else?
"C'MON YOU TWO! WE GOTTA GET GOIN'!"
Fezra's bellow forced them apart, and before she could reinitiate the contact with this sad, remarkable man who held so many secrets, he had turned away, walking back to where Philionel and Marcus were arguing about how to avoid traps. Fezra bustled next to her, and Hallia, turning angrily, bumped her hand over the sorceress' head in uncharacteristic anger.
"You...Fezra...sometimes you really make me want to hurt you with your attitude!" She growled, and left her friend standing there, rubbing her head and wondering. She strode to where Zashtla was and tried to forget the opening she had seen in the warrior's armor, how he had almost opened himself to her.
And how she inwardly regretted that it was lost for now.
________________________________________________________
The Triad Army: The combined human, elven and dragon forces who fought against the mazoku hordes, ultimately stalling them enough for Ceipheed and the Water Dragon King to conclude a desperate plan which prevented Shabranigdo's full resurrection. Known as the largest army ever fielded in the world at its height, only a few hundreds of each race's soldiers survived the conflict. The most renowned of the Triad Army are the First Knights amongst Humans, The Fallah-Karai for the elves and the Five Ashgivers amongst the Dragons.
Sai Lune: An historical figure. Born in obscurity, he shaped much of what is today known as White Magic, and was the most powerful human priest in the War of Resurrection and served as one of the legendary First Knights, fighting alongside people such as Gabriev and Falana of the Five Winds. After the war, he shepherded many people and built a town, of which he was crowned king by popular vote in 8 AR. At his death in 27 AR, his son renamed the town Sailune, which would become the center of culture, and the center of the powerful kingdom of the same name.
AR: Current Calendar, meaning After the Resurrection. The current year is 983 AR.
Damnation. Could there be anything worse to befall me?"
-From Valmatia Della Sar Elmekun's memoirs, shortly before her departure for Sailune, 983 AR
Chapter Five
"Is there anything wrong, my brother? Your face speaks of disquiet."
Salemir Elin Sar Elmekun, Duke of the Westlands of Elmekia, met his brother's eyes evenly. Although he felt more than a passing tingle of dread as his older brother and ruler speared him with keen green eyes, looking across the linen-drapped table and the sumptuous dinner the two brothers were sharing. Ferlin had always been the most intelligent of them both, and both knew that well.
"I was merely thinking, My Emperor. Pray don't concern thyself." he replied. As an answer, the monarch gave out a snorting chuckle.
"Now is know something bothers you for certain, Salemir. You never use titles on me except in public or when your mind is clouded. Come now, what could it be? It certainly couldn't be the war. After all, our ultimate victory is clearly insured."
That last was a truth. Weren't the brothers dining in the castle of one of Lumeria's greatest lords, eating off the good sheep and beef he kept in his private larders, as well as cheese, wine and vegetables taken from the man's lands. Not that he would mind as he was now, rotting at the gallows as a sign of Elmekia's unrelenting power. The Lumerians were flying before the might of the Empire's soldiers, cavalry and wizardry. They were dining but a half a hundred mile from their capital, and if all went well, it would fall within four months.
No, the war did not bother him.
Not in itself.
"It isn't the war per se, Ferlin. Rather about something attached to its fruition." He took a bite off the sheep meat on his table. Perfect taste, perfect amount of spice, perfect cooking. Of course. The Emperor of Elmekia wanted the best with him in all things, from generals to cooks.
The man who had once sparred with him when they were boys frowned slightly, gulping his cup of wine in one long trait and holding it out to be refilled, which it was barely an instant later. "Leave the bottle on the table and leave us." the emperor took a deep breath. "Salemir..."
"I know what you're about to say. And I know the stakes and the politics only too well. And yet, to give...her...over to this oaf of a noble, Prince Phillionel..."
"She could do worse, my brother. Far worse." The emperor interjected.
"He is a buffoon! A youth always looking to right some improbable wrong, always crying about some vaunted and ridiculous form of justice. His silliness may hold the people's sympathy, but he will never be a good king. He has NO intelligence!" Salemir raged, taking off a huge bite of sheep, washing it down with his wine. In front of him, as usual, Ferlin remained calm, calculating, serene. He wasn't an evil man, the Duke knew that very well. But then again, he had never needed to. Emperor Ferlin Gredon Sar Elmekun the Second, after all, could convince anybody of anything. Convince the people to wage war. Convince the nobles to pay for it. Even convince mighty Sailune to remain out of the conflict. No one resisted his brother when he wanted something, and what he wanted was to see Lumeria broken, annexed, and entirely his.
Salemir didn't mind that at all. Lumeria was far from his own lands, it could burn or be swallowed by the desert for all he cared of it. However, giving Valmatia, the brightest, most beautiful of his daughters...
"My brother, as ridiculous as the prince may seem, he is very wealthy, and will one day sit on the throne of Sailune. Your daughter is very intelligent indeed. If he displeases her, I am quite certain she will have him dancing on her strings if need be. " He drained and refilled his cup. "More importantly, I had to give the King of Sailune something to keep his army out of our affairs. Taking over a whole country is rather straining to our military, and we didn't need them barging in on us.
That was true. After all, Sailune's army was second to none, better even than the Imperial Army, or the Magic Forces of Zefielia. To keep them out of the war was essential. To buy them off was always hard. Salemir took an apple from a basket of fruit and began to eat it thoughtfully. "I still dislike the idea of my wife's beauty reincarnated being sullied by this..."
"In all endeavors, Salemir, there must be concessions to be made, sacrifices to be made." The emperor reminded him.
"That is what father always said." he sighed. Never a day passed when the deceased Emperor wouldn't repeat it to them, along with many others of the same ilk. His brother had been a very good listener and learner. "Mother always told him he talked far too much for his own good."
"Yet in this case he was quite right. Diplomacy is critical in everything." His calm eyes fixed him. "And so is loyalty."
Salemir bristled slightly. "And what, pray tell, does that mean?"
"Nothing else than what it says."
The Duke of the western lands looked at his emperor almost furiously. Hidden away a mere moment away were guards, many guards ready to jump him or kill him if he even tried to lift a finger at his brother, and for a moment it depressed him. For striking was exactly what he intended to do.
"Do not ever question my loyalty, Ferlin. I would never betray you or the Empire. Haven't I proven it to you once long ago?" he gestured at his neck, which showed three deep scars going down into the collar - the strike of a maddened bear.
It had been long ago indeed. Both were young princes, and looking for adventure they sneaked away from the imperial country residence, and had gone into the forest. A naive, youthful escapade which had nearly turned to tragedy when the two had met a large grizzly bear, maddened by an old wound, which had attacked Ferlin. Salemir had pushed him out of the way, receiving the strike and falling to the ground. It would have been the end of him, but then guards, who had been tracking them down, burst into action and slaughtered the beast. The scars had been so deep they had never faded away. However, it had cemented the trust the brothers had for each other.
Ferlin's eyes shadowed for a moment, and a spasm of regret crossed his face. "I know, my brother. I know that you would never betray me. But your are angry, and that I can feel."
"Its not at you, its at this...this situation!"
"I myself did not enjoy giving her away much. Valmatia is extremely intelligent, a cultured beauty who can enchant the coldest heart. Certainly she is better than my brood." He spat in slight irritation. His children, three of them yet, all fell short of their father's expectations yet. "If she had been mine, I would have given her the throne as her heritage. But she wasn't. So I gave her Sailune's." He spread his hands widely. "One can't always get all he wants, even when he is an emperor."
Salemir threw away the apple's core, then finished his wine. Finding his glass empty. He started to rise to go and get the bottle at the other side of the table, and stopped in surprised as Ferlin rose with it and went to fill his glass. He looked at it for a moment.
"She looked so like her mother, as enchanting as she was. Losing her is like losing my love once again. Not to poison this time, but to a young foolish nobleman."
The emperor said nothing. Moments passed. Finally he reached for his drink.
"If that Philionel ever makes her life miserable, I will end his. You know this."
"Yes." was the stated, matter-of-factual reply. Salemir looked at his brother. The two of them had always been so close. Despite the differences in charisma, despite the rumors, despite everything, they had always seemed to understand each other so well. Nothing, it seemed, would make him break that link. And so, once again, quite calmly, his brother had won him over.
He raised his glass. "I have given the memory of my wife for your war. Except for my life there is little of a greater sacrifice. For this I want your vow, your vow that it will not be in vain, that Lumeria will fall. Only that will sate me of my loss."
"Brother, if you'd wanted more I would have given it. But I assure you, we WILL destroy it. You have my vow as your ruler and as your brother."
Salemir looked at his cup. "Then all is said. Let the Lumerians suffer for my pain."
And he drank the wine his brother had given him.
* * * * * * * * * *
Loerik looked around and sighed deeply. Why, in all of the places in the world, did they have to be in this one? This great, ancient ruin, so obviously elven that it reminded him of home at once? The Gods were definitely playing a very bad joke on him. He looked around the place one more time, dismissing sight of the horses, or of his friends, to stare at the large structure, with its crumbling pillars, formerly all slender, its statues so exquisite no human hand could have made them. Certainly, it was decaying, but the telltale traces, the fine details still apparent, all of that spoke of Elvenkind.
His mother's kind. His siblings' kind. Even his father's kind, though adopted.
But not his. Never his kind. His exile, and the grief of the parting with his family, dredged up the old sadness, the bitterness. He turned away from the sight, to be granted trees and shrubs and bushes, the deep of the wild forests of Sailune. Forests, right now, were however an unwelcome sight. He sat on a broken column's stump and closed his eyes. Still, the memories of happier times, of growing up in the safety of his family on Mipross, still haunted him.
"Mother, father...how I miss you!" he whispered sadly.
"Sorry to hear that. But sometimes you have to look forward, and not backwards!"
The fact that the voice which cut through his depressed mind so efficiently wasn't of anyone he knew factored in. His eyes flew open, and he saw a man garbed in priestly robes grinning down at him happily, his purple hair ruffling just slightly in the breeze. The man was bending slightly, so that his face was very close to Loerik's and his smile seemed to fill all of the warrior's vision.
The next instant Loerik had drawn his blade, taken the man by the neck and slammed him against a broken elven statue, angry and unnerved. He hadn't felt any presence, his shrewd second sense had told him nothing at all! How the heck had the man managed to do it, anyway?!? he thought as he pressed his blade against the priest's neck. A priest who seemed not the lead bit worried over his predicament.
"My! Aren't you a touchy one." the grinning one mused.
"Who the heck are you, priest? How did you manage to sneak up to me?" Loerik asked grimly, pressing his blade a little harder, incensed by the easy grin. Again, there was no noticeable change in the priest's demeanor. Indeed, the joviality in the tone actually INCREASED. The pries t lifted a finger.
"No need to get all worked up over nothing! I wasn't going to attack you. I'm a very stealthy kind of fellow, so its normal that you wouldn't sense me. As for my name, well its..."
"Xellos!" Marcus's voice resounded in surprise from behind Loerik. The others had hurried as soon as they'd seen the beginning of the altercation. THEY, at least, Loerik had felt coming. "What are you doing here?" the voice added, and as it did an heavy hand fell on the swordsman, armored shoulder.
"If he has not harmed you or meant harm to you, then I must ask that you release this man. It is uncouth to hold him like this if..."
Loerik snapped off Phil's hand with an irritated shrug. "I don't like people sneaking up on me, Prince." he growled "And thats what he just did." he put his face right next to Xellos' "Don't do that again." he warned, and released him with a huff, striding a few steps away, not really caring about his friends or the fact that they were watching him as he walked. He collected his thoughts, turned away from them, as they talked with the newcomer.
"Marcus, you know that weirdo?" Fezra asked.
"Barely. He once gave me some advice and then just left. By the way, Xellos, you haven't answered my question. What are you doing here?"
"Well, I was in the neighbourhood, you see. Was just strolling around-"
"In the middle of uninhabited forest?" Berwen cut in sarcastically.
"Why yes! And so I saw you, examining those ruins - I know of them, its kind of one of my places to be to reminisce - and stumped about this stone you've found."
Loerik looked sideways, where the rest of the group, still at a somewhat cautious distance from the priest, were discussing intently. Hallia was the only one who turned to him as he looked, giving him a concerned look he responded to with a gentle shrug and a shake of his head. A stone? When had they found a stone? Not that he WOULD know, since he'd spent the day trying to do anything BUT looking around the place.
Fezra was starting to get worked up over this Xellos, that was plain. "So you were just around, coincidentally. You saw us, coincidentally. And finally, always coincidentally, you saw the stone we were just arguing about!" She glared "Did I get all of this right?"
The priest only kept grinning. "Not quite, not quite. Coincidentally, I know just whom you need to understand the LANGUAGE on the stone." At that, he glanced at Loerik pointedly. All froze for moment, before all eyes locked on the swordsman.
Being the center of attention wasn't something Loerik Gabriev yearned for, or wanted. Three years of solitude, of mindlessly following orders and of spending lonely days sharpening his swordsmanship and trying to ignore the filth and injustice around him couldn't be erased by a few weeks with others who, seemingly, had the ability to bring back the young man who had been exiled from all he had. He frowned at Xellos darkly.
"I don't know what this...guy...is talking about." he said gruffly, daring anyone to say anything. He saw Fezra open her mouth, and he grinned inwardly. Trust her to walk into a very deadly glare and not care about it, he thought. Before she could start in a tirade, he raised his eyebrows dubiously. "But since you found a stone, I'm willing to look at it and - what- HEY HEY HEEEEEEEEEY!" He shouted suddenly, as Marcus, Fezra, Berwen, Hallia and Phillionel all seemed to SHIFT from a few meters away and near him, grabbing him all and hoisting him. His mind was barely seizing on to the fact that he was being transported - and that that annoying priest was following behind, snickering merrily - before being deposited just as swiftly.
He shook their hands off him, although he frankly minded Hallia's less than the others', and glared at them. "DAMMIT, YOU PEOPLE ARE CRAZY!!!" he screamed in complete exasperation - his shout had no effect on them all, as he'd surmised, and he turned round in dejection. Thats when his eyes fell on the stone.
Tall, like a rough pillar of white marble, it stood at the base of the stairs leading to the crumbling, once-majestic entrance to the ancient elven temple. Words, he saw, were indeed wrought upon it, all graceful letters of a language no one knew today. Almost no one, except a few old scholars.
"And people from Mipross." he sighed as he saw the words. It read
Deliani askara linaithe salanka
Zelth commol-khaï nuh karastha
Oprue deliani shol ku sal-thara
Ancient elvish. Used only amongst the clerics of Mipross today, however though it had been the war language of the allied races during the war of resurrection. As his mother, Mellyroon, had been an elven priestess of some consequence, he knew enough to know what the words mean, even though it eluded brighter people such as Fezra, Hallia, or even Marcus. With a sigh, he drew the Sword of Light's hilt, and activated it, holding it in front of him.
"Zelth commol-khu fer valada. S...err...um...Shukilan sha...ah! Shukilan sha-bokhy als valada!" he intoned in the halting Ancient Elvish the entire family had been taught since they could talk. For a moment, nothing happened, and he heard grunts from behind him. Yet he didn't budge, still holding his sword in front of him. He expected something, they all did, yet they were all surprised when it happened.
The stone shone brightly for a moment, and he squinted as a form flashed into existence. He blinked. Then blinked again. He couldn't believe it.
In front of him was the image of a man. Tall, nearly as tall as Phillionel, he had an athletic physique to match, an hard, granite-like face with roughly cut brown hair, wearing a suit of heavy armor with seemingly frightening ease. But what made Loerik quiver was the look in the man's eyes. A deadly look promising a swift end if one crossed his path, a terrible ruthlessness wrapped in tight, overwhelming honor and integrity. At his hip, the Sword of Light lay, looking far newer. Even before the image spoke, Loerik thought they all knew who the man was.
"Greeting." boomed a strong, no nonsense voice ripe with quiet power and dignity. "Bearer of the Sword of Light, worthy swordsman. I am Gabriev, the one they call The Swordsmaster. You have come here to enter a place barred from all but the worthy, for what this temple contains, no ordinary people may use. The stone has felt your soul and has felt your worth. You may enter." the apparition paused, then seemed to skin Loerik alive. "To the new bearer of the Sword: never fail it, never fail yourself, and victory shall always be yours."
And with that, Gabriev, one of the First Knights and the very first Swordsman of Light, vanished, leaving them all dazed. It was then that Xellos, who had been standing not far away from Loerik's position, seemed to say the impossible, even as the ruined doors began to open.
"Strange. I remember him being a little bit taller than that... Oh well! Lets all have fun!!!!"
* * * * * * * * * *
"The sea. Such a beautiful song, such a work of nature's power. If I could see it, if only I could, this city would be perfect."
Rezo, of course, could 'see', in a fashion. His powers were vast, and had afforded him that much. He had spells which could help him read just like he was a normal person, spells which could allow him to walk about unaided, just like those with the wondrous gift of sight. He even had an ongoing spell on himself which permitted him to 'know' the details of objects and people, of his whole surroundings.
That is why, as he stood on his mansion's balcony and looked out, that he 'knew' what made Sairaag such a beautiful cities. A city of faith, rivalling Sailune itself with its churches and temples, made it an architectural wonder of pillars, towers and soaring buildings. He could 'see' the docks farther off, where ships upon ships were docked, carrying goods from the rest of Lyzeille and from farther lands, he distinctively 'saw the many gurgling fountains doting the city, the small parks where he himself sometimes strolled in the evening.
And beyond all other beauties, there was the Holy Tree Flagoon, looming powerfully and benevolently over the area, a gift from the Swordsman of Light, who had rid this place of a terrible evil when he had been but an apprentice. Sairaag was truly today a city of peace, a place to be admired as the best that mankind could accomplish.
But for all that beauty, it remained that he didn't truly see it. His eyes, closed since the day he was born, refused to allow him sight, and no matter what he did, no matter the remedies he concocted or the spells he crafted, nothing worked. Only this void ever greeted his vision, this nothingness which didn't understand colors or shapes. Sometimes, the unfairness of it all truly overwhelmed him.
Born blind to middling sorcerors, he had been lucky that his parents, seeing his blindness, hadn't cast him out, but instead sacrificed their studies to craft the first spells which artificially afforded him a form of sight. Soon learning that magic might cure his blindness, that its force was a power which had produced miracles, he had devoted his life to it, enduring the ridicule those with sight bestowed upon him.
He had learned white magic, going from apprentice to white sorceror in a matter of years. And yet the solution didn't appear. He then travelled to Zefielia and learned Black Magic, making money quite quickly with his powerful concoctions, and devoting much of it to opening places where the maimed or deprived ones could have care. He became a master the dark arts quickly - strangely quickly, a part of his mind had always nagged him. And yet it wasn't enough. He had then gone around learning all he could of high-level shamanism from the hidden cabals, doing his best to help others, whether killing trolls attacking a village or curing a ailing baby. He had become a master of Shamanism as well. His image had become famous. He had become revered throughout the known world. The people called him the Red Priest, and did him honour. Children came to him in the streets. Women blushed and giggled as he passed. Warriors and sorcerors alike bowed to him.
He was loved by all, respected by all. And yet, at times, he would give it all away, if only to see the sunrise just once.
"There's no time for this bout of self-pity, you old fool." he remonstrated himself sternly, turning away from Sairaag itself. "Don't flatter yourself so much. Its not like you never made mistakes, no matter what the ministrels say. Now let go of that which is beyond your reach yet and concentrate on the problem at hand."
This scathing, self-reproving talk worked...barely. The longing remained, but his mind managed to shake off the depression he felt. He had work to do.
"Father? You called for us?" an hesitant voice called out and he turned towards the sound. Immediately the spelled relayed distinctive information, and he knew everything.
Kala Redcloak looked at him, small and fragile, her brown hair cascading down her shoulders, her mauve eyes looking at him firmly and willfully. She had inherited much from her mother. He winced inwardly. His mother, whom he had bedded in ignorance, had actually been the child he had had as a very young man with another apprentice. He hadn't been told until too late, yet the guilt remained the same. He had slept with his own daughter. The horror of the thought had made him scorn any further intimate relations with anyone. Kala, his daughter and yet granddaughter, knew nothing of this and never would, if he had any say in the matter.
Beside her, a young man. Lionel Greysword, average, lanky, dressed in apprentice garb as she, he was a man of intelligence and clarity, even though he could sometimes be aloof with others. Rezo knew that he and his daughter were beginning to feel sentiments which went beyond friendship, yet he didn't try to stop it. He wouldn't ruin things when they seemed to be going so well. Of course, however, if Lionel hurt her, the magical retribution would be severe. Very, very, severe.
He nodded. "Indeed I did. I wanted you to hear about the message I've received from the Guild in Atlas. It appears they've sent a lad by the name of Marcus Jaderam to investigate our suspicions."
"Jaderam?" Lionel mused in his serious fashion. "I've heard of him. Extremely talented sorceror, they say."
"True. I have heard he might be the best the guild trained since..." he smirked slightly "Well, since me, I suppose. Whatever the case, what imports is the last message he sent to them. It seems that there might be trouble in the southern forests of Sailune. More precisely, around the elven ruins we visited once."
Kala frowned. "Elven magic? I cannot believe they would seek it. It would be no help to them."
"We may have been looking at this all the wrong way. Maybe those temples aren't clues to the Hidden Lores...." Lionel retorted in risen excitation.
"...but in fact, they might just be where the Hidden Lores are hidden, or at least some of them."
"But the spells on the ruins are impenetrable."
"Nothing is if you have the tools. And if Jaderam has gone there, it is perhaps a sign that such tools might be going in use shortly." he paused for a moment, then cleared his throat. "I cannot move yet. Jaderam is known as a loose cannon, and so repercussions would be minimal if he messed up. I can't help because I am not a loose cannon, and that I can't take sides." he pointed at them "But you two are still my apprentices. You are not yet bound by the guild. That is why I must ask you to help me."
"Anything, sir." the young man said readily. Rezo nodded, then uncovered a thick book, with an ancient, wrinkled leather binding and covered in crafted runic symbols. Both apprentices looked at it intently, and the Red Priest knew they had felt the power coming from it.
"What you are feeling are the spells the writer of that manuscript used to keep it safe. It is full of magical traps and musn't be read by the unwary. However, you should read it because its magic does not permit my magical eyesight to do so. Finding out what she wrote will be important, and I fear it might not be enough. We are running to catch with whatever is about to happen. Things are going to pass, and we must be ready as can be."
"On The Magic Sealed Away, Mysteries Best Left Untouched, by...Sai Lune of the Faithful Men?!?" Kala read with a gasp, looking at Rezo. The Red Priest merely turned back to observing what he could sense of Sairaag. "Father, is this...is this truly...?"
"Yes. This was written by Sai Lune, shortly before he was crowned King by the people he had shepherded after the War. It will help us." he sighed "I only hope this will be enough."
"Sir?" Lionel inquired.
"Elven Temples. Forbidden Lores. War and people rushing to things unseen. Something is about to happen. And I fear none will be able to stop it all this time."
And although he couldn't see their faces, Rezo knew they understood, and feared the meaning of his words. The world, as they said, was going in for a ride shortly. He only hoped his work and the work of others would prevent it from having too many disastrous bumps. Because if it did, things might tip over.
And if that happened, Ceipheed help the world.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dallomir knew they were close. Very close. The magical traps had been harder and harder to detect and unstring, the twists and turns in the labyrinthine catacombs built beneath the temple. Once used to hide elven wealth from marauders, then used as a futile hiding place when Lei Magnus' forces had slaughtered the entire priestly order, it had been strengthened manyfold by survivors of the Triad Army under the orders of the First Knights, the greatest heroes who had fought in humanity's name against the Mazoku. It was a very clever labyrinth, and he was quite certain that, in usual conditions, he never would have made it to the end. After all, this was the work of people who had made their way through the lethal labyrinth where Lei Magnus made war upon the world, controlled as he was by Shabranigdu.
However, they had left plans of the maze intact...just in case.
It was known that Falana's scroll remained sealed away somewhere in Zefiela, and Sai Lune had sealed his own somewhere around the future capital of the realm bearing his name, while Gabriev had simply burned his. Two had been lost over the years, and had become legendary, then mythical. People didn't believe in them anymore.
But Dallomir had. Even before the THAT battle, he had believed. He had believed because SHE had. Because she was always right, and that was that. She had always been able to predict anything, his Sheila. His perfect goddess, Sheila.
"But they thought they'd be clever and thought they could kill you, Sheila, they did think that." he muttered voicelessly so that the other two - the foolish idealist and that childlike psychopath - could hear their conversation.
'They were fools, of course, my love. I had it all prepared, everything was there for you, to make them pay for their insolence.' came a voice he knew as hers. She always talked to his mind.
He studied the plan, placing his hand on different sections of what appeared to be a bare wall, feeling the blocks shift under his hand. "They'll be sorry, my love, they will. Your plan is swiftly coming to fruition." The voice didn't respond. A second later there was a clicking sound, then a rumbling noise. "All this because of the plan you found Sheila. Your legacy to all of Lumeria." He turned to the other and spoke loudly, drawing himself stiffly. "Beware. If this information is correct, this is where they hid some of the Lores. Although the plan has helped us evade the various traps, I daresay they prepared something, just in case someone ever managed to get a hold of one."
Jomekin actually grinned at this, his childish face showing the sort of glee no innocent child could ever have, while Mellinius looked rather worried. The weak fool's resolve was weakening by the moment, eh? Well, they would see about that when he had whatever was in there.
Firmly they entered, a place where darkness prevailed, with only their light spells illuminating. With a conscious effort, Dallomir concentrated and illuminated the room. When they could see all there was to see, the middle aged sorceror's heart nearly stopped, so much did rage take him.
"There's nothing here!" cried Mellinius.
It was nothing more than the truth. The room they were standing here might once have been a chamber used to hide non-combatants away from harm, for the circular room of stone was very large, large enough to accomodate at least fifty people. But it was bare. Its walls were smooth, with no adornments anywhere. There wasn't even a piece of furniture, much less the wealth of magical knowledge he had hoped to uncover.
"How can this be?!?" he muttered in fury "Everything points to this, everything seems to say that the First Knight sealed items and scrolls of power here!" He shook his fist at the empty wall. "WHERE ARE THE LORES, DAMN YOU TO OBLIVION!!!!" he screamed, his voice reverberating and echoing to and fro between the walls.
"All of this for nothing!" Jomekin griped bitterly "All of our work, all the hard labor, for an empty room!"
"Then Lumeria is truly vanquished." the younger sorceror lamented. The man-child gave him an angry look that spoke volumes about how much he cared about THAT, yet didn't respond. Was there indeed any point to it anymore, now that their hopes had been cruelly dashed?
Dallomir felt, for the first time in many years, completely lost. Sheila, the beloved woman who had known so much, the person who had been killed by those wretched Elmekian sorcerors, had been wrong. It could not be, his mind raved, but what else was there? There was nothing here, nothing but blank walls which stared back at him impassively, an high ceiling of polished stone and a tiled floor which...
Which...was...uneven?
The mage looked more closely at the floor, even going out on his knees to inspect. Clearly, some of the tiles were just slightly higher. So slight was it, that it would take a very observant eye - like his own were - to notice the difference. Slight elevation...which form seemed to be reminiscent of...
He frowned in deep thought, a task he found very taxing due to the lamentations going on behind him. "SILENCE!" he roared, and they obeyed, out of surprise if nothing else. Still he fixed the tiles, deciphering a pattern. There was something here, a curve of some kind. The glow of the light spell didn't help, he reduced it slightly, poking around, moving until he had an idea of what to look for, then rose and looked at the floor entirely.
Then his frown left his brow, and he began to chuckle, an amused, awed chuckle to those who had almost thwarted him. "So little seen! The plan was only a part! You begone rascals, how very cunning!" he exclaimed in his mirth.
"I know this is going to sound silly to ask, especially since you have all of this figured out," Jomekin griped, his absurdly youthful face greatly negating the glare he was giving "But wouldn't you mind sharing the secret, sir. Just so we might know what is so damn funny!"
Dallomir grinned at them smugly, inwardly wondering why he'd brought such fools to witness the true triumph his perfect Sheila had left behind. He remembered a time when he had valued Mellinius' knowledge and zeal. There was even a time where he had felt pity for the poor Jomekin, and had tried his best to steer the man away from his path of self-destruction. All of this today was clouded, that part of his mind seemed far away. A dream. All he could think was that Sheila had been right, and that he had no time to waste on futile explanations.
As such, he merely lifted his arms and called upon the powers he had, filling his soul with the sweet power that was magic. "Energy of Eternity, Power of the Eternal Light and Darkness, bring forth your true face and allow us on our way. The Power Commands and I decree, rise and allow passage to these who know!"
As his incantation ended, the rock which had been elevated split asunder, revealing golden stems which rode out of the ground, arching slightly inward, while a piece of the ceiling also split, revealing a descending globe of pure silver. The globe ended its descent far above Dallomir, who now stood in the center of the slim gold pillars, and sparked brightly, filling the room with a light outclassing normal spells. A humming noise began as the gold and silver touched, and the globe shone as the sun. Dallomir grinned in giddy realization, muttering excitedly as his low-intelligence accomplices shielded their eyes, and then gawked at the construct.
"Ceipheed preserve us all." Mellinius whispered in a mixture of fear and awe. "What is that construct."
"Do you not recognize it? I am disappointed in you, Mellinius. A loremaster like you should remember an Asvai-Kadellin!"
"Asv...are you telling me that this actually is...?"
"Yes!" he laughed "An elven transport device, which can run to long distances, hundreds of miles if I remember. Used extensively by the elven and human armies during the War of Resurrection, nearly all lost or destroyed today. So OBVIOUS! The First Knights didn't put the Hidden Lores in some Ruins! All this map is supposed to tell us is to take us where the TRUE hiding place for them are!"
"Then... this means that all the traps we bypassed because of the map..." Jomekin muttered.
"All deterrents. All a trick to keep us away from THIS!" he gestured at the transport device wildly. "And now we are ready! We will find the Hidden Lores they hid away so long ago!" And then he started to laugh again, uncaring of the others, uncaring of anything but one thought.
Sheila, I will have your legacy fulfilled!
* * * * * * * * * *
"AAAAAAH!"
"LOOK OUT, HALLIA!"
It took a moment for Hallia to register that a great boulder was falling directly on her from the ceiling, a split second to scream and realize the shouted warning Phil gave as the peril became clear. None of these were in any way helpful to her situation, and the end result would probably have been that her short life would have ended abruptly, crushed by a falling rock. So lame it wouldn't even be laughable.
However, fate intervened. In the form of a large body which slammed into her, cutting off her breath, air gushing out of her lungs as she was thrown away and seemingly crushed under a terrible weight. A moment of confusion and panic followed, but by the time her wits once again gathered, it had shifted away from her. She gulped in air by mouthfuls, thankful to be alive, yet hurting from the fall and stress. Forcing herself to a sitting position, she looked right into a pained Loerik's face, who was holding one arm close to his body. He gave her a wan grin.
"That was pretty close, eh, priestess? Sure glad you didn't end up flat." he gasped.
She gave him back his look. "You could have been killed too, you know. Why...?"
She was fortunately saved from this suddenly rather slippery and uncertain conversation by the others in the groups rushing. Fezra looked like she wanted to laugh at the incident, but couldn't her relief apparent. Berwen looked upset about it all - this not being the first time they had set off a trap in pursuit of those they by now knew were before them. Marcus and Zashtla were looking at the Boulder critically, as if they could understand everything from its surface. As for the prince, he looked ready to lunge at something to smite it, but couldn't find a target. Narie...well...luckily they had left Narie in the hands of priests back at the town. She never would have survived the stress in her precarious state.
An hand came to help her up, and she took it. She rose to her feet and only then looked at the one who had helped her. It wasn't any of her friends. It was HIM.
"Weeeeeellll!" Xellos said to her with that insufferable and ever-present grin. "Close is the right word! One second later, and you BOTH would have been squashed." She shivered when she almost detected a wistful note to the last part. Unreadable, and possessed of a dangerous personality, the so called 'Trickster Priest' had. She truly didn't trust him.
Nor, it seemed, did the others. At his words all of the others glared, and Fezra grabbed him, dragging his face to her angry one. "What do you mean by that?!? You sound like you'd enjoy that!"
"Now, I didn't say I'd ENJOY-"
"And what about the fact you always seem to know about the traps but only tell us when we're just about to set the thing off." Zashtla growled, hefting a blade which should have been to heavy for her frame.
He sighed, his grin disappearing. "Well, if you must know..."
Everyone waited expectantly. Then the grin reappeared
"...THAT is a SECRET!"
Fezra punched him once. In the face. Hard. He was knocked backward, and before he could recover she was on him, obviously trying to throttle him, flinging curses at him. Although neither liked Xellos much, Marcus and Phillionel interceded, peeling the ranting sorceress off as Zashtla and Berwen looked on with a certain degree of grim amusement. Hallia shook her head and looked at Loerik, and found him clutching his arm more tightly.
It was then that she realized why her chest had felt so crush, that her breath had been cut off so abruptly. He had cushioned their fall - protected her - and had broken his arm in the process. And was too darn proud to say it, too! Snorting in exasperation at the dumb feelings men sometimes entertained, she stepped to him. He regarded her arrival warily, his eyes trying and failing to hide the pain he felt.
Before he could do or say anything, Hallia put her hands on the arm, focusing her powers to direct the white magic flow into a quiet healing spell. He gritted his teeth as the bones began to reset, but his face cleared again - in obvious relief - when the pain receded.
"Thanks." he said fervently. She sniffed.
"If you'd just told me you were hurt, I'd have healed you right away."
"I know, I know. Sorry. Mercenary habits - never to show weakness - die hard." he answered with finality. Although she yearned to continue the discussion they had begun on weakness and strength, she swallowed her words and chose another burning point.
"Thats twice you've directly put your life in danger for me." she swallowed, an unusual feeling making butterflies in ther body. She licked her lips. "Why did you do that? I mean, you told me it was a debt repaid with that bastard swordsman, but you owed me nothing now. Yet you just...well, thank you." she said, at a loss, her words and feelings mingling. He kept looking in her direction. Yet he wouldn't meet her eyes, she noted.
"I suppose I got that from my parents and my upbringing." he said at length
"Your upbringing...." she reflected on that "Wait...upbringing...what was your upbringing? I mean, you could actually read an ancient type of elvish, I..."
"Kallantai."
"What?"
Loerik looked away. "The elvish you're talking about...its called Kallantai." he said at length, undefinable emotions playing hide and seek in his voice. His posture, his tone, everything about him told of containment, something simmering in his soul. "Its...its very ancient. I don't think...I don't think many humans would know of it today. But then I'm...special."
"Special?" she asked curiously. What could he mean? He was an exceptional master swordsman, she had seen enough of those to know that much in the last three years. He was rough, yet hiding a sort of sadness. Not knowledgeable of some human lands, and yet knowing of elvish. Her eyes started to widen. He said he came from Elmekia, didn't he? But, in a legend, they say that in Elmekia...
He nodded, probably reading her expression. "Right. I come from Mipross."
She felt like her head would explode. Mipross? The elven lands lost to humans, disconnected from the world thirty years ago. But the elven lands...I mean, the elven lands were elvish. And the man didn't look elvish one bit, and she couldn't resist blurting it out like a fool. "But you're not an elf!" she hissed, and immediately regretted it as he flinched, his face paling a little.
"No..." he swallowed hard "No, I'm not. I'm an half-elf. An half-elf who chose humans as his race when he came of age." he looked down and away from her, his face, always so strong, now vulnerable. Not knowing what she was doing, not recognizing why, she stepped forward and took hold of his forearm. He turned his face to look at her, his expression surprised. Surprised, pleased and...wasn't there a spark of something else?
"C'MON YOU TWO! WE GOTTA GET GOIN'!"
Fezra's bellow forced them apart, and before she could reinitiate the contact with this sad, remarkable man who held so many secrets, he had turned away, walking back to where Philionel and Marcus were arguing about how to avoid traps. Fezra bustled next to her, and Hallia, turning angrily, bumped her hand over the sorceress' head in uncharacteristic anger.
"You...Fezra...sometimes you really make me want to hurt you with your attitude!" She growled, and left her friend standing there, rubbing her head and wondering. She strode to where Zashtla was and tried to forget the opening she had seen in the warrior's armor, how he had almost opened himself to her.
And how she inwardly regretted that it was lost for now.
________________________________________________________
The Triad Army: The combined human, elven and dragon forces who fought against the mazoku hordes, ultimately stalling them enough for Ceipheed and the Water Dragon King to conclude a desperate plan which prevented Shabranigdo's full resurrection. Known as the largest army ever fielded in the world at its height, only a few hundreds of each race's soldiers survived the conflict. The most renowned of the Triad Army are the First Knights amongst Humans, The Fallah-Karai for the elves and the Five Ashgivers amongst the Dragons.
Sai Lune: An historical figure. Born in obscurity, he shaped much of what is today known as White Magic, and was the most powerful human priest in the War of Resurrection and served as one of the legendary First Knights, fighting alongside people such as Gabriev and Falana of the Five Winds. After the war, he shepherded many people and built a town, of which he was crowned king by popular vote in 8 AR. At his death in 27 AR, his son renamed the town Sailune, which would become the center of culture, and the center of the powerful kingdom of the same name.
AR: Current Calendar, meaning After the Resurrection. The current year is 983 AR.