"The Elves. I've heard the stories about them, and I can tell you that some of what's in them's true. Yeah, the Elves were the ones who first got to fight the Mazoku a thousand years back. They were the big shots of that time; they formed the Triad army and made a lot of magic stuff that gave our side a chance to fight back.
But there's something the Elves know that they'll never admit. The Dragons fought fiercely against the Mazoku, which could fly, the elves protected with their magics. But when it came right down to it, it was Humans who fought at the front. It was Humans who shifted the tide back and forth. And it was Humans who helped the Water Dragon King when Shadra, one of the First Knights, gave her life so that they could get Ceipheed back with us for the final showdown.
Elves. Their time was gone even then. They saw it and they've never forgiven us for it. The proof of that? Me being exiled for choosing being human."
-Loerik Gabriev's scribbled notes, date unknown
"Friendship is fragile. And sometimes, when it breaks, the feelings which flood the soul are searing...but so pure and clear!"
Berwen, letter to Fezra
Chapter Twelve
Agony filled her every senses, every fibre of her being. The noxious liquid, the invasive spells were seeping into her body, tearing, and remaking her. She could feel her skin pealing, blood seeping from the gashes even as the magic grew something else in its place. Her mouth hung open in a scream long extinguished, yet ever-present, as she writhed and struggled against the supplice she was forced to endure.
Her failing spirit flailed about, unable to process all the pain properly, unable to raise even the slightest feel of her magic. Inside this hellish tube, so small a prison and yet seemingly infinite after so long inside it, she was cut of from that which she worked so hard to develop. That was almost as bad as the pain she felt. The process was destroying her body. But the lack of magic was destroying her mind. That...and something else also.
Her senses started to drift away, shut off by the sensory overload, leaving her an empty husk with a quavering soul. Desperate, her spirit fought on, focusing the dismay and the despair, scrambling through her mind as images floated and rose within her...
...Berwen opened her eyes and blinked again, wanting to be certain of what she was seeing, that this wasn't a dream but truly happening to her. It was. Before her stood Zefielia's Royal Magic Guild, the oldest in the world, and the most prestigious. It had trained legends like Nadris the Hawk, Alliadra Billowcairn, had even taught magic to Rezo the Red Priest when he came to learn Black Magic! It was, she knew from what she had heard, built upon a nexus of power, by Oerlus the Silent and Falana of the Five Winds, the most powerful sorcerers of their time...outside Lei Magnus, of course.
And Berwen, twelve years old, had been accepted there as an apprentice.
She looked at the structure. It was tall. A great tower from which smaller ones branched out, with smaller compounds surrounding it. Wide forested plains and magically-maintained gardens of flowers abounded, making the place even grander, almost as majestic as the Queen's Palace.
So caught up was she in her good fortune, in the thought of having her thirst for knowledge finally quenched, that she didn't hear the desperate 'look out!' and was effectively bowled over by someone, rolling and falling in a tangled heap.
"Ouch! Ow!!" she groaned as she fought to disentangle herself. "Couldn't you watch where you were going?!?
"Heheh...sorry sorry! I just managed to get a Ray Wing right and I got carried away!" the one who had hit her said, bouncing off and landing on her feet, brushing dust. She wore the outfit of a Black Magic Apprentice, and her mischievous, brown-haired face looked ready to play a trick any moment. She scrambled to her feet as well, her body screaming but her pride kicking in. An Apprentice like herself, and no older.
"Okay...I suppose." she conceded; Now wasn't the time to make enemies. "Isn't Ray Wing forbidden by the Guild Masters until we spend at least two years studying?"
The newcomer flushed a bit in embarrassment. "Yeah...I guess..." then the brunette flapped her hands quickly. "Bah, who cares? You're a new Apprentice here?"
"Well...yeah. Names's Berwen." she said on impulse, stretching her hand towards the other girl. It was at once caught and pumped mightily.
"Awesome! Nice to meet ya, Berwen! I'm new here too! My name's Fezra. Fezra Inverse!"
Fezra Inverse!
Fezra Inverse...
'Fezra left me here...'
'No! She wouldn't do that. We've been friends for years. We trained together, we travelled together!'
'No, you didn't travel with her. I didn't...you didn't...its wasn't travel. It was stalking. It was following; it was being drawn in what had become important! Always be near here, that's what you...I...wanted!'
'I wanted to help her on her adventures!'
'Don't be stupid! You wanted HER! But she didn't want you, and you knew it! No, she was always indulgent with you. You, the one with the middling power, the little furnace of magic next to her inferno. You were beneath her in her eyes!'
'I....no...Fezra...didn't...'
'And then she met HIM. That man. The man who could fight her squarely, who could match her spell-for-spell, wit-for wit. She was drawn to him at once. Drawn to him, away from you! You became unimportant...to her...to your band...you went from friend to a forgotten follower.'
'....not...true...'
'Isn't it?'
And as much as she fought against the images, her mind played them relentlessly. All the time, when they had been talking - Hallia and Loerik, Marcus and Fezra, all of them - they had left her out, only negligently asking her opinion, if at all. Always leaving her by herself, caught up in the spirit of them team they had created without her.
But she could live with that. It was other images, which played themselves now. Part of her screamed but she couldn't block them any more than she could escape the hell she was in. Fezra and Marcus talking after a fight on the way, laughing together, too close for her not to feel burning jealousy. Fezra whispering something in Marcus' ears. Marcus healing an injury Fezra had garnered through her recklessness, her injured hand gently cradled within his.
Fezra giving Marcus a slight kiss on the lips while he slept. She had been so certain everyone was asleep, but Berwen hadn't. No, she had seen, and then she had felt...
'Useless. She didn't need you. She didn't want you. But you...I...simply couldn't go away. So she sent us here! She threw you...I...you...ME...AWAY!!'
'NO! She didn't!?!'
'Didn't she? Didn't she?!? DIDN'T SHE?!?!?!?'
The voice, rising through her heart and soul, reverberated through her head like an unending chorus. Didn't she. Didn't she. And there was no way Berwen could say no anymore. Her doubts, slight, implanted by hated Dallomir, had taken root. She saw that, and yet she couldn't shake herself, couldn't make herself belief her friends would come and help her.
Instead, something within her told her they might come to gloat. When she was changed - a freak who could never belong anywhere again.
And that thought was gaining strength each second. She howled again, a ragged cry no one could hear, would ever hear - a cry of rage, of doubt, and of loss as the light began to fade in Berwen's spirit. Had one of the sorcerers been there, in the chamber, he might have seen the flailing arms take hold of the howling face, seen the fingers dif into flesh, and, without feeling anything, tearing large gashes of weakening tissue, blood mixing with the magical solution.
And in the chamber, fed by lies told by a mad sorcerer, by the well-hidden want of many years and the indescribable pain of her body, Berwen began to find a nebulous focus - that of rage. Of rage and dementia, filling her with new life even as her body began to fully change.
With the rage of an animal, she began to tear at the dead skin.
And underneath the gory work, metal gleamed as her body was reborn into something terrible. Something unseen in nearly a thousand years....
* * * * * * * * * *
Sailune's Royal Castle, inhabited by the Ruling House Sailune ever since the city's early days, could not be entered just by anyone. Guards did not permit the common man to disturb the King or any of the Court without excellent reason. Indeed, it was rare to see even an important dignitary enter into its tall and proud halls unimpeded, to come to the King unchallenged.
However, there were a few who could accomplish such a feat with ease. Rezo the Red Priest was one of the few. Dressed in his usual priestly outfit, he walked the grand halls with a firm, even step, his magical staff clicking as evenly as he. He didn't have to ask the guards to pass - they did it at once, bowing. Servants scurried out of his way, although they had nothing to fear from him. And yet everything.
For Rezo was the most powerful living spellcaster in the land, and that inspired both fear and respect. Ah, respect. How he had fought for this. It would be better, however, if he could truly see the respect on the face of the people, rather than having a spells translate what he never could see. Rezo's walk, however, wasn't directed toward the throne room, but towards King Fedoniel's private chambers.
Knowing the way - he had first visited these chambers long before Fedoniel himself had been King. Within minutes, with guards stepping aside and servants scrambling, he was before the great doors, challenged by two of the king's personal guard. They did not step aside, but rather held their swords steady. Both were huge men in full armour, pointing equally impressive swords at him.
"Who goes there? Identify yourself on be banned from this place!" one of the two huge guards shouted. It was reasonable request, and one, which Rezo answered with a calm smile.
"I am Rezo Redcloak, and I would wish to speak to your King at once." he said simply.
The blades wavered, yet the guards struggled to keep their composure. The answer he received was gruff, sharp. "How do we know you are who you said you are? Maybe you're just passing for the great Rezo, hoping to take the king unawares-"
"This is foolish." Rezo cut into the rant "I need to speak to your king about urgent matters which concern us both. You are wasting my time. And as a wizard, I could kill the both of you easily enough." The blades wavered more "But I choose not to, which should prove that I am simply telling you the truth.
Still the two held on to their duties, sweating. "I' am...awfully sorry, Your Eminence." the other guard began, words tripping over each other. "But you can't enter. The King has given us our orders.
Rezo, as an answer, put his wand in front of him and spoke a few quick words, which were incomprehensible to the elite guards. They looked at him for a moment, unsure, and then dropped like so much dead weight, fast asleep. Rezo looked at them serenely.
"Frightfully sorry, but these news are too important to wait." he said, and entered the king's chambers.
The king was there, as he had known he would be at this hour of the day, seated in fine but simple clothes on a chair near the window closing his balcony. A small table was near him, upon which were set glasses and a crystal bottle. A slight, minty odor wafted from the concoction, and Rezo recognized the smell of Kalmaartian Mintglow Brandy, a rare, pricey brew the king was known to indulge in. The king himself was pensive, and it was to his credit that when he turned towards Rezo, he barely showed any kind of alarm, rather looking as if he had expected the visit.
"Your entrances are always spectacular, Eminence." he said tiredly. He lifted his glass. "Would you care for a drink?"
Rezo shook his head, but brought a chair near the king with a flick of his fingers, and sat close to the monarch. "No, thank you. I will not stay long. I wish to tell you some news that I think you might find of importance."
"If it is about the Elmekian conflict, I don't see, with all respect, what you could bring. The war is all but over - Lumeria has lost."
"Your country's inaction is partly to blame for this. But I digress. I am not here to tell you about the east, but rather about the Western lands."
That caught Fedoniel's attention. He took a longer sip of his brandy. His eyes were filled with curiosity as he asked. "The West. I do not see much problems there. Lyzeille is prosperous. Ralteague is stable. As for Dills, I have heard that there is some trouble, but aside from this..."
"I'm afraid it is quite worse than what you have heard. Dils is falling. It is on the brink of a bloody civil war."
"What?!?"
"And Ralteague is not nearly as stable as you may think. Trouble is brewing there as well, although I do not see what exactly. Still, it is clear that these lands will be weakened, one on very short notice."
This shook the king visibly, and for good reason. Sailune held the reigns of power throughout the continent as the one with the foremost army, but the stability of the realms was a fragile thing. The power had always been maintained by the alliance of Sailune with magical Zefielia and the agrarian kingdom of Ralteague. Together, they stood against countries such as bellicose Kalmaart and served as a deterrent to power-hungry Elmekia.
But with Ralteague possibly unstable, and Dils on the brink of chaos, war could develop on Sailune's other border, as warlords and armies from Kalmaart might fight over the pieces of one, and perhaps two kingdoms.
"Gods!" the king cried, rising from his seat, gulping down the rest of his brandy even though it certainly burned his throat in its intensity. "With the Elmekians waging their war, the sense of unease on the populace has increased. My people do not need another war forming on their other borders."
"Those were my thoughts." Rezo agreed. He both felt and saw the pensive gaze of the monarch as he said this. He knew what the question would be at once.
"Why are you telling me this? What have you to gain by this information? Lyzeille is well defended, and Sairaag itself is nearly cut of from the continent. There is no danger to you. So why?"
The Red Priest never answered such brusque questions unless he was faced with a man who deserved the answer. Fedoniel, fortunately, was strong at wilful, something the powerful spellcaster could empathize with. Still, he hesitated slightly before answering. "I...I suppose one could say I dreamed of a danger."
The king, who had started pacing in thought, stopped. "Dreams? What kind of dreams?"
Dark ones, he wanted to say. But an increasing number of his dreams were slightly unpleasant. What separated this dream from the rest? He thought that it was the sense of pure realism he had felt. Perhaps, however, it was only what warriors called a gut's instinct.
"I have seen...I have seen a great darkness coming from the east, and engulfing the west. I do not know what this darkness is or when it shall happen, but I fear we may have little time to prevail over these dark events. You need to fortify Ralteague and try to calm the situation in Dils if at all possible."
There was a long pause as the king looked down from his window. Under his feet lay the castle and around lay the majestic city of Sailune. He knew the King, for all his cold exterior, cared for his people - albeit didn't know them as well as his eldest did. His eldest, and his daughter's fiancé and a troubled priestess who were all preparing to leave to keep the east safe as he tried his best to prevail in the west.
Finally, the king nodded. "I will send troops to help Ralteague, and help the royal house in Dils. But tell me, Eminence. What else did you see in your vision?"
Rezo's face darkened. "Nothing else...nothing else except...some form of ancient evil, an impression of a travesty done long ago. And mostly...mostly, I see yellow eyes when I have these dreams."
* * * * * * * * * *
"You want to know what I hate. But I mean really, really, really hate?" Loerik shouted to no one in particular as his sword expertly cut through yet another goo-like monster. Fezra, firing an Elmekia Lance at another group, found it oddly amusing.
"No! What?" she asked.
He didn't seem to think anyone would challenge him to answer, but he did readily enough. "I hate people attacking me with anything related to mud. Its stinks!" he growled.
She gave a surprised laugh at his irate tone. The man was loosening up these days, certainly due in no small part to his relationship with Hallia. He wasn't walking around with a cloud over his head as he'd done so much ever since she'd known him. The comforting thought almost made her forget the dire position all of them were in.
They had come close to the place they had learned to be the magical fortress which the darn mages who took Berwen were hiding in. Marcus had cautioned them to pay attention, citing that magical fortresses often had surprising defences - as if he'd needed to tell her that. But all of their prudence had given nothing, as they'd found themselves under attack by a force of humanoid shapes. Made of mud it seemed. Definitely magical.
The problem was, they seemed infinite. Being in a boggy area, mud was there in ample supply, enough to field a near-endless supply of slow moving but stubborn troops. Marcus also used a mix of flare arrows and elmekia lances to destroy as many of them as he could, while Hallia drove off the magic from some of them with her white magic spells. Zashtla was fighting with them with her sword, as was Loerik - though he was evidently thinking about using the sword of light itself instead of his steel blade.
Five other mudmen came at her, lumbering closer, roughly-shaped arms stretched towards her. She grinned at them, and gathered magical fire into her hand, until it formed a line of incandescent power. She focused on the approaching group. "FLARE ARROW!"
As it had done a dozen times before, the magical attack screamed towards the targets, exploding in their midst and dissipating their form. Unfortunately, and as they had a dozen times before, five others formed a moment afterwards. Fezra couldn't help but blink and stare as dismay threatened to control her thoughts. She shook it off from years of facing dangerous odds, and huffed towards them.
"Ah, come one! Can't you actually give us a chance to win here?!?"
"I don't think that's quite in their agenda Fez!" Hallia said, pushing two mudmen away with a wind spell and running towards her. "There's no end to them, and there won't be, unless we destroy the whole place!"
"You're right. And I'm beginning to think that this is the right time for that!" She growled, tired of this little game those sorcerers were putting up. Before she could decide upon a high-level spell that would suit the situation. Marcus intervened, blasting three monsters as he did.
"No! We need to keep those spells as a last resort! This attack may be exactly that - a ploy to get us to expand our power!
As irritating as he was, the man was right. The logical part of Fezra's mind quickly agreed, even as her family temper asked to take definite action. Spurred by the others, however, it failed to have her act rashly. "Fine! But unless we find a solution soon, we're going to be forced to used them!" she answered.
"Whatever we do, lets do it fast!" Zasthla shouted from farther off, as more and more mudmen began to surround her. She was fighting them off so far, but their sheer numbers were becoming problematic. Loerik, for his part, was faring better, but had his hands full. "I'm tiring here!"
Fezra thought fast. She'd seen no one in the area, sensed no magic being worked. This meant that the sorcerers - she was increasingly certain that it was they - were elsewhere. That clashed with what she knew of these spells. They had to be cast somewhere within an area the sorcerer's power could reach. Unless...memories surfaced of one time she had come across certain documents concerning the Fall of the Elcaz Empire. In these accounts, she had read of a sorcerer who had been able to animate golems at a distance. However, once he had been defeated, the investigating wizards had found an object they had found to be a...
"An Orb of Focus!" she exclaimed. "Marcus, it could be an Orb of Focus that's at the core of all this!"
"You're right! I've heard of these things! That's the only way we can't feel a thing, no power displacement or spell. They can cast from far away!"
"LIGHT COME FORTH!!" Loerik growled, and in a flash the beam of light emerged from the hilt and took the shape of a blade. Swirling it around with unbelievable quickness, he began to cut down mudmen at a rabid rate. However, she knew it wouldn't be enough. They had to act, and act now."
"Hallia, you'll have to cast a Wind Barrier!" the green-haired priestess nodded, sweat dripping down her brow. "Marcus, Loerik, Zashtla, come around us quick! DIEM WIND!!!!!" a burst of wind shoved the mudmen away, even as Marcus, having fried some others, joined them.
Loerik cut through the throng quickly, his fatigue starting to be evident. His work was eased by the fact that the Sword of Light allowed him to destroy them easily. He managed to reach their spot, his shoulders sagging, glaring at the approaching packs. Zashtla, however, neither possessed Loerik's magical sword and insane skill or Marcus's powerful spells. She found herself beset, and as she raised her sword to strike once more, two mudmen pushed her from behind. She stumbled, cursing - and another bowled into her, driving her to the ground.
"Damn! Hallia, the Wind Barrier!" She saw the priestess hesitate. "NOW! We can't help her right now. As she watched, Zashtla was struggling against the mudmen, but they appeared to be covering her. The barrier rose, stopping the monstrous creations. "Okay, now for the big thing! Where could that thing be?"
"At the center of the attack, to make the transition easier." Marcus noted. We came under attack near those trees over there! Lets start from there." He looked at Zashtla disappearing beneath a new mound and gritted his teeth."
Fezra looked around frantically. Things were going to fast, her need to save Berwen mingled with the immediate need to save Zashtla and threw her emotions into a fit. She let her eyes roam everywhere she could but couldn't focus enough to see the small object - if she was right, that is. As she, Loerik and Marcus looked around; Hallia bore the brunt of the myriad of enemies beating on the barrier. It began to lose intensity.
"The spell's weakening!" she choked as if the others couldn't see it for themselves. Fezra was about to add her strength to her spell, but at that moment Loerik pointed to gnarled tree perhaps fifty feet from them.
"There! There's something in that tree!" he said.
There was no hesitation. Fezra and Marcus exchanged a look, and began to gather a ball of fire between their hands. "Drop the Barrier!" Marcus shouted, and it did at once, Hallia falling to her knees, Loerik stepping near her. The creations all ambled forward, but before they had a chance to do more than two steps, two fireballs arched towards the tree, and struck.
The power both had put into this act had been great. The tree was obliterated. Fezra held her breath.
All around them, the mudmen lurched one step more, and then began to fall apart, the solidity ripped from them. One moment, they were surrounded. Two heartbeats later, they stood in the middle of a mangled, boggy area bordered by old, rotting trees. With a mighty, desperate heave, Zashtla reappeared, gasping, while Hallia moved towards her tiredly, her swordsman lover hovering nearby.
Marcus looked around the place, panting slightly. "This was is. He wants to make certain no one's coming to stop his plans."
"Yeah?" she growled, "Well, he got another thing coming to him. Inverses don't stop until they get what they want." she gave a victory sign, tired, as she was herself.
Yes, until she got what she wanted. And what she wanted right now was Berwen free of the nightmare she was certainly suffering in. That, and giving the three who started the whole mess a beating, which would be remembered till the dreaded Second War of Resurrection!
* * * * * * * * * *
Valmatia would hardly admit it openly yet, but she found Sailune to be much to her liking. The King had welcomed her as he would a queen, and the nobility had been more than satisfactory in the way they had interacted with her.
Sailune City itself was nothing short of amazing. Her home at Grand Falls was superb, and she had visited the imperial capital of Elmekia more than once, but Sailune simply blew both away. It wasn't larger than the empire's capital, but had an air of prosperity that she had found lacking before. The tour she had been given the days before had confirmed it. The marketplaces were large and varied, and carried goods from the four corners of the continent. They were always bustling, always filled with people, and the flow of trade often made her head dizzy.
The buildings themselves were all in good repair, with they becoming larger and more beautiful as they near the Royal Castle. But that was to be expected - the nobility always hugged royalty, sometimes annoyingly so. As the Emperor's niece, she often saw this for herself. But that wasn't what had impressed her so much.
She had been given a tour of nearly all the city, and that meant that Sailune City had little in the way of poverty and slums. She had noticed that beggars were fewer than in her home of the Emperor's capital, and that struck a cord within her. The Ruling House Sailune, it seemed, did not squander its great wealth only on its armies or extravagant parties, but gave a good fraction to better the lives of its people.
Yes, she found Sailune to be quite a good place in the end.
Now, of course, it remained to be seen if she could truly stand the ugly heir to the throne, Crown Prince Philionel.
Her feelings were more mixed now than when she'd first arrived. Having expected a dull man or a fool blinded by high ideals - as many said he was behind his back - she had been surprised to find that, although the man had a fixation on justice and the ways one might directly help it, he had shown himself to be intelligent, mindful of his people. His travels had given him greater insight upon the needs of the common folk, and she had found herself baffled at some of his discoveries. He was ugly - nothing would ever change that, she was sure - but she had found a great charisma and determination, which often made one forget about looks.
She had no doubts, despite the gossips, that Philionel would make a great king - greater than his own father. He had something in him that pointed to that. The problem was, in the end, if she truly wanted to become this particular King's Queen.
She heard a firm knock on her door, and she rose. "Enter" she said simply, and the door opened. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.
There, in the doorway, was the very man she had been debating on. Crown Prince Philionel stood with his hand on the golden handle, dressed in fine clothes that didn't negate his immense physique but lent an air of power to him. His face was serious, but respectful, and he bowed slightly.
"Princess," he said, "I hope that I am not interrupting."
"Not at all, My Lord," she replied, hiding her surprise. "Please come in."
He did, closing the door behind him. Her heart accelerated a bit, and she controlled her reaction. Fear? No, she knew by now that Philionel was too honourable to do anything with a lady outside the boundaries of Sailunean Law. Anticipation? Yes, that was it. But of what?
He looked around him a moment, before giving her a stare which, while formal, wasn't unkind. "I hope that you are satisfied with your apartments?"
Was there a way to say no? She had been given chambers which made those she'd had at Grand Falls seem small. A large, well-decorated bedroom, with a dressing room, another chamber where she could in an enclosed balcony, overlooking part of the city. A room with a tub, sweet-smelling soaps and perfumes. All of this with servants ready to jump to serve her at the flick of a finger. There could be no greater comforts.
But she knew he knew that well. So she simply nodded gracefully "Yes, they are quite superb, My Lord."
"That is good to hear." he seemed to hesitate for a bare instant, then continued in a firm tone. "Princess Valmatia, I wish to tell you that I intend to leave soon. My friends and I have found what we came here for, and we intend to rejoin others to save another friend...and possibly much more."
This threw her off somewhat. She had expected that this reckless prince would go gallivanting again, as he'd been doing when she had first come to Sailune's capital. What she hadn't expected was this - the Crown Prince telling her of his plans.
"It pains me to hear this, My Lord. But why tell me?" she couldn't help but inquire, although something in her told her the answer even before he responded.
"Because we will be married soon. Although it is not a choice of mine, I know you are caught in this as well. I would ask you to give me leave. If you refuse, then I will remain here, for I must."
"You must."
"Of course. You are my wife, and your opinions should always come first." he said with a firm, idealistic gleam in his eyes. She briefly wondered if those who thought Philionel a fool had ever seen him give such a speech, or show such determination. She herself found it endearing, as strange as it was. She never had had much love in her heart for those who didn't believe in what they said; who talked but never backed any of it with action or determination.
She reflected on the matter briefly. He wanted to leave, an action, which, by itself, would drive the king, crazy. It then stood to reason that he had not asked his father at all, and did not intend to. On the one hand, it wouldn't do if the King of Sailune learned that she had told his son to go without advising him first. However, the prince was the one she would marry, and going to the king would be a betrayal as well, a greater one, which might damage whatever, they might build before they began building it.
She hated when something wasn't simple. She hated making decision when she wasn't quite certain which side was right. However, Philionel didn't look like he was about to give her much time to think things through. Her mind whirled fiercely.
"You are not asking me an easy thing." she said.
"I am aware of that." he answered simply, without offering anything else. Damn the man!
Becoming Queen of Sailune suited her, she had to admit that much - although it might be a while, since King Fedoniel appeared to be in fine health and nothing seemed to be about to change that. However, she refused to rule for no other reason than because she wanted to. She wanted to rule for a reason, and more than anything else she wanted an ambiance in which she could feel truth. She wouldn't begin to lie to herself - or to him.
"When I came here, I thought you were an ugly fool. I did not want to marry you, to have to spend years and years with you." he flinched slightly, but she moved on. "I am not quite certain of myself yet. It will take time, but I have felt that you were different than what the gossip told me of you."
He seemed to stiffen at first, and then relaxed just slightly, his massive frame washing away some of the imperial grandeur he had worked into it. He looked hesitant, but finally told her "Thank you."
She looked at him gently. "I don't think doing this to your father is right. He cares for you in his own way. Is it so important that you have to do it?"
He looked more sad rather than angry with that. "I know my father cares as best he is able to. But these people...understand things he never will. Yes, they are important. And I cannot allow them to go on in this venture without me."
"Then go." she said, surprising herself with her fervent tone. "You should leave and live your life as honestly as you feel you should. Friends who inspire that feeling...are worth fighting for."
At that, he simply smiled at her, nodded, and left. Nothing more. And yet, she felt that in that brief visit, things had changed within her, something had sparked about her stay here.
Yes, Sailune was very much to her liking!
* * * * * * * * * *
The capital of Lumeria had fallen three days before, its walls cracked and tumbling, its last armies routed and dispersed. The Lumerian King had marshalled an impressive and determined force for this last stand, and had most probably emptied all of his remaining resources to put it together: seven thousand men, many sorcerers included, held the massive walls against the Imperial Army.
But it had been for naught in the end. Outnumbering the enemy by nearly five to one, with more sorcerers and knights and mercenaries on its side, the Empire had slowly eroded the valiant resistance, until it fell apart, opening a wide road to the royal family of Lumeria. The faint rumours he had heard told that the imperials were ready to execute them. Once they did, the remaining nobles - turncoat or not - would frantically swear allegiance to the Emperor, and then Elmekia would annex Lumeria, taking back the land which seceded from it over three centuries previous, when a period of war tore up so many strong powers - powers such as the fabled Elcaz Empire.
There was a time when Mellinius would have done anything to make certain this would never happen. Unfortunately this had meant him following Dallomir, blinded by the sorcerer's promises. He didn't even know, as it was, if the man was even able to understand the doom of the kingdom he had once served so faithfully...until his wife had died.
Now, Dallomir dabbled in dangerous Lores, opening dark possibilities unseen since the War of Resurrection. Driven by a distorted mental image of his wife - or so his ramblings seemed to suggest - the man was bending his will in undoing what the First Knights had worked so hard to keep away from human hands.
Day by day, his former mentor's grip on sanity was slipping.
Each hour brought the world closer to the day he would do something no one might ever repair.
And so, although it irked him impossibly, that it strangled his soul, Mellinius awaited the Imperial strike force sent by Duke Salemir, the Emperor's brother, by a bare wall. Waiting to betray his oaths in the name of the world.
What did it really make of him?
"A fool, certainly." he sighed "And a traitor. But it has to be done. Ceipheed and the Dragon Kings help me, it has to be done!"
"You sound quite certain of yourself." a voice, like a child speaking in the tones of an adult, spoke near him. It sounded amused. Fear and anger gripping him, Mellinius whirled to face a grinning Jomekin.
"You." he couldn't find it within himself to say any more than that. His tone easily conveyed the rest.
"Me. Just me. Completely and unequivocally me. Naughty, naughty Mellinius. Don't you think that I wouldn't notice? Dallomir may be losing his marbles but I don't think I'm quite that far off as to miss you holding secret meetings with the apprentices and the lesser mages in this tower. Did you really think it would escape me, when I take note of everything?"
The man who had been willing to betray his oaths backed away a step, calling upon his strongest spells to mind. Although he knew he was much stronger than the average, he was in no way certain he could take down the manchild - he knew the smaller sorcerer was ruthless and powerful. "I hoped you wouldn't. But since you do, you give me little choice..."
This didn't seem to make much of an effect on the strange little man. "You wish to fight me here, to protect your secrets and probably die for it? Astounding! I knew you had it in you, but still, bravo!" then the manchild's jovial tone dropped to a more serious one. "But you needn't take the trouble. I am not an enemy. In fact, I mean to stop Dallomir as well as you do."
He almost laughed out loud. "And you expect me to believe that?"
"Do you have that much of a choice. If not, we will fight. And even if you slay me, your plan will have been blown quite open, so that even potty Dallomir will notice."
This made him pause angrily. He hated that. He hated Jomekin and is ability to make one appear a fool at the very same time he could be right. "Why should I believe you wish to help me?"
"Right to the meat of the matter? I like that. Its simple: I've managed to look into Dallomir's scrolls - none of them hold a cure for my curse!" his fists clenched, and for a moment Mellinius spied genuine rage and bitterness on the manchild's face. "All this time, Dallomir was lying to me, making me hope, using me. I cannot forgive this. So you see, our goals are the same, even if they have different motives behind them."
The young mage thought about this. It was very plausible. It fell right into Dallomir's ability to manipulate people and blind them to the obvious. He had long ago stopped believing they had brought anything else but dangers with them - certainly nothing beneficial such a cure for a cursed man. But Jomekin had always been known to have an ability to manipulate himself, to set up traps. This could be one, although it didn't quite feel like it was so.
In the end, however, it came down to this question: Do I have a choice?
The answer was obvious. He growled. "I hope trusting you isn't a mistake."
"It is always a mistake to trust. But in this case, I think you may rest easy."
He wasn't so certain of that, but the argument was moot: he felt them coming - a magical signal he had arranged set off in his head, and he concentrated, putting his hand on the wall, focusing to weaken the magical alarms and shield around this particular spot. Willing himself to see the intricate pattern, he managed to push them aside somewhat - but not enough. As much as he concentrated, he couldn't get the darn wards to weaken further. That was when he saw Jomekin put a hand next to his, grinning again.
"Alright. Lets see what we can do about those wards." he jested, then closed his eyes in concentration.
He couldn't believe the manchild had so much power within himself. One moment, the ward was holding despite his efforts, the next they weakened to a manageable level. How could so much power be contained in such an underdeveloped body? And what would Jomekin's power be if he ever reached his adult form one day.
The wall next to the two of them crackled, then a portal flickered, came to life and stabilized. Three figures immediately jumped through, and it slammed shut behind them. Mellinius panted. He couldn't believe how hard an exercise it had been. If it hadn't been for Jomekin...
He stopped at that, the rest unsaid, but understood. He looked at the grinning manchild and nodded his silent thanks, then turned to the three before him. Two women and one man stood there. All were dressed in the garb of the Elmekian magic guilds, and all looked smug to be where they were. He understood that much. Dallomir's tower had been one of the first magical places to break away from the Elmekian died during Lumeria's secession, and it probably filled them with triumph to stand upon its grounds after so many centuries.
Ceipheed, how it rankled him.
But he didn't let it show when he said, "I take it you are the ones the Duke sent."
The man stepped forward. "We are. By Duke Salemir's orders, we are to help you kill the head of this tower, the lumerian archmage known as Dallomir." He seemed to savour those words - far too much in fact. Even Jomekin frowned slightly.
"You shouldn't be feeling so confident." the manchild stated with a feral edge. "Dallomir has lost his sanity, and that will make him even more dangerous than ever before."
"Quite so." one of the females said, face doubtful. "But we are dangerous as well." she dismissed the discussion with a gesture. "Enough of this. Will you let us in one your little plan, or must we improvise something?"
And Mellinius, his heart heavy with anger and guilt, yet determined to do what he thought was right, began to tell of his plans to kill a former friend to former enemies.
_________________________________________________________________
Elcaz Empire: A powerful nation, which rose quickly and attained great height before falling brutally. Founded in 279 AR, it rose to become the most powerful nation the land had ever seen, conquering nation after nation until, by the end of the seventh century; it controlled nearly half the continent. This proved to be its undoing, however, as internal conflicts rose into a terrible war which ravaged the great empire, destroying most of it and splintering it into smaller nations. Many ruins and mighty magics are uncovered even today, forgotten relics of the most powerful of all human realms.
But there's something the Elves know that they'll never admit. The Dragons fought fiercely against the Mazoku, which could fly, the elves protected with their magics. But when it came right down to it, it was Humans who fought at the front. It was Humans who shifted the tide back and forth. And it was Humans who helped the Water Dragon King when Shadra, one of the First Knights, gave her life so that they could get Ceipheed back with us for the final showdown.
Elves. Their time was gone even then. They saw it and they've never forgiven us for it. The proof of that? Me being exiled for choosing being human."
-Loerik Gabriev's scribbled notes, date unknown
"Friendship is fragile. And sometimes, when it breaks, the feelings which flood the soul are searing...but so pure and clear!"
Berwen, letter to Fezra
Chapter Twelve
Agony filled her every senses, every fibre of her being. The noxious liquid, the invasive spells were seeping into her body, tearing, and remaking her. She could feel her skin pealing, blood seeping from the gashes even as the magic grew something else in its place. Her mouth hung open in a scream long extinguished, yet ever-present, as she writhed and struggled against the supplice she was forced to endure.
Her failing spirit flailed about, unable to process all the pain properly, unable to raise even the slightest feel of her magic. Inside this hellish tube, so small a prison and yet seemingly infinite after so long inside it, she was cut of from that which she worked so hard to develop. That was almost as bad as the pain she felt. The process was destroying her body. But the lack of magic was destroying her mind. That...and something else also.
Her senses started to drift away, shut off by the sensory overload, leaving her an empty husk with a quavering soul. Desperate, her spirit fought on, focusing the dismay and the despair, scrambling through her mind as images floated and rose within her...
...Berwen opened her eyes and blinked again, wanting to be certain of what she was seeing, that this wasn't a dream but truly happening to her. It was. Before her stood Zefielia's Royal Magic Guild, the oldest in the world, and the most prestigious. It had trained legends like Nadris the Hawk, Alliadra Billowcairn, had even taught magic to Rezo the Red Priest when he came to learn Black Magic! It was, she knew from what she had heard, built upon a nexus of power, by Oerlus the Silent and Falana of the Five Winds, the most powerful sorcerers of their time...outside Lei Magnus, of course.
And Berwen, twelve years old, had been accepted there as an apprentice.
She looked at the structure. It was tall. A great tower from which smaller ones branched out, with smaller compounds surrounding it. Wide forested plains and magically-maintained gardens of flowers abounded, making the place even grander, almost as majestic as the Queen's Palace.
So caught up was she in her good fortune, in the thought of having her thirst for knowledge finally quenched, that she didn't hear the desperate 'look out!' and was effectively bowled over by someone, rolling and falling in a tangled heap.
"Ouch! Ow!!" she groaned as she fought to disentangle herself. "Couldn't you watch where you were going?!?
"Heheh...sorry sorry! I just managed to get a Ray Wing right and I got carried away!" the one who had hit her said, bouncing off and landing on her feet, brushing dust. She wore the outfit of a Black Magic Apprentice, and her mischievous, brown-haired face looked ready to play a trick any moment. She scrambled to her feet as well, her body screaming but her pride kicking in. An Apprentice like herself, and no older.
"Okay...I suppose." she conceded; Now wasn't the time to make enemies. "Isn't Ray Wing forbidden by the Guild Masters until we spend at least two years studying?"
The newcomer flushed a bit in embarrassment. "Yeah...I guess..." then the brunette flapped her hands quickly. "Bah, who cares? You're a new Apprentice here?"
"Well...yeah. Names's Berwen." she said on impulse, stretching her hand towards the other girl. It was at once caught and pumped mightily.
"Awesome! Nice to meet ya, Berwen! I'm new here too! My name's Fezra. Fezra Inverse!"
Fezra Inverse!
Fezra Inverse...
'Fezra left me here...'
'No! She wouldn't do that. We've been friends for years. We trained together, we travelled together!'
'No, you didn't travel with her. I didn't...you didn't...its wasn't travel. It was stalking. It was following; it was being drawn in what had become important! Always be near here, that's what you...I...wanted!'
'I wanted to help her on her adventures!'
'Don't be stupid! You wanted HER! But she didn't want you, and you knew it! No, she was always indulgent with you. You, the one with the middling power, the little furnace of magic next to her inferno. You were beneath her in her eyes!'
'I....no...Fezra...didn't...'
'And then she met HIM. That man. The man who could fight her squarely, who could match her spell-for-spell, wit-for wit. She was drawn to him at once. Drawn to him, away from you! You became unimportant...to her...to your band...you went from friend to a forgotten follower.'
'....not...true...'
'Isn't it?'
And as much as she fought against the images, her mind played them relentlessly. All the time, when they had been talking - Hallia and Loerik, Marcus and Fezra, all of them - they had left her out, only negligently asking her opinion, if at all. Always leaving her by herself, caught up in the spirit of them team they had created without her.
But she could live with that. It was other images, which played themselves now. Part of her screamed but she couldn't block them any more than she could escape the hell she was in. Fezra and Marcus talking after a fight on the way, laughing together, too close for her not to feel burning jealousy. Fezra whispering something in Marcus' ears. Marcus healing an injury Fezra had garnered through her recklessness, her injured hand gently cradled within his.
Fezra giving Marcus a slight kiss on the lips while he slept. She had been so certain everyone was asleep, but Berwen hadn't. No, she had seen, and then she had felt...
'Useless. She didn't need you. She didn't want you. But you...I...simply couldn't go away. So she sent us here! She threw you...I...you...ME...AWAY!!'
'NO! She didn't!?!'
'Didn't she? Didn't she?!? DIDN'T SHE?!?!?!?'
The voice, rising through her heart and soul, reverberated through her head like an unending chorus. Didn't she. Didn't she. And there was no way Berwen could say no anymore. Her doubts, slight, implanted by hated Dallomir, had taken root. She saw that, and yet she couldn't shake herself, couldn't make herself belief her friends would come and help her.
Instead, something within her told her they might come to gloat. When she was changed - a freak who could never belong anywhere again.
And that thought was gaining strength each second. She howled again, a ragged cry no one could hear, would ever hear - a cry of rage, of doubt, and of loss as the light began to fade in Berwen's spirit. Had one of the sorcerers been there, in the chamber, he might have seen the flailing arms take hold of the howling face, seen the fingers dif into flesh, and, without feeling anything, tearing large gashes of weakening tissue, blood mixing with the magical solution.
And in the chamber, fed by lies told by a mad sorcerer, by the well-hidden want of many years and the indescribable pain of her body, Berwen began to find a nebulous focus - that of rage. Of rage and dementia, filling her with new life even as her body began to fully change.
With the rage of an animal, she began to tear at the dead skin.
And underneath the gory work, metal gleamed as her body was reborn into something terrible. Something unseen in nearly a thousand years....
* * * * * * * * * *
Sailune's Royal Castle, inhabited by the Ruling House Sailune ever since the city's early days, could not be entered just by anyone. Guards did not permit the common man to disturb the King or any of the Court without excellent reason. Indeed, it was rare to see even an important dignitary enter into its tall and proud halls unimpeded, to come to the King unchallenged.
However, there were a few who could accomplish such a feat with ease. Rezo the Red Priest was one of the few. Dressed in his usual priestly outfit, he walked the grand halls with a firm, even step, his magical staff clicking as evenly as he. He didn't have to ask the guards to pass - they did it at once, bowing. Servants scurried out of his way, although they had nothing to fear from him. And yet everything.
For Rezo was the most powerful living spellcaster in the land, and that inspired both fear and respect. Ah, respect. How he had fought for this. It would be better, however, if he could truly see the respect on the face of the people, rather than having a spells translate what he never could see. Rezo's walk, however, wasn't directed toward the throne room, but towards King Fedoniel's private chambers.
Knowing the way - he had first visited these chambers long before Fedoniel himself had been King. Within minutes, with guards stepping aside and servants scrambling, he was before the great doors, challenged by two of the king's personal guard. They did not step aside, but rather held their swords steady. Both were huge men in full armour, pointing equally impressive swords at him.
"Who goes there? Identify yourself on be banned from this place!" one of the two huge guards shouted. It was reasonable request, and one, which Rezo answered with a calm smile.
"I am Rezo Redcloak, and I would wish to speak to your King at once." he said simply.
The blades wavered, yet the guards struggled to keep their composure. The answer he received was gruff, sharp. "How do we know you are who you said you are? Maybe you're just passing for the great Rezo, hoping to take the king unawares-"
"This is foolish." Rezo cut into the rant "I need to speak to your king about urgent matters which concern us both. You are wasting my time. And as a wizard, I could kill the both of you easily enough." The blades wavered more "But I choose not to, which should prove that I am simply telling you the truth.
Still the two held on to their duties, sweating. "I' am...awfully sorry, Your Eminence." the other guard began, words tripping over each other. "But you can't enter. The King has given us our orders.
Rezo, as an answer, put his wand in front of him and spoke a few quick words, which were incomprehensible to the elite guards. They looked at him for a moment, unsure, and then dropped like so much dead weight, fast asleep. Rezo looked at them serenely.
"Frightfully sorry, but these news are too important to wait." he said, and entered the king's chambers.
The king was there, as he had known he would be at this hour of the day, seated in fine but simple clothes on a chair near the window closing his balcony. A small table was near him, upon which were set glasses and a crystal bottle. A slight, minty odor wafted from the concoction, and Rezo recognized the smell of Kalmaartian Mintglow Brandy, a rare, pricey brew the king was known to indulge in. The king himself was pensive, and it was to his credit that when he turned towards Rezo, he barely showed any kind of alarm, rather looking as if he had expected the visit.
"Your entrances are always spectacular, Eminence." he said tiredly. He lifted his glass. "Would you care for a drink?"
Rezo shook his head, but brought a chair near the king with a flick of his fingers, and sat close to the monarch. "No, thank you. I will not stay long. I wish to tell you some news that I think you might find of importance."
"If it is about the Elmekian conflict, I don't see, with all respect, what you could bring. The war is all but over - Lumeria has lost."
"Your country's inaction is partly to blame for this. But I digress. I am not here to tell you about the east, but rather about the Western lands."
That caught Fedoniel's attention. He took a longer sip of his brandy. His eyes were filled with curiosity as he asked. "The West. I do not see much problems there. Lyzeille is prosperous. Ralteague is stable. As for Dills, I have heard that there is some trouble, but aside from this..."
"I'm afraid it is quite worse than what you have heard. Dils is falling. It is on the brink of a bloody civil war."
"What?!?"
"And Ralteague is not nearly as stable as you may think. Trouble is brewing there as well, although I do not see what exactly. Still, it is clear that these lands will be weakened, one on very short notice."
This shook the king visibly, and for good reason. Sailune held the reigns of power throughout the continent as the one with the foremost army, but the stability of the realms was a fragile thing. The power had always been maintained by the alliance of Sailune with magical Zefielia and the agrarian kingdom of Ralteague. Together, they stood against countries such as bellicose Kalmaart and served as a deterrent to power-hungry Elmekia.
But with Ralteague possibly unstable, and Dils on the brink of chaos, war could develop on Sailune's other border, as warlords and armies from Kalmaart might fight over the pieces of one, and perhaps two kingdoms.
"Gods!" the king cried, rising from his seat, gulping down the rest of his brandy even though it certainly burned his throat in its intensity. "With the Elmekians waging their war, the sense of unease on the populace has increased. My people do not need another war forming on their other borders."
"Those were my thoughts." Rezo agreed. He both felt and saw the pensive gaze of the monarch as he said this. He knew what the question would be at once.
"Why are you telling me this? What have you to gain by this information? Lyzeille is well defended, and Sairaag itself is nearly cut of from the continent. There is no danger to you. So why?"
The Red Priest never answered such brusque questions unless he was faced with a man who deserved the answer. Fedoniel, fortunately, was strong at wilful, something the powerful spellcaster could empathize with. Still, he hesitated slightly before answering. "I...I suppose one could say I dreamed of a danger."
The king, who had started pacing in thought, stopped. "Dreams? What kind of dreams?"
Dark ones, he wanted to say. But an increasing number of his dreams were slightly unpleasant. What separated this dream from the rest? He thought that it was the sense of pure realism he had felt. Perhaps, however, it was only what warriors called a gut's instinct.
"I have seen...I have seen a great darkness coming from the east, and engulfing the west. I do not know what this darkness is or when it shall happen, but I fear we may have little time to prevail over these dark events. You need to fortify Ralteague and try to calm the situation in Dils if at all possible."
There was a long pause as the king looked down from his window. Under his feet lay the castle and around lay the majestic city of Sailune. He knew the King, for all his cold exterior, cared for his people - albeit didn't know them as well as his eldest did. His eldest, and his daughter's fiancé and a troubled priestess who were all preparing to leave to keep the east safe as he tried his best to prevail in the west.
Finally, the king nodded. "I will send troops to help Ralteague, and help the royal house in Dils. But tell me, Eminence. What else did you see in your vision?"
Rezo's face darkened. "Nothing else...nothing else except...some form of ancient evil, an impression of a travesty done long ago. And mostly...mostly, I see yellow eyes when I have these dreams."
* * * * * * * * * *
"You want to know what I hate. But I mean really, really, really hate?" Loerik shouted to no one in particular as his sword expertly cut through yet another goo-like monster. Fezra, firing an Elmekia Lance at another group, found it oddly amusing.
"No! What?" she asked.
He didn't seem to think anyone would challenge him to answer, but he did readily enough. "I hate people attacking me with anything related to mud. Its stinks!" he growled.
She gave a surprised laugh at his irate tone. The man was loosening up these days, certainly due in no small part to his relationship with Hallia. He wasn't walking around with a cloud over his head as he'd done so much ever since she'd known him. The comforting thought almost made her forget the dire position all of them were in.
They had come close to the place they had learned to be the magical fortress which the darn mages who took Berwen were hiding in. Marcus had cautioned them to pay attention, citing that magical fortresses often had surprising defences - as if he'd needed to tell her that. But all of their prudence had given nothing, as they'd found themselves under attack by a force of humanoid shapes. Made of mud it seemed. Definitely magical.
The problem was, they seemed infinite. Being in a boggy area, mud was there in ample supply, enough to field a near-endless supply of slow moving but stubborn troops. Marcus also used a mix of flare arrows and elmekia lances to destroy as many of them as he could, while Hallia drove off the magic from some of them with her white magic spells. Zashtla was fighting with them with her sword, as was Loerik - though he was evidently thinking about using the sword of light itself instead of his steel blade.
Five other mudmen came at her, lumbering closer, roughly-shaped arms stretched towards her. She grinned at them, and gathered magical fire into her hand, until it formed a line of incandescent power. She focused on the approaching group. "FLARE ARROW!"
As it had done a dozen times before, the magical attack screamed towards the targets, exploding in their midst and dissipating their form. Unfortunately, and as they had a dozen times before, five others formed a moment afterwards. Fezra couldn't help but blink and stare as dismay threatened to control her thoughts. She shook it off from years of facing dangerous odds, and huffed towards them.
"Ah, come one! Can't you actually give us a chance to win here?!?"
"I don't think that's quite in their agenda Fez!" Hallia said, pushing two mudmen away with a wind spell and running towards her. "There's no end to them, and there won't be, unless we destroy the whole place!"
"You're right. And I'm beginning to think that this is the right time for that!" She growled, tired of this little game those sorcerers were putting up. Before she could decide upon a high-level spell that would suit the situation. Marcus intervened, blasting three monsters as he did.
"No! We need to keep those spells as a last resort! This attack may be exactly that - a ploy to get us to expand our power!
As irritating as he was, the man was right. The logical part of Fezra's mind quickly agreed, even as her family temper asked to take definite action. Spurred by the others, however, it failed to have her act rashly. "Fine! But unless we find a solution soon, we're going to be forced to used them!" she answered.
"Whatever we do, lets do it fast!" Zasthla shouted from farther off, as more and more mudmen began to surround her. She was fighting them off so far, but their sheer numbers were becoming problematic. Loerik, for his part, was faring better, but had his hands full. "I'm tiring here!"
Fezra thought fast. She'd seen no one in the area, sensed no magic being worked. This meant that the sorcerers - she was increasingly certain that it was they - were elsewhere. That clashed with what she knew of these spells. They had to be cast somewhere within an area the sorcerer's power could reach. Unless...memories surfaced of one time she had come across certain documents concerning the Fall of the Elcaz Empire. In these accounts, she had read of a sorcerer who had been able to animate golems at a distance. However, once he had been defeated, the investigating wizards had found an object they had found to be a...
"An Orb of Focus!" she exclaimed. "Marcus, it could be an Orb of Focus that's at the core of all this!"
"You're right! I've heard of these things! That's the only way we can't feel a thing, no power displacement or spell. They can cast from far away!"
"LIGHT COME FORTH!!" Loerik growled, and in a flash the beam of light emerged from the hilt and took the shape of a blade. Swirling it around with unbelievable quickness, he began to cut down mudmen at a rabid rate. However, she knew it wouldn't be enough. They had to act, and act now."
"Hallia, you'll have to cast a Wind Barrier!" the green-haired priestess nodded, sweat dripping down her brow. "Marcus, Loerik, Zashtla, come around us quick! DIEM WIND!!!!!" a burst of wind shoved the mudmen away, even as Marcus, having fried some others, joined them.
Loerik cut through the throng quickly, his fatigue starting to be evident. His work was eased by the fact that the Sword of Light allowed him to destroy them easily. He managed to reach their spot, his shoulders sagging, glaring at the approaching packs. Zashtla, however, neither possessed Loerik's magical sword and insane skill or Marcus's powerful spells. She found herself beset, and as she raised her sword to strike once more, two mudmen pushed her from behind. She stumbled, cursing - and another bowled into her, driving her to the ground.
"Damn! Hallia, the Wind Barrier!" She saw the priestess hesitate. "NOW! We can't help her right now. As she watched, Zashtla was struggling against the mudmen, but they appeared to be covering her. The barrier rose, stopping the monstrous creations. "Okay, now for the big thing! Where could that thing be?"
"At the center of the attack, to make the transition easier." Marcus noted. We came under attack near those trees over there! Lets start from there." He looked at Zashtla disappearing beneath a new mound and gritted his teeth."
Fezra looked around frantically. Things were going to fast, her need to save Berwen mingled with the immediate need to save Zashtla and threw her emotions into a fit. She let her eyes roam everywhere she could but couldn't focus enough to see the small object - if she was right, that is. As she, Loerik and Marcus looked around; Hallia bore the brunt of the myriad of enemies beating on the barrier. It began to lose intensity.
"The spell's weakening!" she choked as if the others couldn't see it for themselves. Fezra was about to add her strength to her spell, but at that moment Loerik pointed to gnarled tree perhaps fifty feet from them.
"There! There's something in that tree!" he said.
There was no hesitation. Fezra and Marcus exchanged a look, and began to gather a ball of fire between their hands. "Drop the Barrier!" Marcus shouted, and it did at once, Hallia falling to her knees, Loerik stepping near her. The creations all ambled forward, but before they had a chance to do more than two steps, two fireballs arched towards the tree, and struck.
The power both had put into this act had been great. The tree was obliterated. Fezra held her breath.
All around them, the mudmen lurched one step more, and then began to fall apart, the solidity ripped from them. One moment, they were surrounded. Two heartbeats later, they stood in the middle of a mangled, boggy area bordered by old, rotting trees. With a mighty, desperate heave, Zashtla reappeared, gasping, while Hallia moved towards her tiredly, her swordsman lover hovering nearby.
Marcus looked around the place, panting slightly. "This was is. He wants to make certain no one's coming to stop his plans."
"Yeah?" she growled, "Well, he got another thing coming to him. Inverses don't stop until they get what they want." she gave a victory sign, tired, as she was herself.
Yes, until she got what she wanted. And what she wanted right now was Berwen free of the nightmare she was certainly suffering in. That, and giving the three who started the whole mess a beating, which would be remembered till the dreaded Second War of Resurrection!
* * * * * * * * * *
Valmatia would hardly admit it openly yet, but she found Sailune to be much to her liking. The King had welcomed her as he would a queen, and the nobility had been more than satisfactory in the way they had interacted with her.
Sailune City itself was nothing short of amazing. Her home at Grand Falls was superb, and she had visited the imperial capital of Elmekia more than once, but Sailune simply blew both away. It wasn't larger than the empire's capital, but had an air of prosperity that she had found lacking before. The tour she had been given the days before had confirmed it. The marketplaces were large and varied, and carried goods from the four corners of the continent. They were always bustling, always filled with people, and the flow of trade often made her head dizzy.
The buildings themselves were all in good repair, with they becoming larger and more beautiful as they near the Royal Castle. But that was to be expected - the nobility always hugged royalty, sometimes annoyingly so. As the Emperor's niece, she often saw this for herself. But that wasn't what had impressed her so much.
She had been given a tour of nearly all the city, and that meant that Sailune City had little in the way of poverty and slums. She had noticed that beggars were fewer than in her home of the Emperor's capital, and that struck a cord within her. The Ruling House Sailune, it seemed, did not squander its great wealth only on its armies or extravagant parties, but gave a good fraction to better the lives of its people.
Yes, she found Sailune to be quite a good place in the end.
Now, of course, it remained to be seen if she could truly stand the ugly heir to the throne, Crown Prince Philionel.
Her feelings were more mixed now than when she'd first arrived. Having expected a dull man or a fool blinded by high ideals - as many said he was behind his back - she had been surprised to find that, although the man had a fixation on justice and the ways one might directly help it, he had shown himself to be intelligent, mindful of his people. His travels had given him greater insight upon the needs of the common folk, and she had found herself baffled at some of his discoveries. He was ugly - nothing would ever change that, she was sure - but she had found a great charisma and determination, which often made one forget about looks.
She had no doubts, despite the gossips, that Philionel would make a great king - greater than his own father. He had something in him that pointed to that. The problem was, in the end, if she truly wanted to become this particular King's Queen.
She heard a firm knock on her door, and she rose. "Enter" she said simply, and the door opened. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.
There, in the doorway, was the very man she had been debating on. Crown Prince Philionel stood with his hand on the golden handle, dressed in fine clothes that didn't negate his immense physique but lent an air of power to him. His face was serious, but respectful, and he bowed slightly.
"Princess," he said, "I hope that I am not interrupting."
"Not at all, My Lord," she replied, hiding her surprise. "Please come in."
He did, closing the door behind him. Her heart accelerated a bit, and she controlled her reaction. Fear? No, she knew by now that Philionel was too honourable to do anything with a lady outside the boundaries of Sailunean Law. Anticipation? Yes, that was it. But of what?
He looked around him a moment, before giving her a stare which, while formal, wasn't unkind. "I hope that you are satisfied with your apartments?"
Was there a way to say no? She had been given chambers which made those she'd had at Grand Falls seem small. A large, well-decorated bedroom, with a dressing room, another chamber where she could in an enclosed balcony, overlooking part of the city. A room with a tub, sweet-smelling soaps and perfumes. All of this with servants ready to jump to serve her at the flick of a finger. There could be no greater comforts.
But she knew he knew that well. So she simply nodded gracefully "Yes, they are quite superb, My Lord."
"That is good to hear." he seemed to hesitate for a bare instant, then continued in a firm tone. "Princess Valmatia, I wish to tell you that I intend to leave soon. My friends and I have found what we came here for, and we intend to rejoin others to save another friend...and possibly much more."
This threw her off somewhat. She had expected that this reckless prince would go gallivanting again, as he'd been doing when she had first come to Sailune's capital. What she hadn't expected was this - the Crown Prince telling her of his plans.
"It pains me to hear this, My Lord. But why tell me?" she couldn't help but inquire, although something in her told her the answer even before he responded.
"Because we will be married soon. Although it is not a choice of mine, I know you are caught in this as well. I would ask you to give me leave. If you refuse, then I will remain here, for I must."
"You must."
"Of course. You are my wife, and your opinions should always come first." he said with a firm, idealistic gleam in his eyes. She briefly wondered if those who thought Philionel a fool had ever seen him give such a speech, or show such determination. She herself found it endearing, as strange as it was. She never had had much love in her heart for those who didn't believe in what they said; who talked but never backed any of it with action or determination.
She reflected on the matter briefly. He wanted to leave, an action, which, by itself, would drive the king, crazy. It then stood to reason that he had not asked his father at all, and did not intend to. On the one hand, it wouldn't do if the King of Sailune learned that she had told his son to go without advising him first. However, the prince was the one she would marry, and going to the king would be a betrayal as well, a greater one, which might damage whatever, they might build before they began building it.
She hated when something wasn't simple. She hated making decision when she wasn't quite certain which side was right. However, Philionel didn't look like he was about to give her much time to think things through. Her mind whirled fiercely.
"You are not asking me an easy thing." she said.
"I am aware of that." he answered simply, without offering anything else. Damn the man!
Becoming Queen of Sailune suited her, she had to admit that much - although it might be a while, since King Fedoniel appeared to be in fine health and nothing seemed to be about to change that. However, she refused to rule for no other reason than because she wanted to. She wanted to rule for a reason, and more than anything else she wanted an ambiance in which she could feel truth. She wouldn't begin to lie to herself - or to him.
"When I came here, I thought you were an ugly fool. I did not want to marry you, to have to spend years and years with you." he flinched slightly, but she moved on. "I am not quite certain of myself yet. It will take time, but I have felt that you were different than what the gossip told me of you."
He seemed to stiffen at first, and then relaxed just slightly, his massive frame washing away some of the imperial grandeur he had worked into it. He looked hesitant, but finally told her "Thank you."
She looked at him gently. "I don't think doing this to your father is right. He cares for you in his own way. Is it so important that you have to do it?"
He looked more sad rather than angry with that. "I know my father cares as best he is able to. But these people...understand things he never will. Yes, they are important. And I cannot allow them to go on in this venture without me."
"Then go." she said, surprising herself with her fervent tone. "You should leave and live your life as honestly as you feel you should. Friends who inspire that feeling...are worth fighting for."
At that, he simply smiled at her, nodded, and left. Nothing more. And yet, she felt that in that brief visit, things had changed within her, something had sparked about her stay here.
Yes, Sailune was very much to her liking!
* * * * * * * * * *
The capital of Lumeria had fallen three days before, its walls cracked and tumbling, its last armies routed and dispersed. The Lumerian King had marshalled an impressive and determined force for this last stand, and had most probably emptied all of his remaining resources to put it together: seven thousand men, many sorcerers included, held the massive walls against the Imperial Army.
But it had been for naught in the end. Outnumbering the enemy by nearly five to one, with more sorcerers and knights and mercenaries on its side, the Empire had slowly eroded the valiant resistance, until it fell apart, opening a wide road to the royal family of Lumeria. The faint rumours he had heard told that the imperials were ready to execute them. Once they did, the remaining nobles - turncoat or not - would frantically swear allegiance to the Emperor, and then Elmekia would annex Lumeria, taking back the land which seceded from it over three centuries previous, when a period of war tore up so many strong powers - powers such as the fabled Elcaz Empire.
There was a time when Mellinius would have done anything to make certain this would never happen. Unfortunately this had meant him following Dallomir, blinded by the sorcerer's promises. He didn't even know, as it was, if the man was even able to understand the doom of the kingdom he had once served so faithfully...until his wife had died.
Now, Dallomir dabbled in dangerous Lores, opening dark possibilities unseen since the War of Resurrection. Driven by a distorted mental image of his wife - or so his ramblings seemed to suggest - the man was bending his will in undoing what the First Knights had worked so hard to keep away from human hands.
Day by day, his former mentor's grip on sanity was slipping.
Each hour brought the world closer to the day he would do something no one might ever repair.
And so, although it irked him impossibly, that it strangled his soul, Mellinius awaited the Imperial strike force sent by Duke Salemir, the Emperor's brother, by a bare wall. Waiting to betray his oaths in the name of the world.
What did it really make of him?
"A fool, certainly." he sighed "And a traitor. But it has to be done. Ceipheed and the Dragon Kings help me, it has to be done!"
"You sound quite certain of yourself." a voice, like a child speaking in the tones of an adult, spoke near him. It sounded amused. Fear and anger gripping him, Mellinius whirled to face a grinning Jomekin.
"You." he couldn't find it within himself to say any more than that. His tone easily conveyed the rest.
"Me. Just me. Completely and unequivocally me. Naughty, naughty Mellinius. Don't you think that I wouldn't notice? Dallomir may be losing his marbles but I don't think I'm quite that far off as to miss you holding secret meetings with the apprentices and the lesser mages in this tower. Did you really think it would escape me, when I take note of everything?"
The man who had been willing to betray his oaths backed away a step, calling upon his strongest spells to mind. Although he knew he was much stronger than the average, he was in no way certain he could take down the manchild - he knew the smaller sorcerer was ruthless and powerful. "I hoped you wouldn't. But since you do, you give me little choice..."
This didn't seem to make much of an effect on the strange little man. "You wish to fight me here, to protect your secrets and probably die for it? Astounding! I knew you had it in you, but still, bravo!" then the manchild's jovial tone dropped to a more serious one. "But you needn't take the trouble. I am not an enemy. In fact, I mean to stop Dallomir as well as you do."
He almost laughed out loud. "And you expect me to believe that?"
"Do you have that much of a choice. If not, we will fight. And even if you slay me, your plan will have been blown quite open, so that even potty Dallomir will notice."
This made him pause angrily. He hated that. He hated Jomekin and is ability to make one appear a fool at the very same time he could be right. "Why should I believe you wish to help me?"
"Right to the meat of the matter? I like that. Its simple: I've managed to look into Dallomir's scrolls - none of them hold a cure for my curse!" his fists clenched, and for a moment Mellinius spied genuine rage and bitterness on the manchild's face. "All this time, Dallomir was lying to me, making me hope, using me. I cannot forgive this. So you see, our goals are the same, even if they have different motives behind them."
The young mage thought about this. It was very plausible. It fell right into Dallomir's ability to manipulate people and blind them to the obvious. He had long ago stopped believing they had brought anything else but dangers with them - certainly nothing beneficial such a cure for a cursed man. But Jomekin had always been known to have an ability to manipulate himself, to set up traps. This could be one, although it didn't quite feel like it was so.
In the end, however, it came down to this question: Do I have a choice?
The answer was obvious. He growled. "I hope trusting you isn't a mistake."
"It is always a mistake to trust. But in this case, I think you may rest easy."
He wasn't so certain of that, but the argument was moot: he felt them coming - a magical signal he had arranged set off in his head, and he concentrated, putting his hand on the wall, focusing to weaken the magical alarms and shield around this particular spot. Willing himself to see the intricate pattern, he managed to push them aside somewhat - but not enough. As much as he concentrated, he couldn't get the darn wards to weaken further. That was when he saw Jomekin put a hand next to his, grinning again.
"Alright. Lets see what we can do about those wards." he jested, then closed his eyes in concentration.
He couldn't believe the manchild had so much power within himself. One moment, the ward was holding despite his efforts, the next they weakened to a manageable level. How could so much power be contained in such an underdeveloped body? And what would Jomekin's power be if he ever reached his adult form one day.
The wall next to the two of them crackled, then a portal flickered, came to life and stabilized. Three figures immediately jumped through, and it slammed shut behind them. Mellinius panted. He couldn't believe how hard an exercise it had been. If it hadn't been for Jomekin...
He stopped at that, the rest unsaid, but understood. He looked at the grinning manchild and nodded his silent thanks, then turned to the three before him. Two women and one man stood there. All were dressed in the garb of the Elmekian magic guilds, and all looked smug to be where they were. He understood that much. Dallomir's tower had been one of the first magical places to break away from the Elmekian died during Lumeria's secession, and it probably filled them with triumph to stand upon its grounds after so many centuries.
Ceipheed, how it rankled him.
But he didn't let it show when he said, "I take it you are the ones the Duke sent."
The man stepped forward. "We are. By Duke Salemir's orders, we are to help you kill the head of this tower, the lumerian archmage known as Dallomir." He seemed to savour those words - far too much in fact. Even Jomekin frowned slightly.
"You shouldn't be feeling so confident." the manchild stated with a feral edge. "Dallomir has lost his sanity, and that will make him even more dangerous than ever before."
"Quite so." one of the females said, face doubtful. "But we are dangerous as well." she dismissed the discussion with a gesture. "Enough of this. Will you let us in one your little plan, or must we improvise something?"
And Mellinius, his heart heavy with anger and guilt, yet determined to do what he thought was right, began to tell of his plans to kill a former friend to former enemies.
_________________________________________________________________
Elcaz Empire: A powerful nation, which rose quickly and attained great height before falling brutally. Founded in 279 AR, it rose to become the most powerful nation the land had ever seen, conquering nation after nation until, by the end of the seventh century; it controlled nearly half the continent. This proved to be its undoing, however, as internal conflicts rose into a terrible war which ravaged the great empire, destroying most of it and splintering it into smaller nations. Many ruins and mighty magics are uncovered even today, forgotten relics of the most powerful of all human realms.