"Today, on this ground, we will erect a new town. Let Ceipheed look upon it and be glad, for it will be part of humanity's rebirth on this world. Let the sorrows of war wash away from you, and all together gather in the hopes of a dream - that of a peaceful future."
- Sai Lune, speaking to the War of Resurrection's survivors at the place where Sailune would soon stand, exactly one year after the war ended.
"Fearless? Are you crazy? There's no one more scared than I am in a fight. That's why I could defeat Zannafar - I know how to fear. He did not."
- Kerlig Gabriev, the 'Swordsman of Light', to a rather gushing Sairaag citizen, 909 AR
Chapter Nine
Contrary to what some believed, Loerik wasn't a man who truly went looking for fights. He would object to this perception with all of his considerable might. He did not, he would always say, even in later years, that he wasn't one who looked for trouble. He was a man to whom trouble seemed to run into him no matter how he wished it wouldn't do so.
The present situation made him want to curse at the universe itself. Facing any master swordsman was an ordeal. Facing an excellent master swordsman with a penchant for insanity and hate was even less palatable. And he knew that the dangerous swordsman named Kalarus was exactly that - a powerful sword swinger with a queer light in his hate-filled face, looking for blood.
His blood.
"Hallia! Get out of here, now!" he told the priestess who stood beside her. Without waiting for any protest or reply, he thrust her away behind him with one strong arm, and stepped forward, his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword, his body poised like a snake about to lash out.
His enemy gave a giggle, which cut through the skin down to the bone. "At last, Gabriev, at last..."
Without warning, the older swordsman leaped forward, bringing his sword up in a perfect arc that was parried by Loerik's rising steel. The blades moved, separated. Parry met thrust. Slash met strike. Two swords began to move in a duelling symphony, their steely music echoing despite the chaos around them. The battle seemed almost like a ballet, a deadly one with life being the price of the winner, death the only boon the loser would glean.
Loerik was afraid, for good reason. He knew that, somehow, his death had become a sort of obsession for Kalarus - he could read it in every strike he blocked. The fear surged, but found itself pulled and routed through canalization. The training he had received from his father, the discipline and skill passed down through the Gabriev family took control. He forced himself to feel, not to block feelings, to live between each intake of breath.
Kalarus stroke for his abdomen, he barely parried it pushing the attack upward and away, only to face it from another angle before he could retaliate. He jumped to the side to avoid it, but didn't quite manage. The blade bit in the leather, which protected his lower body, drawing blood. He groaned, but was on the move even as realized he had been hit. He swerved, turning somewhat on himself- and ducked just as the swing that would have decapitated him swung. As it passed over his head, he was already rising, and his blade cut a deep wound, cracking his opponent's ribs despite the mail the other man wore. An angry clash was repulsed, and both then stood, facing each other, eyes glazed, and one with the sword, having become weapons themselves.
The fighting around the village stopped having significance. All except Kalarus became unsubstantial even as a thrill came, overriding the rest of the fear. The thrill of danger and of challenge. The two stayed poised upon the edge, both unheedful the bleeding wound they had received.
Then Kalarus's blade rose a fraction, bringing about the spark, which was needed to light the terrible fire. Two tall, armoured men lunged at themselves with a grace and a brutality that was as powerful as it was amazing.
The Sword of Light flashed against Kalarus' Bloodrider, as the two forms engaged a series of thrusts and recovery, of parry and blocks. Their arms moved faster than was possible, forced into a sort of semi-state of energetic precision. I mere moments, a dozen attacks had been launched and repelled on both sides, the blade touching one moment and twirling the next.
Twice again Loerik hit his opponent, and twice he was hit - none of the wounds being anything dangerous, all mostly deflected from skill, fast reflexes and tough bodies. Muscles tensed, gazes locked. Loerik brought his sword up with deliberate slowness, up with his right arm, even as his hand gracefully came to rest before him. With the same skill but less finesse, Kalarus brought his into a two-handed grip, blade perfectly horizontal. Both men assessed each other for a second that seemed to stretch forever. Breath was forgotten, as both stood ready.
Then, wordlessly, without any signal being given, they rushed at each other with all the energy they could muster.
Loerik deflected the horizontal thrust with an swing from above, retaliating with a quick slash which was turned, defending once more as the enemy sword came right at his face. He thrust himself backward, the blade barely missing from smashing into his face, kicking with his left foot, hitting something even as he managed to use training and the eleven blood which ran in his veins to backflip, landing steadily enough on his feet, immediately striking forward, meeting his opponent head on. Once again, steel met steel in deadly deadlock as the dance continued.
Ceipheed, he felt so ALIVE!!
The duel continued, both deploying all of their means to ultimately be the victor. It was clear that Kalarus had the most experience with a blade, while Loerik had the greater stamina. Their blades - respectively of elven steel and master smith craftsmanship - were roughly equal since he found himself refusing to use the magical powers of the Sword of Light. All that they could do was keep on feinting and attacking, defending and gauging, caught in a deadly whirlwind which, had they known, caused other fighters in the village to either stare or flee outright.
When the stalemate was finally broken, it was only a small thing. A slight variation. More than enough between swordsmen of this level.
The fight had taken its toll on Kalarus just before it had on Loerik, it seemed. As the blades smashed against each other and gracefully pulled back to continue the dance, the older mercenary's arm trembled for the strain, loosening the one-handed hold he had at that moment. It was only a fleeting second, a moment to regain the grasp. But the black-haired swordsman had seen the tiny mistake, and had reacted automatically. His sword flashed in a quick curve, smashing through the momentarily-opened defences, carving a gouge thought the enemy's face from left cheek to eyebrow, gouging and shearing in a sudden, bloody attack.
Kalarus reeled back; giving a cry that was more sheer hate than agony, clutching his face, blood pouring through his fingers. He flailed away with his blade, futilely trying to keep the younger man at bay. But his defences were down. He was helpless as the Sword of Light swept Bloodrider from his maddened grasp. Steeling himself inwardly, with a quick inward prayer to Ceipheed, Loerik Gabriev brought his sword up for the coup de grace.
He didn't take one step before his rush was interrupted.
The ground erupted in flames, and he was thrown backward, tumbling off to one side, momentarily blinded by the heat. The strength had to have been made with a fireball. He squinted, blinked tear-filled eyes and saw that, as his instinct had told him, a sorcerer was amongst the attacking raiders. Obviously, the wizard had thought he could finish him - or them both - in one fireball. He whirled around. No Kalarus, but no remains either. Where the devil was the blasted man! He'd come looking to fight! He should at least have the guts to accept defeat. Bereft of his foe, unheeding of the soothing, which came from his reason, Loerik shot a grim smile at the sorcerer even as his bloodlust coagulated in the suddenly-uncertain bastard.
"You wanna take me on, mage?" he smirked, contempt rolling off his voice as he unfastened the blade from the hilt of his sword and presented it in front of him. "You've just made my day."
Just then he coughed, and he was surprised to see blood there. Obviously some of the hits he had taken in the duel were quite deep. But it didn't really matter to him somehow, deep as he was in the thrill of a fight. He griped the hilt tighter as the sorcerer began chanting again, and spoke the words Gabrievs had uttered for thirty generations.
The light of the blade immediately sprung to life, forming the fearsome agent of ancient, mystical power. Kalarus had wanted a fight, and so he hadn't used his magical blade. But the deal was off now. An enemy soldier attacked him, and he cleaved the man in half, the magical force slashing the man to pieces.
Loerik Gabriev smiled, adrenaline trampling self-disgust.
Without a moment of hesitation, he charged the frantic sorcerer; certain he would have one more to his personal death toll.
* * * * * * * * * *
Fezra saw a bit of the tremendous duel, which occurred between Loerik, and that man she had immediately recognized - from stories she'd heard from her friends - as that bastard Kalarus. She had known Loerik was an excellent swordsman, but not THAT much. She didn't have time to stand and gape at the whirlwind of blade strikes occurring not far away, and neither could Marcus who stood just a few feet away. The two swordsmen may have put fear into the raiders, insuring that they'd be left quite alone, but the rest of the group hadn't been quite fortunate. Already she'd nailed eight raiders, and Marcus and she had then been caught in a fight against the four spellcasters amongst the raiding party.
Two-on-one were never good odds. However, they soon discovered that the enemy was second-rate, hardly anywhere near their level. Their shields held against the spells thrown their way, while they themselves launched volley after volley of their own. Fezra's powerful flare arrows - all Inverse sorcerers had always been extremely gifted in anything having to do with fire - and Marcus's admittedly potent freeze arrows mingling and battering the enemy. Within minutes, six more enemy soldiers had died, one of the wizards lay unmoving, and another had gone off Ceipheed knew where. The two that remained, however, were definitely a pain, she decided as another spell impacted her shield.
The throwing of spells, coupled with the days of hard travel she hadn't fully recuperated from, were taking a toll on her. She was tiring. But damn if she was going to show it. Inverses were known as many things - greedy bastards, dangerous psychos, roguish wizards and many other things had been their names at one time or another - but never quitters or cowards. She wasn't about to add that sort of name to the family tradition!
So she hid her fatigue, strengthened her shield, and grinned cheekily to the man who stood next to her. "Hey Marcus! These guys just don't know when to quit while they're ahead, do they?"
"I know, it's a real drag right now, ain't it?" he deadpanned, his own shield still holding, although she could see tiny signs of exertion. "I think we better try giving in to bigger spells if we want to take these two bastards here!"
She knew he was right. The enemy wasn't anywhere as strong as they were, but they were strong enough that simple flare arrows wouldn't put them away. Bigger spells, however, were a tricky business, especially in a town where, amidst damaged stores and buildings and small fires, groups of farmers - and three friends - were fighting off the raiders themselves. They would never say it out loud, but they needed every ally they had, strained as the moment was.
Still, what choice did they truly have? The farmers, as desperately and as bravely as they fought to protect family and home, weren't a match for trained warriors. Hallia was more a healer than a wizard. Loerik, who could probably have made things more even, was locked in a deadly fight. And finally Zasthla couldn't hope to hold her ground forever; no matter the fact she was quite gifted with a blade herself and already had killed many enemies.
Loerik was too occupied to do anything; Hallia and Zasthla were out of her sight. Yes, Marcus' proposition had merits, as reluctant as she was to recognize it. Damn. Damn damn DAMN!!"
"ARRGH!! Dammit! Okay, then!" she growled, focusing "Lets give them lots of things to think 'bout!"
She turned to Marcus, who started to nod back to her, and then shouted. "Look out, Fez!!"
Instinctive shielding barely saved her. Knowing from the way the fight was and the direction her friend was turning, she threw all she could into her shield at that very spot. However, she was so hasty in doing so that, although the shield broke up the fireball, which the stronger of the two wizards had thrown, it didn't really negate the flames surrounding it. The flood reached her, engulfed her in fire. For a moment, she screamed in pure pain and terror.
However, Fezra Inverse was made of even sterner stuff then that. Barely a split second later, control returned, and she used her magic to wash away the flames from her body. She emerged from the inferno, singed, but still kicking. And quite beyond angry. She glared in murderous rage at the increasingly panicky enemies, blowing away one soldier who came too close with a Bram Blazer.
"Okay! If that's how you want to play the game, screw all the rules! The village'll have to take its chances. Lets give it to them, Marcus!"
She was so concentrated; she didn't hear the fact that there had been no reply from his side. She put her hands in front of herself, deliberately letting the magical shield fall to minimal strength. It wouldn't hold long this way, but she didn't mean to use it. Enough defensive offence. It was time for a full-blazing attack!
She channelled the power, centering herself in the middle of an inferno, the wrath of the Demon-Dragon, fighting the energies with the strength of her soul, as few sorcerers could control such powerful spells. Finally they gathered, as her shield weakened even more, and she released her attack towards her enemies.
"GAAV FLARE!"
Her attack sped towards her enemies, a burning beam, stronger than any shield she knew they could muster. They only had the time to shield their faces before it hit, vaporizing them, and a good portion of the ground. The magical heat found it's way to her, but she ignored it. Instead she turned a furious mien towards her fellow wizard.
"Marcus, you dumbass!" she growled in a voice that belied her slim stature, eyes ablaze. "Couldn't you have given me a ha....nd?"
She stopped as she saw her red-haired friend, stiff, eyes staring, not dead or wounded but seemingly in a state of deep shock. So deep, in fact, that he was staring at her unseeing, as if he had seen a ghost. The pallor of his skin was more than a bit frightening, and it took everything she had not to recoil from him altogether. Events, however, conspired to make it so that she didn't even have much of a choice.
The fighting in the village hadn't quite died down yet, although it seemed now that the farmers were gaining ground ever so slowly, their numbers overshadowing the skills of their opponents. One group of mercenaries, however, had cut through one fight, and ten of ten broke and sprinted towards them. The danger didn't quite mean anything to people who had lived with it for so long. Their swords gleamed, bloody in parts, as they sped up.
She couldn't truly take them on. The fatigue was too much, the Gaav Flare had been all she was able to muster, the end of her strength. Still, she couldn't leave Marcus there, unknowing, watching a charge with staring eyes. The damn bastard was damn good, and although it irked her to admit, he was the only one - even beyond dear Berwen - whom she looked as a magical equal. It was such a pain. She gritted her teeth hard, cursed despite the tiredness she felt, and too a step to confront the attackers.
She never had time to take more than that one step. Marcus's eyes focused on the arriving swordsmen, and his hands came forward.
A fireball screamed forward, hurtling and exploding in the midst of the enemy, followed by another, then another. And yet another. The succession was insanely quick, certainly drawing into Marcus' very reserve. The area the mercenaries had been soon became little more than a pockmarked, charred patch of land. Nothing was there. Nothing could exist under such an onslaught. And still it continued unabated.
"Marcus!! STOP!!" she screamed, but he only howled in response.
"FIRE! FIRE! Always the fire! It took her, just like it did! Fire, fire everywhere! Fire! Fire!" he screamed with a face that showed such anguish that she choked. The situation was unreal. Marcus Jaderam had always seemed the most reasonable when things became rough. What could have made him snap? A thought struck her. Could it be...?
Her daze was broken, and Marcus' strange funk broken, as Zashtla came into view and called for them to come help the villagers. The sorcerer blinked, hands trembling, as if awakening from a nightmare, and looked around. He spotted her, and gave her a pale, but reasonable look, which was nevertheless crossed by immense relief. And then he was gone, running to help the others in the fight.
Leaving her drained and with possibilities and questions dancing in her head.
Dancing in a way such ideas never quite had. It irritated her. HE irritated her.
And, for a reason that had nothing to do with the strange rage she'd seen, he frightened her.
* * * * * * * * * *
The more Narie saw of Sailune, the more she seemed to find it attractive. It was as clean as a city that size could hope to be. Paved streets ran to and fro, all in good repair by the order of the crown. With Philionel gladly - perhaps, because of the woman who'd look so queenly the other day, too gladly - showing them around, she had been privy to its secrets, its services and its wealth. Sailune, the City of White Magic, the city that had never fallen to any army or wizard for over half a millennia, was truly amazing.
And yet, the more time passed, the more she felt something in her soul everytime she heard Lionel Greysword talk about Sairaag.
"A city of temples, dedicated to Ceipheed and to the Four Dragon-Kings..." she mused as she walked through the royal garden "...entirely surrounded by the ocean, with the Holy Tree Flagoon looming over all, protecting." She fell silent as she continued.
Being a friend of Crown Prince Philionel had had its good points. She had been given fresh priestly clothes to replace the worn ones, and had been put in one of the best guest rooms in the castle. Servants were catering to her. It was ironic. Only a few weeks ago she had been so near to breaking. She probably would have if...if Hallia and Loerik hadn't...
She started to shiver as the memories began to resurface. No! No! Not again! She hugged herself, unknowingly hunching forward, as she was forcibly reminded of her time with the monster known as Kalarus. He had brought her to his tent against her will, pushing her and hurting her along the way. He had terrorized her in a way she had never felt. No because of the madness she had felt, but rather because of a hatred for women, hatred he didn't seem to understand himself, but upon which he thrived.
And then he had started playing with her - 'teaching her a few trick' he had said. She had been powerless against him, and he'd liked that. His eyes almost glowed with pleasure as he began abusing her. She had struggled but it meant nothing - her powers were nullified, and she was no match for him physically. She had screamed, cursed, moaned, and finally pleaded. None of it stopped him. In fact it only seemed to make him feel better than ever, and if Hallia hadn't come when she had, she didn't know if she could have withstood it.
She whimpered aloud. HAD she withstood it? Had she? Or was she simply fooling herself?
A hand gently brushed her back.
She screamed, jumping and turning eyes wide, backing away, the visions of the past flooding the present. For a moment she was back in the tent, with that monster, that sick fiend with the strange eyes. She let out a quick 'nononononono' and back-pedalled. Away. She had to get away! She started to scramble backward.
Away. Get away! Nownownownownow...
"Narie! Narie, snap out of it, its Lionel!" a voice sounded. It clashed with the terror, and pierced her fog of blind terror. Suddenly the tent was gone, and she was standing in the sun, amongst the trees and wandering paths of the gardens, with a brown-haired man looking at her with eyes that showed only confusion, no hatred or madness in them.
She breathed fast, trying to regain her dignity, desperately pulling herself together. "Lionel!" she breathed in what she hoped was a normal voice. "You startled me."
The apprentice to one of the Five Wiseman looked at her with wide eyes, his hand still outstretched towards her. He managed to cough out "Startled? You looked like you were getting an attack out there, and then you went frantic just now. That is all beyond startled! What happened?"
It was a just question, and one she might have answered if only she was certain he'd truly understand. Those who had helped her those first few weeks - Hallia, Zasthla, Berwen, even Loerik and Fezra - had shown her understanding, but also irritation and pity. The pity. She'd been unable to take that even then. Now that she was back in control - she was! She MUST be! - she didn't want to find herself depending on others.
So she simply set her mouth and turned away. "I'd prefer not to talk about it."
It came too angrily; it seems, for the frown deepened into a scowl on the other end. "Maybe not, but if that whatever it was made you jump three feet in the air-"
"I SAID I don't want to talk about it!" she hissed. There was a warning in her voice that had gone in, and it didn't pass unnoticed. Lionel stiffened and took a genuinely insulted air. She sighed as he began to wordlessly turn away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to come out like that. It's just...I went through a really bad thing and...It's still kicking a bit from time to time. So, can we just...not talk about it?"
She knew that her apology, as awkward as it had been, had at least diffused the tension. Lionel turned back to her, nodding slowly.
"Everyone has his or her demons. If you say its not my business...well it shouldn't be then." He mused. He shrugged. "If you ever need a listening ear, however, feel free to talk. My master and my fiancée both say I'm a pretty good listener."
She gave him a tentative smile, and was about to respond to what he'd just said when a voice boomed across the gardens, making them both spin around to one of the arched entrances leading directly into the castle's royal wing.
"HAHAHAHA! I have finally found you two!" Philionel laughed as his towering frame took giant steps towards them. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd decided to visit without me being with you."
"We were merely talking, nothing more than that. But what about you, Prince Philionel-"
"Just Phil, please! I told you I detest the title with friends! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Philionel laughed raucously for no reason they could immediately discern.
"My apologies. Phil, then, shouldn't you be taking this time to get to know your future wife?" Lionel grinned. It was a low blow and they all knew it. Phil flinched and Narie answered the question with a surprised glare.
Philionel certainly hadn't taken the time to get to know Valmatian Di Elmekun any more than he immediately needed to. Aside from the dinners he'd been obliged to attend, the young heir to Sailune's throne had done all he could so that there wouldn't be time to talk to his father, let alone his fiancée. They hadn't been surprised - they'd heard all of the story from Phil on the way to Sailune. Of course, having talked with the future queen somewhat, she had found the young woman rather interesting and sympathetic.
Phil coughed. "I...Princess Valmatia is resting and wasn't to be bothered. It would hardly have fit a warrior of justice such as myself to enter a woman's room without her permission."
Lionel actually smirked at that. "Is that the Crown Prince of Sailune having cold feet when put with a woman chosen for him? I don't know if I should be amused or disgusted."
Philionel di Sailune was such an eccentric man at time - always upholding justice's ways seemed so nauseating at times, she couldn't see that even from a shrine maiden's point of view. He was many things, but not stupid. The implications weren't lost, as Phil's eyes caught fire. Knowing what would be the end result if things escalated, Narie forced down the shivers she was still feeling and stepped between the two men, fixing the prince squarely.
"Phil, please. Forget Lionel's ridiculous jibe and tell me - have you found the vault where what we want might be?"
Phil stared at Lionel for a long moment, still tense, before gazing at her. "Not exactly. But I have been reading some ancient chronicles and I've found an interesting thing, which seems to serve to reveal the vault. It was a message. It went like this: Two Silvers, Red Fire, Three Bronzes, Blue Mire; The Door Revealed in Vault's Dire. I have no idea what it could mean, honestly."
Narie drew herself up. The shivers had passed; her insecurity was contained - for now. "Then I think its time for us to look around a lot, no? How about getting to work?"
Both men immediately agreed. The mission to save Berwen had gone up one more step. She only hope her other friends were doing well. And that their captured friend was holding on.
* * * * * * * * * *
She had to focus. That was all there was to it. If she focused her willpower, the discharge wouldn't seem so painful. She knew that if nothing else, it would at least make her appear composed, which was just what those damn sick bastards didn't want. She gritted her teeth as she waited for it, resolving not to let one scream, one whimper, pass through, contracting her throat.
The magical electricity coursed through her collar, into her bones, searing white. Her body convulsed where it stood, skin trembling and stiffening at the same time, pain coursing light a flash. She bit her tongue once more, focusing. She had to focus, focus, focus! She tried to put her willpower forward. She won this time - not one sound escaped her mouth. Take that, you bastards!
"Take that, take that..." she whispered to herself.
Berwen had always had a core within herself, the same strength that had allowed her to succeed where many others had failed. Unlike very rare people like Fezra, Berwen had never been naturally gifted for magic. She had fought to gain the power she had, had clawed and grasped and struggled with herself to attain a level, which, being honest with herself was higher than what most sorceresses ever reached.
Of course, Fezra had never needed to study a spell more than once or twice before managing to cast it effectively, unlike the rest of the trainees, who had to-
The magic coursed through her again, surprising her, and this time she couldn't help but to have a whimper of pain escape her parched lips. She ranted at herself for letting her guard down, all the while knowing it was useless. She had been here, arms manacled to the ceiling of her small cell, for what seemed an eternity. And during all that indefinite length of time, they had done all they could to break her. They had never laid a hand on her directly - she surmised that it had more to do with having her whole physically than any gentleness or good heartedness - but they had found other ways to hurt her. Heat, cold, illusions, and magic, they had tried many debilitating tricks, some of a cruelty imagined, never letting her rest.
She held on. First simply to displease them, now for herself. She had brought herself up a strong, steady person since no one else had truly ever been there to do it. She thrived on her ability to cope. Whatever happened, she wasn't about to lie down easily, wasn't about to let herself break without a fight.
"I don't understand."
The voice made her open her eyes, and she parted her lips into a feral snarl as she looked upon the form of the archmage Dallomir. Of all of those who had hurt her, he won the big prize, and the biggest slice of her hatred. It was he who had taken her to this place, he who had ordered all of these obscenities being committed upon her.
She had never wanted to kill a being that much in years, perhaps ever. Even her mother, as vile as she'd been, had had some redeeming qualities.
"I'm so glad to hear that." she rasped, her throat grating, trying to convey contempt and hate in her voice. It seemed to have no effect - the man was a hard nut to crack, hardly letting anything pass though his phlegmatic expression, at least when he talked to her. He looked almost bored with her reply, actually. With a wave of his hand, he sighed, and leaned upon the closed door, considering her.
"I'm certain you are." he mused, almost to himself it seemed. "You are managing to control yourself remarquably well, and that is beginning to become unnerving. I have a tight schedule which must go forward if my goals are to be achieved."
"My, what did you want me to say? I'm sorry?" she smirked. So what if he took it badly? She had nothing to lose here. But still he kept on staring at her calmly.
"It doesn't have to be this way. Accept to serve me in an obedient fashion, and this will end. I can stop the pain as easily as I have started it. Everyone in this place, in one way or another, serves me. No one would discuss my order."
It was a tempting way of putting the words, she knew. But she saw right through it. It was plainly written in the way he talked to her. Like she was some sort of doll, a pet. A possession not worthy of the name 'person'. It increased her rage, made her blow up. She spat at him ineffectually, and strained forward, her expression that of someone wanting blood.
The magic kicked in at once, the pain forcing her to stop straining. She tried to hold it - in the beginning she could have done it. But not anymore. She was weakened, her body wouldn't support her will, and she convulsed, falling back. It only added fuel to her feeling of impotent fury. Dallomir, yes, that one would pay. One way, or another. She swore it.
"Bastard. Just you wait." she breathed "You have no idea what damage Fezra will do to you when she gets her hands on you..."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Fezra. You mean Fezra Inverse? I hardly think she will be much help to you. Or any of the others with her for all that."
She grinned despite the situation. "You shouldn't underestimate them. Fezra can blast anything she wants, and the others aren't too bad either. You may think you're tough right now, but you won't be once they arrive here to get me."
"I don't think you understand the situation, my dear child." he stated.
"No, its you who don't understand. They'll get you so bad for this you'll never believe the pain!" she relished the thought. When the others got here and freed her, she would convince them to let him live so that she could have her turn. She would roast him alive, she would. Oh yes, she would.
Dallomir only shook his hand again. "You misunderstand, I think. You think I do not believe your friends' strength will be sufficient. I am telling you that they will not try to help you, period. You see, I made a deal with your good friend."
Her eyes widened. Then she chuckled. "Really, do you expect me to believe an obvious lie like that?"
"Believe what you want, the fact remains that the deal was made. You were becoming cumbersome to miss Inverse, especially since you supposedly keep restraining her rapport with Marcus Jaderam." he stopped and considered "Its not that surprising, when you think about it. You are strong, yet compared to them, you are weak and unskilled."
She growled. What lies. Yet how could he know about her trying to stop Fez's relationship with Marcus? She had kept it as secret as she could, never talking of it overtly. She had doubted the others would understand her agitation. She had in fact feared they might interpret it the wrong way. But then again, Fezra must have deduced something - as reckless as she had always been, the other girl had a good deductive capability. Could it be, that she had seen it and...
No, she absolutely refused to believe such a thing! Fezra and she had been friends even before they had entered the magic guild in Zefielia. They had been through so much together. They had had adventures. Oh, where had it gone wrong? How could it have gone wrong? They had been so close once, but ever since that...that man had come along...ever since they had begun that little band...
"No..." she forced herself to say it. To her chagrin, a part of her doubted her own truths. He was lying. He was. "This is just a trick. A trick to get to me."
"Truly? You doubt the fact your friend was tired of having you following around like a puppy, lessening her impact on the sole man she saw as her equal? As the man she loved? How naive can one get." he said, opening the door to the outside. "But stay with your truths. I know I am speaking no lie here. Surely you felt it."
She growled at him, fighting the doubt. It couldn't be. She was certain Fezra would never leave her here to be...but still...if she had learned why she was being so persistent at keeping her and Marcus apart. She had seen the unvoiced affection, which, unlike Loerik and Hallia, wasn't a plain one. Love and spite could make someone do awful things. What if that was Fezra's way of telling her she had hated being pushed away from what she wanted?
No. No! It was just her imagination running wild...was it? Really, was it?
Just then, the torture began again, pain coursing through her body. She let out a yell of mixed rage and pain, and then stifled it. No. It wasn't true. She would hold on. They would get her before she was used for whatever they wanted.
Ceipheed, let them come soon!
* * * * * * * * * *
Dallomir's tower was full of places that few knew about. Having been built centuries ago by the first Lumerian sorcerers, it was a maze of chambers, arches and passageways. Even Dallomir, who had lived most of his life inside and around the tower, didn't know all of the places in it. Nor had he ever had much interest in finding out - he was more interested in researching new spells and poking artefacts than playing adventurer inside his own house.
Which was just as well. Mellinius, however, had a slightly more thorough streak, and this had allowed him to put together this meeting, in one of the few places Dallomir's spells didn't reach. Not a man prone to secrecy, he knew that, in this case, it was in every way necessary to do so.
After all, prudence was paramount when one started to think about overthrowing the most powerful Lumerian archmage.
Six others sat around a table with him, all people he had probed, subtly questioned, and found trustworthy. All of them were wizards of varying levels of power - although none even went near Mellinius'. All of them had seen the growing madness, which was jeopardizing everything they had ever worked for, forcing them to revise their loyalty.
Mellinius tapped a finger on the wood. "So, Hergav. Are you quite certain of what you've just told us?"
A burly man nodded. "I can't help but be certain, Mellinius! I was there! I scryed the battlefield around the Kalgafon Hills. There's no doubt about it now - the Kingdom's army is definitely beaten."
That was a sobering thought to all concerned, even if none there could truly say they were surprised to hear of it. They had known through magical means that a force of ten thousand lumerian footmen and nearly five hundred knights was to attempt to fortify the Kalgafon against further imperial attacks. It was a last-ditch attempt, aimed at buying time for the kingdom. Everyone knew, after all, of the enormous army mass that remained in Elmekia's camps. But they hadn't thought that this last effort, led by most of the remaining veteran troops in the realm, would fail so quickly.
"Casualties?" he asked.
"Five thousand dead, most of the rest either wounded or captured. Six thousand and half that in wounded on Elmekia's side."
Another sorcerer piped up. "At least they didn't manage to overwhelm our forces easily."
"A good show, perhaps, but a futile one. Remember that they estimate the total remaining imperial forces at over twenty thousand. They still have enough to besiege and conquer the capital...and annex Lumeria."
"Never!"
"Why isn't Dallomir unveiling his weapons to push the emperor back?" one asked in angry exasperation.
There lay the whole problem. As long as it had seemed that his former mentor wanted to create weapons to turn the desperate tide, Mellinius had been willing to put up with all of the eccentricities, all the dubious looks and the increasing feeling that he was doing something wrong by staying silent. He had always thought that if anyone could save the kingdom, Dallomir could. How wrong he had been proven at the test.
Dallomir wasn't looking for any weapon to help the kingdom. Instead, for the past few days, he had taken a sort of perverse interest in breaking that sorceress who had fought against them in the lower depths of the temple. The thought of allowing that had made him sick, but he'd said nothing. Partly because he knew it wouldn't have changed anything, mostly because he no longer knew what to make of the other man.
At long last, he spoke, feeling old, tired, but determined to amend for blinding himself to the truth about Dallomir for so long. "Dallomir does plan to unveil a weapon. However, his methods are slow, and against guild laws here. Even so, I might have let him do as he wishes, but now he seems to think of nothing else but this experiment..."
"I've heard a rumour...that he was trying to create..." another of the conspirators, a woman, began, and then fumbled as what she said became difficult. He decided to take a weight off her.
"If you mean to know if it is true that our former master is trying to create a human chimera, you would be correct." he sated, then sighed, almost trembling.
The others reacted badly to this, staring or whispering prayers amongst themselves. Making any kind of chimera was something that most guilds didn't approve of. Human chimeras, however, the bonding of a human with other elements from other creatures, had been banned by Oerlus the Silent mere days after the War of Resurrection ended, and was written in the rules all guilds should follow two years later. In the nine hundred years since then, that rule had remained intact.
"If the guild hears of this...we are dead. We'll be hunted and executed by their Force Wizards." one gasped.
"Its worse than you know." Mellinus interjected. "We aren't only in the presence of a chimeric experiment, but the reconstruction of the means Lei Magnus used to form his chimeric enforcers a millennia ago, shortly before the War broke out."
Pandemonium immediately erupted.
"We have to do something!"
"Do something?!? Like what? Attack him? Are you crazed? Cronies, artefacts - some from the Lost Lores, surround the man! - and then there's Jomekin. Do any of you think any of us stands a chance of defeating Jomekin?!?"
"That's enough! Going ahead and panicking won't help us. We have to think calmly and logically." Mellinius barked, regaining control before he lost them. He refrained from giving in to the truth of the statement. He knew first hand how powerful and cunning Jomekin was, and how the childlike man seemed to relish maiming before going for the kill. Frankly, he thought that he, if he was helped by all assembled here, would be able to kill Jomekin. But Jomekin and Dallomir, both armed with magic-enhancing Lores? "I have already communicated to one with the means to help us."
That, at least, held their interest. Finally, one asked the obvious question which burned their minds like a wildfire. "Who can help us? The guild would sooner kill us, and the King no longer has any means by which-"
"Not the king, my friend." he cut off. "He indeed has no army or means anymore. But the Emperor of Elmekia does. His armies are powerful, he has the money and the magical power to aid us."
The situation went out of hand immediately. All ranted, shouts of disbelief echoing on the walls. A few begged Mellinius to reconsider, others told him he was mad, and one even went as far as to tell him he was committing treason against Lumeria. The last snapped what little patience he had left. He knew the dangers, had told them, and yet they still squirmed! He slammed his hand, using minor magic to make it sound like a thunderclap, commanding silence.
"Do not be worse fools than you sound!" he growled, "Dallomir is recreating Lei Magnus' experiments, and his sanity is slipping quickly! Who knows where it will stop? Do you want to run the risk of another War of Resurrection? The intelligent dragons are few and secretive these days, the elves have all but gone from our world, hidden away on Mipross! And there is no Water Dragon King to lead us now! I highly doubt humanity alone would be able to manage another Battle of Safalla. Do you want to take that chance?"
He looked at them all. None had anything to add at that. And if some still looked indignant, none voice another objection. He nodded gravely. "I figured as much. Yes, we might be doing Lumeria a disservice, but my dream of a freed realm is today unrealistic. The time to act has passed in that respect. But it's not too late here - we might still save ourselves from making an horrendous deed!"
He hesitated for a moment, and then rose. "From this moment on, we must consider ourselves renegades here. We will meet here only once, before striking."
They all agreed. As he had known they would
* * * * * * * * * *
"An interesting development."
"A development? An element amongst others. Amongst many others. Unimportant now, all for the culmination of my plan."
"You have waited long. I am curious to see what else you are prepared to manipulate?"
"Why, nothing."
"Nothing?"
"There is no need. They are all doing exactly what I want, playing their parts as well as can be expected. And they have - nor will they ever have - any hint that anyone was behind the scenes."
"Are you so certain of that?"
"Of course. They are human. And no human would believe that his decisions were based on the action of another. Proud, narrow-minded fools. They are perfect."
__________________________________________________________
Force Wizards: They are the enforcers in the guilds, those who neutralize sorcerers who have gone against the rules of the guild or become a great danger to themselves or the world.
Battle of Safalla: The last battle of the War of Resurrection, where the combined might of the Triad Army Lead by the Water Dragon King faced the main forces of the Mazoku lead by Gaav the Demon Dragon. Although it suffered some terrible loss, this battle - which lasted nineteen days and nineteen nights - was where the Triad Army narrowly defeated the Mazoku, and where the Water Dragon King used the Giga Slave for the first time in history, managing to control it at the cost of his own life. The After Resurrection calendar supposedly dates back to the dawn after the Battle of Safalla ended.
- Sai Lune, speaking to the War of Resurrection's survivors at the place where Sailune would soon stand, exactly one year after the war ended.
"Fearless? Are you crazy? There's no one more scared than I am in a fight. That's why I could defeat Zannafar - I know how to fear. He did not."
- Kerlig Gabriev, the 'Swordsman of Light', to a rather gushing Sairaag citizen, 909 AR
Chapter Nine
Contrary to what some believed, Loerik wasn't a man who truly went looking for fights. He would object to this perception with all of his considerable might. He did not, he would always say, even in later years, that he wasn't one who looked for trouble. He was a man to whom trouble seemed to run into him no matter how he wished it wouldn't do so.
The present situation made him want to curse at the universe itself. Facing any master swordsman was an ordeal. Facing an excellent master swordsman with a penchant for insanity and hate was even less palatable. And he knew that the dangerous swordsman named Kalarus was exactly that - a powerful sword swinger with a queer light in his hate-filled face, looking for blood.
His blood.
"Hallia! Get out of here, now!" he told the priestess who stood beside her. Without waiting for any protest or reply, he thrust her away behind him with one strong arm, and stepped forward, his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword, his body poised like a snake about to lash out.
His enemy gave a giggle, which cut through the skin down to the bone. "At last, Gabriev, at last..."
Without warning, the older swordsman leaped forward, bringing his sword up in a perfect arc that was parried by Loerik's rising steel. The blades moved, separated. Parry met thrust. Slash met strike. Two swords began to move in a duelling symphony, their steely music echoing despite the chaos around them. The battle seemed almost like a ballet, a deadly one with life being the price of the winner, death the only boon the loser would glean.
Loerik was afraid, for good reason. He knew that, somehow, his death had become a sort of obsession for Kalarus - he could read it in every strike he blocked. The fear surged, but found itself pulled and routed through canalization. The training he had received from his father, the discipline and skill passed down through the Gabriev family took control. He forced himself to feel, not to block feelings, to live between each intake of breath.
Kalarus stroke for his abdomen, he barely parried it pushing the attack upward and away, only to face it from another angle before he could retaliate. He jumped to the side to avoid it, but didn't quite manage. The blade bit in the leather, which protected his lower body, drawing blood. He groaned, but was on the move even as realized he had been hit. He swerved, turning somewhat on himself- and ducked just as the swing that would have decapitated him swung. As it passed over his head, he was already rising, and his blade cut a deep wound, cracking his opponent's ribs despite the mail the other man wore. An angry clash was repulsed, and both then stood, facing each other, eyes glazed, and one with the sword, having become weapons themselves.
The fighting around the village stopped having significance. All except Kalarus became unsubstantial even as a thrill came, overriding the rest of the fear. The thrill of danger and of challenge. The two stayed poised upon the edge, both unheedful the bleeding wound they had received.
Then Kalarus's blade rose a fraction, bringing about the spark, which was needed to light the terrible fire. Two tall, armoured men lunged at themselves with a grace and a brutality that was as powerful as it was amazing.
The Sword of Light flashed against Kalarus' Bloodrider, as the two forms engaged a series of thrusts and recovery, of parry and blocks. Their arms moved faster than was possible, forced into a sort of semi-state of energetic precision. I mere moments, a dozen attacks had been launched and repelled on both sides, the blade touching one moment and twirling the next.
Twice again Loerik hit his opponent, and twice he was hit - none of the wounds being anything dangerous, all mostly deflected from skill, fast reflexes and tough bodies. Muscles tensed, gazes locked. Loerik brought his sword up with deliberate slowness, up with his right arm, even as his hand gracefully came to rest before him. With the same skill but less finesse, Kalarus brought his into a two-handed grip, blade perfectly horizontal. Both men assessed each other for a second that seemed to stretch forever. Breath was forgotten, as both stood ready.
Then, wordlessly, without any signal being given, they rushed at each other with all the energy they could muster.
Loerik deflected the horizontal thrust with an swing from above, retaliating with a quick slash which was turned, defending once more as the enemy sword came right at his face. He thrust himself backward, the blade barely missing from smashing into his face, kicking with his left foot, hitting something even as he managed to use training and the eleven blood which ran in his veins to backflip, landing steadily enough on his feet, immediately striking forward, meeting his opponent head on. Once again, steel met steel in deadly deadlock as the dance continued.
Ceipheed, he felt so ALIVE!!
The duel continued, both deploying all of their means to ultimately be the victor. It was clear that Kalarus had the most experience with a blade, while Loerik had the greater stamina. Their blades - respectively of elven steel and master smith craftsmanship - were roughly equal since he found himself refusing to use the magical powers of the Sword of Light. All that they could do was keep on feinting and attacking, defending and gauging, caught in a deadly whirlwind which, had they known, caused other fighters in the village to either stare or flee outright.
When the stalemate was finally broken, it was only a small thing. A slight variation. More than enough between swordsmen of this level.
The fight had taken its toll on Kalarus just before it had on Loerik, it seemed. As the blades smashed against each other and gracefully pulled back to continue the dance, the older mercenary's arm trembled for the strain, loosening the one-handed hold he had at that moment. It was only a fleeting second, a moment to regain the grasp. But the black-haired swordsman had seen the tiny mistake, and had reacted automatically. His sword flashed in a quick curve, smashing through the momentarily-opened defences, carving a gouge thought the enemy's face from left cheek to eyebrow, gouging and shearing in a sudden, bloody attack.
Kalarus reeled back; giving a cry that was more sheer hate than agony, clutching his face, blood pouring through his fingers. He flailed away with his blade, futilely trying to keep the younger man at bay. But his defences were down. He was helpless as the Sword of Light swept Bloodrider from his maddened grasp. Steeling himself inwardly, with a quick inward prayer to Ceipheed, Loerik Gabriev brought his sword up for the coup de grace.
He didn't take one step before his rush was interrupted.
The ground erupted in flames, and he was thrown backward, tumbling off to one side, momentarily blinded by the heat. The strength had to have been made with a fireball. He squinted, blinked tear-filled eyes and saw that, as his instinct had told him, a sorcerer was amongst the attacking raiders. Obviously, the wizard had thought he could finish him - or them both - in one fireball. He whirled around. No Kalarus, but no remains either. Where the devil was the blasted man! He'd come looking to fight! He should at least have the guts to accept defeat. Bereft of his foe, unheeding of the soothing, which came from his reason, Loerik shot a grim smile at the sorcerer even as his bloodlust coagulated in the suddenly-uncertain bastard.
"You wanna take me on, mage?" he smirked, contempt rolling off his voice as he unfastened the blade from the hilt of his sword and presented it in front of him. "You've just made my day."
Just then he coughed, and he was surprised to see blood there. Obviously some of the hits he had taken in the duel were quite deep. But it didn't really matter to him somehow, deep as he was in the thrill of a fight. He griped the hilt tighter as the sorcerer began chanting again, and spoke the words Gabrievs had uttered for thirty generations.
The light of the blade immediately sprung to life, forming the fearsome agent of ancient, mystical power. Kalarus had wanted a fight, and so he hadn't used his magical blade. But the deal was off now. An enemy soldier attacked him, and he cleaved the man in half, the magical force slashing the man to pieces.
Loerik Gabriev smiled, adrenaline trampling self-disgust.
Without a moment of hesitation, he charged the frantic sorcerer; certain he would have one more to his personal death toll.
* * * * * * * * * *
Fezra saw a bit of the tremendous duel, which occurred between Loerik, and that man she had immediately recognized - from stories she'd heard from her friends - as that bastard Kalarus. She had known Loerik was an excellent swordsman, but not THAT much. She didn't have time to stand and gape at the whirlwind of blade strikes occurring not far away, and neither could Marcus who stood just a few feet away. The two swordsmen may have put fear into the raiders, insuring that they'd be left quite alone, but the rest of the group hadn't been quite fortunate. Already she'd nailed eight raiders, and Marcus and she had then been caught in a fight against the four spellcasters amongst the raiding party.
Two-on-one were never good odds. However, they soon discovered that the enemy was second-rate, hardly anywhere near their level. Their shields held against the spells thrown their way, while they themselves launched volley after volley of their own. Fezra's powerful flare arrows - all Inverse sorcerers had always been extremely gifted in anything having to do with fire - and Marcus's admittedly potent freeze arrows mingling and battering the enemy. Within minutes, six more enemy soldiers had died, one of the wizards lay unmoving, and another had gone off Ceipheed knew where. The two that remained, however, were definitely a pain, she decided as another spell impacted her shield.
The throwing of spells, coupled with the days of hard travel she hadn't fully recuperated from, were taking a toll on her. She was tiring. But damn if she was going to show it. Inverses were known as many things - greedy bastards, dangerous psychos, roguish wizards and many other things had been their names at one time or another - but never quitters or cowards. She wasn't about to add that sort of name to the family tradition!
So she hid her fatigue, strengthened her shield, and grinned cheekily to the man who stood next to her. "Hey Marcus! These guys just don't know when to quit while they're ahead, do they?"
"I know, it's a real drag right now, ain't it?" he deadpanned, his own shield still holding, although she could see tiny signs of exertion. "I think we better try giving in to bigger spells if we want to take these two bastards here!"
She knew he was right. The enemy wasn't anywhere as strong as they were, but they were strong enough that simple flare arrows wouldn't put them away. Bigger spells, however, were a tricky business, especially in a town where, amidst damaged stores and buildings and small fires, groups of farmers - and three friends - were fighting off the raiders themselves. They would never say it out loud, but they needed every ally they had, strained as the moment was.
Still, what choice did they truly have? The farmers, as desperately and as bravely as they fought to protect family and home, weren't a match for trained warriors. Hallia was more a healer than a wizard. Loerik, who could probably have made things more even, was locked in a deadly fight. And finally Zasthla couldn't hope to hold her ground forever; no matter the fact she was quite gifted with a blade herself and already had killed many enemies.
Loerik was too occupied to do anything; Hallia and Zasthla were out of her sight. Yes, Marcus' proposition had merits, as reluctant as she was to recognize it. Damn. Damn damn DAMN!!"
"ARRGH!! Dammit! Okay, then!" she growled, focusing "Lets give them lots of things to think 'bout!"
She turned to Marcus, who started to nod back to her, and then shouted. "Look out, Fez!!"
Instinctive shielding barely saved her. Knowing from the way the fight was and the direction her friend was turning, she threw all she could into her shield at that very spot. However, she was so hasty in doing so that, although the shield broke up the fireball, which the stronger of the two wizards had thrown, it didn't really negate the flames surrounding it. The flood reached her, engulfed her in fire. For a moment, she screamed in pure pain and terror.
However, Fezra Inverse was made of even sterner stuff then that. Barely a split second later, control returned, and she used her magic to wash away the flames from her body. She emerged from the inferno, singed, but still kicking. And quite beyond angry. She glared in murderous rage at the increasingly panicky enemies, blowing away one soldier who came too close with a Bram Blazer.
"Okay! If that's how you want to play the game, screw all the rules! The village'll have to take its chances. Lets give it to them, Marcus!"
She was so concentrated; she didn't hear the fact that there had been no reply from his side. She put her hands in front of herself, deliberately letting the magical shield fall to minimal strength. It wouldn't hold long this way, but she didn't mean to use it. Enough defensive offence. It was time for a full-blazing attack!
She channelled the power, centering herself in the middle of an inferno, the wrath of the Demon-Dragon, fighting the energies with the strength of her soul, as few sorcerers could control such powerful spells. Finally they gathered, as her shield weakened even more, and she released her attack towards her enemies.
"GAAV FLARE!"
Her attack sped towards her enemies, a burning beam, stronger than any shield she knew they could muster. They only had the time to shield their faces before it hit, vaporizing them, and a good portion of the ground. The magical heat found it's way to her, but she ignored it. Instead she turned a furious mien towards her fellow wizard.
"Marcus, you dumbass!" she growled in a voice that belied her slim stature, eyes ablaze. "Couldn't you have given me a ha....nd?"
She stopped as she saw her red-haired friend, stiff, eyes staring, not dead or wounded but seemingly in a state of deep shock. So deep, in fact, that he was staring at her unseeing, as if he had seen a ghost. The pallor of his skin was more than a bit frightening, and it took everything she had not to recoil from him altogether. Events, however, conspired to make it so that she didn't even have much of a choice.
The fighting in the village hadn't quite died down yet, although it seemed now that the farmers were gaining ground ever so slowly, their numbers overshadowing the skills of their opponents. One group of mercenaries, however, had cut through one fight, and ten of ten broke and sprinted towards them. The danger didn't quite mean anything to people who had lived with it for so long. Their swords gleamed, bloody in parts, as they sped up.
She couldn't truly take them on. The fatigue was too much, the Gaav Flare had been all she was able to muster, the end of her strength. Still, she couldn't leave Marcus there, unknowing, watching a charge with staring eyes. The damn bastard was damn good, and although it irked her to admit, he was the only one - even beyond dear Berwen - whom she looked as a magical equal. It was such a pain. She gritted her teeth hard, cursed despite the tiredness she felt, and too a step to confront the attackers.
She never had time to take more than that one step. Marcus's eyes focused on the arriving swordsmen, and his hands came forward.
A fireball screamed forward, hurtling and exploding in the midst of the enemy, followed by another, then another. And yet another. The succession was insanely quick, certainly drawing into Marcus' very reserve. The area the mercenaries had been soon became little more than a pockmarked, charred patch of land. Nothing was there. Nothing could exist under such an onslaught. And still it continued unabated.
"Marcus!! STOP!!" she screamed, but he only howled in response.
"FIRE! FIRE! Always the fire! It took her, just like it did! Fire, fire everywhere! Fire! Fire!" he screamed with a face that showed such anguish that she choked. The situation was unreal. Marcus Jaderam had always seemed the most reasonable when things became rough. What could have made him snap? A thought struck her. Could it be...?
Her daze was broken, and Marcus' strange funk broken, as Zashtla came into view and called for them to come help the villagers. The sorcerer blinked, hands trembling, as if awakening from a nightmare, and looked around. He spotted her, and gave her a pale, but reasonable look, which was nevertheless crossed by immense relief. And then he was gone, running to help the others in the fight.
Leaving her drained and with possibilities and questions dancing in her head.
Dancing in a way such ideas never quite had. It irritated her. HE irritated her.
And, for a reason that had nothing to do with the strange rage she'd seen, he frightened her.
* * * * * * * * * *
The more Narie saw of Sailune, the more she seemed to find it attractive. It was as clean as a city that size could hope to be. Paved streets ran to and fro, all in good repair by the order of the crown. With Philionel gladly - perhaps, because of the woman who'd look so queenly the other day, too gladly - showing them around, she had been privy to its secrets, its services and its wealth. Sailune, the City of White Magic, the city that had never fallen to any army or wizard for over half a millennia, was truly amazing.
And yet, the more time passed, the more she felt something in her soul everytime she heard Lionel Greysword talk about Sairaag.
"A city of temples, dedicated to Ceipheed and to the Four Dragon-Kings..." she mused as she walked through the royal garden "...entirely surrounded by the ocean, with the Holy Tree Flagoon looming over all, protecting." She fell silent as she continued.
Being a friend of Crown Prince Philionel had had its good points. She had been given fresh priestly clothes to replace the worn ones, and had been put in one of the best guest rooms in the castle. Servants were catering to her. It was ironic. Only a few weeks ago she had been so near to breaking. She probably would have if...if Hallia and Loerik hadn't...
She started to shiver as the memories began to resurface. No! No! Not again! She hugged herself, unknowingly hunching forward, as she was forcibly reminded of her time with the monster known as Kalarus. He had brought her to his tent against her will, pushing her and hurting her along the way. He had terrorized her in a way she had never felt. No because of the madness she had felt, but rather because of a hatred for women, hatred he didn't seem to understand himself, but upon which he thrived.
And then he had started playing with her - 'teaching her a few trick' he had said. She had been powerless against him, and he'd liked that. His eyes almost glowed with pleasure as he began abusing her. She had struggled but it meant nothing - her powers were nullified, and she was no match for him physically. She had screamed, cursed, moaned, and finally pleaded. None of it stopped him. In fact it only seemed to make him feel better than ever, and if Hallia hadn't come when she had, she didn't know if she could have withstood it.
She whimpered aloud. HAD she withstood it? Had she? Or was she simply fooling herself?
A hand gently brushed her back.
She screamed, jumping and turning eyes wide, backing away, the visions of the past flooding the present. For a moment she was back in the tent, with that monster, that sick fiend with the strange eyes. She let out a quick 'nononononono' and back-pedalled. Away. She had to get away! She started to scramble backward.
Away. Get away! Nownownownownow...
"Narie! Narie, snap out of it, its Lionel!" a voice sounded. It clashed with the terror, and pierced her fog of blind terror. Suddenly the tent was gone, and she was standing in the sun, amongst the trees and wandering paths of the gardens, with a brown-haired man looking at her with eyes that showed only confusion, no hatred or madness in them.
She breathed fast, trying to regain her dignity, desperately pulling herself together. "Lionel!" she breathed in what she hoped was a normal voice. "You startled me."
The apprentice to one of the Five Wiseman looked at her with wide eyes, his hand still outstretched towards her. He managed to cough out "Startled? You looked like you were getting an attack out there, and then you went frantic just now. That is all beyond startled! What happened?"
It was a just question, and one she might have answered if only she was certain he'd truly understand. Those who had helped her those first few weeks - Hallia, Zasthla, Berwen, even Loerik and Fezra - had shown her understanding, but also irritation and pity. The pity. She'd been unable to take that even then. Now that she was back in control - she was! She MUST be! - she didn't want to find herself depending on others.
So she simply set her mouth and turned away. "I'd prefer not to talk about it."
It came too angrily; it seems, for the frown deepened into a scowl on the other end. "Maybe not, but if that whatever it was made you jump three feet in the air-"
"I SAID I don't want to talk about it!" she hissed. There was a warning in her voice that had gone in, and it didn't pass unnoticed. Lionel stiffened and took a genuinely insulted air. She sighed as he began to wordlessly turn away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to come out like that. It's just...I went through a really bad thing and...It's still kicking a bit from time to time. So, can we just...not talk about it?"
She knew that her apology, as awkward as it had been, had at least diffused the tension. Lionel turned back to her, nodding slowly.
"Everyone has his or her demons. If you say its not my business...well it shouldn't be then." He mused. He shrugged. "If you ever need a listening ear, however, feel free to talk. My master and my fiancée both say I'm a pretty good listener."
She gave him a tentative smile, and was about to respond to what he'd just said when a voice boomed across the gardens, making them both spin around to one of the arched entrances leading directly into the castle's royal wing.
"HAHAHAHA! I have finally found you two!" Philionel laughed as his towering frame took giant steps towards them. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd decided to visit without me being with you."
"We were merely talking, nothing more than that. But what about you, Prince Philionel-"
"Just Phil, please! I told you I detest the title with friends! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Philionel laughed raucously for no reason they could immediately discern.
"My apologies. Phil, then, shouldn't you be taking this time to get to know your future wife?" Lionel grinned. It was a low blow and they all knew it. Phil flinched and Narie answered the question with a surprised glare.
Philionel certainly hadn't taken the time to get to know Valmatian Di Elmekun any more than he immediately needed to. Aside from the dinners he'd been obliged to attend, the young heir to Sailune's throne had done all he could so that there wouldn't be time to talk to his father, let alone his fiancée. They hadn't been surprised - they'd heard all of the story from Phil on the way to Sailune. Of course, having talked with the future queen somewhat, she had found the young woman rather interesting and sympathetic.
Phil coughed. "I...Princess Valmatia is resting and wasn't to be bothered. It would hardly have fit a warrior of justice such as myself to enter a woman's room without her permission."
Lionel actually smirked at that. "Is that the Crown Prince of Sailune having cold feet when put with a woman chosen for him? I don't know if I should be amused or disgusted."
Philionel di Sailune was such an eccentric man at time - always upholding justice's ways seemed so nauseating at times, she couldn't see that even from a shrine maiden's point of view. He was many things, but not stupid. The implications weren't lost, as Phil's eyes caught fire. Knowing what would be the end result if things escalated, Narie forced down the shivers she was still feeling and stepped between the two men, fixing the prince squarely.
"Phil, please. Forget Lionel's ridiculous jibe and tell me - have you found the vault where what we want might be?"
Phil stared at Lionel for a long moment, still tense, before gazing at her. "Not exactly. But I have been reading some ancient chronicles and I've found an interesting thing, which seems to serve to reveal the vault. It was a message. It went like this: Two Silvers, Red Fire, Three Bronzes, Blue Mire; The Door Revealed in Vault's Dire. I have no idea what it could mean, honestly."
Narie drew herself up. The shivers had passed; her insecurity was contained - for now. "Then I think its time for us to look around a lot, no? How about getting to work?"
Both men immediately agreed. The mission to save Berwen had gone up one more step. She only hope her other friends were doing well. And that their captured friend was holding on.
* * * * * * * * * *
She had to focus. That was all there was to it. If she focused her willpower, the discharge wouldn't seem so painful. She knew that if nothing else, it would at least make her appear composed, which was just what those damn sick bastards didn't want. She gritted her teeth as she waited for it, resolving not to let one scream, one whimper, pass through, contracting her throat.
The magical electricity coursed through her collar, into her bones, searing white. Her body convulsed where it stood, skin trembling and stiffening at the same time, pain coursing light a flash. She bit her tongue once more, focusing. She had to focus, focus, focus! She tried to put her willpower forward. She won this time - not one sound escaped her mouth. Take that, you bastards!
"Take that, take that..." she whispered to herself.
Berwen had always had a core within herself, the same strength that had allowed her to succeed where many others had failed. Unlike very rare people like Fezra, Berwen had never been naturally gifted for magic. She had fought to gain the power she had, had clawed and grasped and struggled with herself to attain a level, which, being honest with herself was higher than what most sorceresses ever reached.
Of course, Fezra had never needed to study a spell more than once or twice before managing to cast it effectively, unlike the rest of the trainees, who had to-
The magic coursed through her again, surprising her, and this time she couldn't help but to have a whimper of pain escape her parched lips. She ranted at herself for letting her guard down, all the while knowing it was useless. She had been here, arms manacled to the ceiling of her small cell, for what seemed an eternity. And during all that indefinite length of time, they had done all they could to break her. They had never laid a hand on her directly - she surmised that it had more to do with having her whole physically than any gentleness or good heartedness - but they had found other ways to hurt her. Heat, cold, illusions, and magic, they had tried many debilitating tricks, some of a cruelty imagined, never letting her rest.
She held on. First simply to displease them, now for herself. She had brought herself up a strong, steady person since no one else had truly ever been there to do it. She thrived on her ability to cope. Whatever happened, she wasn't about to lie down easily, wasn't about to let herself break without a fight.
"I don't understand."
The voice made her open her eyes, and she parted her lips into a feral snarl as she looked upon the form of the archmage Dallomir. Of all of those who had hurt her, he won the big prize, and the biggest slice of her hatred. It was he who had taken her to this place, he who had ordered all of these obscenities being committed upon her.
She had never wanted to kill a being that much in years, perhaps ever. Even her mother, as vile as she'd been, had had some redeeming qualities.
"I'm so glad to hear that." she rasped, her throat grating, trying to convey contempt and hate in her voice. It seemed to have no effect - the man was a hard nut to crack, hardly letting anything pass though his phlegmatic expression, at least when he talked to her. He looked almost bored with her reply, actually. With a wave of his hand, he sighed, and leaned upon the closed door, considering her.
"I'm certain you are." he mused, almost to himself it seemed. "You are managing to control yourself remarquably well, and that is beginning to become unnerving. I have a tight schedule which must go forward if my goals are to be achieved."
"My, what did you want me to say? I'm sorry?" she smirked. So what if he took it badly? She had nothing to lose here. But still he kept on staring at her calmly.
"It doesn't have to be this way. Accept to serve me in an obedient fashion, and this will end. I can stop the pain as easily as I have started it. Everyone in this place, in one way or another, serves me. No one would discuss my order."
It was a tempting way of putting the words, she knew. But she saw right through it. It was plainly written in the way he talked to her. Like she was some sort of doll, a pet. A possession not worthy of the name 'person'. It increased her rage, made her blow up. She spat at him ineffectually, and strained forward, her expression that of someone wanting blood.
The magic kicked in at once, the pain forcing her to stop straining. She tried to hold it - in the beginning she could have done it. But not anymore. She was weakened, her body wouldn't support her will, and she convulsed, falling back. It only added fuel to her feeling of impotent fury. Dallomir, yes, that one would pay. One way, or another. She swore it.
"Bastard. Just you wait." she breathed "You have no idea what damage Fezra will do to you when she gets her hands on you..."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Fezra. You mean Fezra Inverse? I hardly think she will be much help to you. Or any of the others with her for all that."
She grinned despite the situation. "You shouldn't underestimate them. Fezra can blast anything she wants, and the others aren't too bad either. You may think you're tough right now, but you won't be once they arrive here to get me."
"I don't think you understand the situation, my dear child." he stated.
"No, its you who don't understand. They'll get you so bad for this you'll never believe the pain!" she relished the thought. When the others got here and freed her, she would convince them to let him live so that she could have her turn. She would roast him alive, she would. Oh yes, she would.
Dallomir only shook his hand again. "You misunderstand, I think. You think I do not believe your friends' strength will be sufficient. I am telling you that they will not try to help you, period. You see, I made a deal with your good friend."
Her eyes widened. Then she chuckled. "Really, do you expect me to believe an obvious lie like that?"
"Believe what you want, the fact remains that the deal was made. You were becoming cumbersome to miss Inverse, especially since you supposedly keep restraining her rapport with Marcus Jaderam." he stopped and considered "Its not that surprising, when you think about it. You are strong, yet compared to them, you are weak and unskilled."
She growled. What lies. Yet how could he know about her trying to stop Fez's relationship with Marcus? She had kept it as secret as she could, never talking of it overtly. She had doubted the others would understand her agitation. She had in fact feared they might interpret it the wrong way. But then again, Fezra must have deduced something - as reckless as she had always been, the other girl had a good deductive capability. Could it be, that she had seen it and...
No, she absolutely refused to believe such a thing! Fezra and she had been friends even before they had entered the magic guild in Zefielia. They had been through so much together. They had had adventures. Oh, where had it gone wrong? How could it have gone wrong? They had been so close once, but ever since that...that man had come along...ever since they had begun that little band...
"No..." she forced herself to say it. To her chagrin, a part of her doubted her own truths. He was lying. He was. "This is just a trick. A trick to get to me."
"Truly? You doubt the fact your friend was tired of having you following around like a puppy, lessening her impact on the sole man she saw as her equal? As the man she loved? How naive can one get." he said, opening the door to the outside. "But stay with your truths. I know I am speaking no lie here. Surely you felt it."
She growled at him, fighting the doubt. It couldn't be. She was certain Fezra would never leave her here to be...but still...if she had learned why she was being so persistent at keeping her and Marcus apart. She had seen the unvoiced affection, which, unlike Loerik and Hallia, wasn't a plain one. Love and spite could make someone do awful things. What if that was Fezra's way of telling her she had hated being pushed away from what she wanted?
No. No! It was just her imagination running wild...was it? Really, was it?
Just then, the torture began again, pain coursing through her body. She let out a yell of mixed rage and pain, and then stifled it. No. It wasn't true. She would hold on. They would get her before she was used for whatever they wanted.
Ceipheed, let them come soon!
* * * * * * * * * *
Dallomir's tower was full of places that few knew about. Having been built centuries ago by the first Lumerian sorcerers, it was a maze of chambers, arches and passageways. Even Dallomir, who had lived most of his life inside and around the tower, didn't know all of the places in it. Nor had he ever had much interest in finding out - he was more interested in researching new spells and poking artefacts than playing adventurer inside his own house.
Which was just as well. Mellinius, however, had a slightly more thorough streak, and this had allowed him to put together this meeting, in one of the few places Dallomir's spells didn't reach. Not a man prone to secrecy, he knew that, in this case, it was in every way necessary to do so.
After all, prudence was paramount when one started to think about overthrowing the most powerful Lumerian archmage.
Six others sat around a table with him, all people he had probed, subtly questioned, and found trustworthy. All of them were wizards of varying levels of power - although none even went near Mellinius'. All of them had seen the growing madness, which was jeopardizing everything they had ever worked for, forcing them to revise their loyalty.
Mellinius tapped a finger on the wood. "So, Hergav. Are you quite certain of what you've just told us?"
A burly man nodded. "I can't help but be certain, Mellinius! I was there! I scryed the battlefield around the Kalgafon Hills. There's no doubt about it now - the Kingdom's army is definitely beaten."
That was a sobering thought to all concerned, even if none there could truly say they were surprised to hear of it. They had known through magical means that a force of ten thousand lumerian footmen and nearly five hundred knights was to attempt to fortify the Kalgafon against further imperial attacks. It was a last-ditch attempt, aimed at buying time for the kingdom. Everyone knew, after all, of the enormous army mass that remained in Elmekia's camps. But they hadn't thought that this last effort, led by most of the remaining veteran troops in the realm, would fail so quickly.
"Casualties?" he asked.
"Five thousand dead, most of the rest either wounded or captured. Six thousand and half that in wounded on Elmekia's side."
Another sorcerer piped up. "At least they didn't manage to overwhelm our forces easily."
"A good show, perhaps, but a futile one. Remember that they estimate the total remaining imperial forces at over twenty thousand. They still have enough to besiege and conquer the capital...and annex Lumeria."
"Never!"
"Why isn't Dallomir unveiling his weapons to push the emperor back?" one asked in angry exasperation.
There lay the whole problem. As long as it had seemed that his former mentor wanted to create weapons to turn the desperate tide, Mellinius had been willing to put up with all of the eccentricities, all the dubious looks and the increasing feeling that he was doing something wrong by staying silent. He had always thought that if anyone could save the kingdom, Dallomir could. How wrong he had been proven at the test.
Dallomir wasn't looking for any weapon to help the kingdom. Instead, for the past few days, he had taken a sort of perverse interest in breaking that sorceress who had fought against them in the lower depths of the temple. The thought of allowing that had made him sick, but he'd said nothing. Partly because he knew it wouldn't have changed anything, mostly because he no longer knew what to make of the other man.
At long last, he spoke, feeling old, tired, but determined to amend for blinding himself to the truth about Dallomir for so long. "Dallomir does plan to unveil a weapon. However, his methods are slow, and against guild laws here. Even so, I might have let him do as he wishes, but now he seems to think of nothing else but this experiment..."
"I've heard a rumour...that he was trying to create..." another of the conspirators, a woman, began, and then fumbled as what she said became difficult. He decided to take a weight off her.
"If you mean to know if it is true that our former master is trying to create a human chimera, you would be correct." he sated, then sighed, almost trembling.
The others reacted badly to this, staring or whispering prayers amongst themselves. Making any kind of chimera was something that most guilds didn't approve of. Human chimeras, however, the bonding of a human with other elements from other creatures, had been banned by Oerlus the Silent mere days after the War of Resurrection ended, and was written in the rules all guilds should follow two years later. In the nine hundred years since then, that rule had remained intact.
"If the guild hears of this...we are dead. We'll be hunted and executed by their Force Wizards." one gasped.
"Its worse than you know." Mellinus interjected. "We aren't only in the presence of a chimeric experiment, but the reconstruction of the means Lei Magnus used to form his chimeric enforcers a millennia ago, shortly before the War broke out."
Pandemonium immediately erupted.
"We have to do something!"
"Do something?!? Like what? Attack him? Are you crazed? Cronies, artefacts - some from the Lost Lores, surround the man! - and then there's Jomekin. Do any of you think any of us stands a chance of defeating Jomekin?!?"
"That's enough! Going ahead and panicking won't help us. We have to think calmly and logically." Mellinius barked, regaining control before he lost them. He refrained from giving in to the truth of the statement. He knew first hand how powerful and cunning Jomekin was, and how the childlike man seemed to relish maiming before going for the kill. Frankly, he thought that he, if he was helped by all assembled here, would be able to kill Jomekin. But Jomekin and Dallomir, both armed with magic-enhancing Lores? "I have already communicated to one with the means to help us."
That, at least, held their interest. Finally, one asked the obvious question which burned their minds like a wildfire. "Who can help us? The guild would sooner kill us, and the King no longer has any means by which-"
"Not the king, my friend." he cut off. "He indeed has no army or means anymore. But the Emperor of Elmekia does. His armies are powerful, he has the money and the magical power to aid us."
The situation went out of hand immediately. All ranted, shouts of disbelief echoing on the walls. A few begged Mellinius to reconsider, others told him he was mad, and one even went as far as to tell him he was committing treason against Lumeria. The last snapped what little patience he had left. He knew the dangers, had told them, and yet they still squirmed! He slammed his hand, using minor magic to make it sound like a thunderclap, commanding silence.
"Do not be worse fools than you sound!" he growled, "Dallomir is recreating Lei Magnus' experiments, and his sanity is slipping quickly! Who knows where it will stop? Do you want to run the risk of another War of Resurrection? The intelligent dragons are few and secretive these days, the elves have all but gone from our world, hidden away on Mipross! And there is no Water Dragon King to lead us now! I highly doubt humanity alone would be able to manage another Battle of Safalla. Do you want to take that chance?"
He looked at them all. None had anything to add at that. And if some still looked indignant, none voice another objection. He nodded gravely. "I figured as much. Yes, we might be doing Lumeria a disservice, but my dream of a freed realm is today unrealistic. The time to act has passed in that respect. But it's not too late here - we might still save ourselves from making an horrendous deed!"
He hesitated for a moment, and then rose. "From this moment on, we must consider ourselves renegades here. We will meet here only once, before striking."
They all agreed. As he had known they would
* * * * * * * * * *
"An interesting development."
"A development? An element amongst others. Amongst many others. Unimportant now, all for the culmination of my plan."
"You have waited long. I am curious to see what else you are prepared to manipulate?"
"Why, nothing."
"Nothing?"
"There is no need. They are all doing exactly what I want, playing their parts as well as can be expected. And they have - nor will they ever have - any hint that anyone was behind the scenes."
"Are you so certain of that?"
"Of course. They are human. And no human would believe that his decisions were based on the action of another. Proud, narrow-minded fools. They are perfect."
__________________________________________________________
Force Wizards: They are the enforcers in the guilds, those who neutralize sorcerers who have gone against the rules of the guild or become a great danger to themselves or the world.
Battle of Safalla: The last battle of the War of Resurrection, where the combined might of the Triad Army Lead by the Water Dragon King faced the main forces of the Mazoku lead by Gaav the Demon Dragon. Although it suffered some terrible loss, this battle - which lasted nineteen days and nineteen nights - was where the Triad Army narrowly defeated the Mazoku, and where the Water Dragon King used the Giga Slave for the first time in history, managing to control it at the cost of his own life. The After Resurrection calendar supposedly dates back to the dawn after the Battle of Safalla ended.