I do not intend to let the world forget. My name shall be known forever, even as I die! People will whisper it in fear in the darkness. Children will cower; men shiver, and never shall Lei Magnus be a name treated with anything else than respect!
- Lei Magnus, facing the First Knights for the final time
Anger begins one's fall to darkness. But more than anything else, it is pride that sustains it. When is one damned? I would say it is when he no longer fears himself, and what he may do.
- Rezo the Red Priest, Philosophy of Magic, 966 AR
Epilogue
The Grand Sailune Cathedral was a monstrous cavern, Fezra Inverse decided. A monstrous cavern as that the room inside was so large the ceiling was nearly lost to the eyesight, and that the sides were too far for comfort. Of course, there were major differences. After all, no cavern she knew ever had a floor made of marble and rich carpets. No cavern ever had majestic, carved and painted pillars to support a ceiling of excellent, painted stone. And she doubted that, save from a dragon's hoard, that she would ever find a cave with so much gold and silver and precious objects in it.
The stonework was excellently preserved, but obviously old. Phil had explained, between nervous fits and too much grumbling, that some parts still belonged to the chapel Sai Lune had built to minister his teachings of Ceipheed. Then considered a saint already, the preserved stone where Sai Lune had stood could only accept the highest of the Ceipheedian faith. It was Archbishop Venkin, the leader of the Sailunean priest, who presided over this important, traditional event.
The old man was now babbling in old Sailunean, waving his hands this way and that and looking all-important. It was all she could do to stand still with the myriad of people. Religion was all well and good, she supposed, but every sorcerous order scoffed at it, and she supposed some of her old teachings had stuck with her.
"At least they could offer some food. Wouldn't mind a bite right now, with that old geezer mumbling along." she hissed so low that only Zashtla and Marcus, who were nearest her, heard. The swordswoman frowned as the sorcerer grinned and nodded.
"Have a care, Fezra." Zasthla returned. "I take religion quite seriously. And I heard it is quite dangerous to openly ridicule the teachings of a god in the middle of one of its most favoured places of worship."
"Well I don't think that Ceipheed came and took his sweet little time and bore the people to death with a mumbling old guy."
"This is simply the Prayer of Cleansing. And if you think this is dull, try living it in that robe here! It's been itching me for an hour! I hate it."
Fezra grinned. "But frills go so well with you."
"Fez, if you say that again, I swear that, holy place or NOT -"
"Hey you two. Knock it off, will ya? Its beginning." Marcus cut the conversation before it became ugly swiftly.
The Archbishop has indeed topped muttering and had raised his staff. "May those who would wish union under the Light of Ceipheed come to His Altar."
At once, the doors fifty or so meters to each side of the altar opened, and out stepped the Heir to the Crown of Sailune and his bride-to-be. Being on the right side of the altar, Fezra and the others were able to spy Valmatia Ser Elmekun as she walked.
She looked queenly, Fezra had to admit. Tall, straight, proud, and decidedly beautiful, with luxuriant, dark hair cascading down her shoulders, wearing a wedding gown of white trimmed with silver and gems and probably worth the price of a small village, who wouldn't think so? And she had the face one would see in the romantic books, and the figure to go with it. Fezra wondered how fate could put someone so beautiful with someone who looked like a humanized ogre.
She winced. That wasn't fait and she knew it. True, Phil wasn't handsome - far from the term, really you bet - but he had good manners, a very strong sense of justice - TOO strong, in Fezra's opinion - and a heart of pure gold. For all of his quirks and speeches, he was a good man, and would probably take care of Valmatia well, in his own way. The problem was, how would she take his peculiar spirit, his tendency to go out and solve the problems directly? She wasn't sure of that.
One thing was certain in all of this, however: Phil had gained the status of friend in her head, and if Valmatia decided to play a bitch role, Fezra intended to screw her head right. She wouldn't let a friend be unhappy. She wouldn't take them for granted.
She'd never let a friend down as she had let Berwen down.
She felt as if tears were coming to her eyes again. Berwen. Her friend for so many years, now transformed into a powerful creature forbidden for a millennia. A fiend, turned malevolent by bitterness, loneliness, and misplaced hate. It had taken a week before she could speak of the encounter with the others, and in the seven weeks since then, the guilt had continued to rankle her. She had failed. She had let them transform Berwen into something so vile no one would ever want her near.
"Fezra, are you alright?" Marcus asked worriedly, and she forced herself to wrench her thoughts back to the wedding. This was Phil's big day, after all. She wasn't about to ruin it. She thus nodded at him and returned her attention to what was happening at the altar.
Phil - resplendent in a princely uniform - had walked to the altar as well and stood facing his almost-wife. The priest was talking. "Philionel Di Sailune, Proud Heir to the Crown of Sailune, descendant in fifty-five generations to Sai Lune the Holy, do you accept this union in your Heart, your Mind, your Soul, under Ceipheed's Guiding light?"
Philionel's voice was softer than usual, but held firm. "I accept it, under Ceipheed's Light."
The Archbishop, in his old voice, repeated his question. Valmatia was less prompt than her husband, and looked at her husband-to-be carefully, as if gauging him. What was she thinking? Would she turn away from the pledge, as was her right? If she did, she might start something she wouldn't be prepared to deal with, Fezra swore to herself.
However, after a moment in which the tension seemed to reach a crescendo, she took a deep breath and said "I accept it, under Ceipheed's Light."
It seemed as if the room breathed a full - if silent - sight of relief, for the tension let out at once. The old priest then intoned. "By the Light of Ceipheed, and by the Truth of Sailune's Founder, I deem them united in the Light!"
There were other elements as well, following that pronouncement. The exchange of token. Then the words of bonding between the two mates, and then, because they were both nobles of the highest standing, recognition from the King himself. These were details. Valmatia had accepted to be with Phil for life the moment she had accepted the pledge. Nothing could break it save death.
She was losing herself in her dark thoughts again, when everyone rose as the King came to the couple solemnly and put a hand on theirs. He then turned slowly. "Citizens, my people and fellow Sailuneans, I present to you Philionel and Valmatia Di Sailune, Heir to the Throne and Royal Consort!"
The room immediately erupted into applause - a vibrant, real applause, she realized. Everyone, she knew, liked Valmatia. And although the higher blood didn't like Phil, they would be fools to shun the one who would one day be their King. Under the applause and effusions, both walked away and out of the cathedral, to be welcomed by the roar of the common folk gathered outside. Although she wasn't present, she knew that the roar was meant for Phil, whom the people loved dearly. She held on to the joy she felt for them, chasing away the guilt, and took Marcus's arm.
"I'm going east as soon as this is over. Want to come? We'll trek along with Loerik and Hallia for a bit, and then turn north. How does that sound?"
He didn't hesitate. "You need to ask?" he said lightly.
No, she realized. She didn't. Marcus would follow her wherever she went, she was sure. But for some reason, it helped ease the pain, seeing him smile, having him with her. Yes, it was probably time to make things clear between them. But not quite yet. For now, holding him and walking beside him was fulfilling enough.
And if she were lucky, she wouldn't think of Berwen too much. Of her rage, of her words...
And, most frightening of all, the cold promise she had made to Fezra.
* * * * * * * * * *
Life was good!
Loerik knew that he shouldn't be feeling THIS good. Not after he'd heard what happened from Fezra's mouth, not when they knew that their first adventure hadn't ended successfully after all. Now Berwen - who had been a comrade if not a friend - had been transformed into something very dangerous, with the matching intention to use that power. It was like an echo to Lei Magnus' dark legacy come to life. He wasn't a quick thinker outside the battlefield, but he had enough wits to see the dangers in the long run.
It wasn't something that should make a man's heart cheerful.
But that was exactly what he felt as he walked through the depth of an Elmekian forest he knew well with the woman his heart belonged to.
The green-haired priestess, who had shed her usual garb when he had told her the walk might be a bit complex, tossed her head from side to side as she looked about in alarmed bemusement. "Are sure we're not lost? I see trees upon trees everywhere I look!"
"We're the right way, don't worry."
"And how can you tell, if I might ask?"
"Its harder to explain than it seems." he grinned "'Sides, you're not an elf. You wouldn't understand."
It made her eyebrows tick playfully. "High and mighty, aren't we? Especially for a humanized half-elf!"
He shrugged. He wasn't lying, however: explaining elven magic to a human would take some doing. He didn't think anyone but the highest sorcerers - such as Rezo the Red Priest, or any very cultured archmage - could make heads or tail of it. How was he supposed to tell that his elven blood allowed him to see shimmering on some trees, telling him the way?
He couldn't. No more than he had ever been able to make his brother understand why he'd chosen his human heritage, with its violence and short-lived nature. He only knew that by doing so, he had met and fallen in love with Hallia. If only because of that, he knew that his choice had been worthwhile. His father, who had fallen in love with an elf and chosen elven life - the ONLY human ever to do so in nearly four hundred years - might understand better, but not completely.
It didn't matter in the end. He felt complete with her, and that was the end of it.
"Three days here....I wonder if humans even saw this place?" she asked as she followed him through what certainly didn't seem like a path to her but was to him.
"No human comes here. It's far from any hunting or woodcutting grounds. That's the whole point, I suppose. The elves always put their portals where humans won't start playing with it. Can you imagine Fez finding one?" he laughed at the very image, and after a moment she laughed with him.
"Yes, I can see her playing with it alright, until she managed to open it. And then the elves would have a greedy human sorceress on their hands." she paused "And a sorcerer too."
He didn't what she meant. Marcus and Fezra had turned north a week ago, and Fezra had said that the red-haired man could tag along - if he wanted. What no one could miss was the fact that she WANTED him to come along. Hallia had bet that by the time they met again, they might be much closer than friends, and Loerik hadn't dared take the bet.
He supposed things had settled down, beyond the pall of their failure and the possible pain Berwen could become. Him with Hallia, Marcus and Fezra well on their way there, Phil back in his castle, having taken Zashtla in as a bodyguard. That last part had been strange, almost as if it was to test his own strength of will. The crown prince, as honourable as he was, could decidedly be strange.
He finally arrived at the clearing, and gave a sigh as he saw the rock pile collected nearby. "Good, good. Its still intact since last year." he said with a definite smile. Hallia looked at him in curiosity, then comprehension blossomed.
"You're saying you put something under the rock."
"Lots of somethings. Let me show you."
He walked to the pile of rocks, and scattered the smaller ones until he came to a large, flat one. He bent, strained as hard as he could, and slowly pushed it away revealing a dark recess. It was something he knew well, having worked to create it over two years ago. He put his hand in and began to draw out the contents of the cavity.
It was amusing to see Hallia's eyes as he drew off half a dozen large bags, and finally a very large one. He opened one, and silver pieces flowed out. He then opened the largest one to show that this one contained nothing less than gold and jewels. He raised an eyebrow, awaiting her reaction.
It came slowly, after she had spent a few moments gawking at the money. "L-Loerik...this is a lot of money. A LOT. H-how?"
"The silver? My wages in part, and the elves mostly." he knew his tone had turned bitter, but that was the way it was with him when he was reminded of his banishment. "That was their way of making things easier for me, I think - giving me silver, buying off their shame. The gold...well, I cleared out a bandit gang two years back, and the townsfolk let me keep a tenth of what I found. Turns out that band was wealthy enough."
"But why did you keep all...all this?" she asked, her eyes still disbelieving.
He shrugged. "Dunno. Making sure maybe, in case I was wounded and couldn't fight. But right now...I know what I want to buy with some of that." he couldn't help but grin "A house for you and me!"
She blinked, taking this in, but before she could respond, he had crossed to her, and put his hands on her shoulders. "I want that. I really do. A house where we'll be happy, where we'll be able to, you know, have kids. I really want to have kids. I don't know what kind of a dad I'd make - I'm a mercenary, after all - but I want to try it. I want to do this with you."
Hallia looked at him gently. "How long did it take you to make that speech?" she asked, and he flushed. So it did sound a bit rushed. Darn.
"Errr....well..." he fumbled, trying to force his slow mind to cough something out. He didn't have a long time for it, however, as she took hold of him and kissed him, completely scattering any response he might have made.
She looked at him with the sincere affection she had shown only he, gently caressing his neck, before she broke the kiss. "Thank you. I know you meant what you said. And I want to try it too. I want your children. Just come here and let me show you the little speech I've prepared..."
As it was, her speech didn't involve many words. Only a few, repeated many times. It was more enjoyable than his own however, and he found out that, of the two, she certainly had the more imagination! If any elves had come and found them at that time, it would probably have suffocated them from the sheer shock and indignation. Not that either would have cared about it much.
They were, however, pretty much alright by the time the gate opened. Their hair was a bit ruffled, and he had a red mark on his neck, but otherwise no one could know of their little discussion. No one, of course, except Mellyroon, his dear elven mother. One look as she came out, and amusement started to shine in her eyes. "I hope we didn't interrupt anything." she said after they had hugged their son, and Rowdy looked at her, confused.
Smiling, Loerik took Hallia's hand and kissed her, turning then to his knowing mother and suddenly comprehending father. "Mom, dad. This is Hallia, my wife." he said joyfully.
Who cared about Berwen, about Lei Magnus, about the future? This was a great day to be alive, and to Loerik, that was that!
* * * * * * * * * *
The man didn't even have the time to scream, as Kalarus's blade cut through his helm, head, and nearly split his body in two. Blood fountained, covering the warrior who was already drenched in it, and the corpse toppled backward. Around him, the few remaining Lumerian loyalists fell back, looking at him with a mixture of awe, hatred and, most of all, fear.
This was a usual sight for Kalarus. Ever since he had been a young man, he had shown an unusual ability at swordsmanship, and had used it to kill as much as he could. He had become a feared mercenary very quickly, eventually becoming part of the best mercenary band in the Elmekian Empire.
What was less usual was having his own allies giving him a wide berth as well. Ever since he'd come back to the mercenary business, it had become harder for him. Not because of his skills - they were still as formidable as they ever were. Rather, it was that he didn't care about other mercenaries anymore. They were nothing, nothing compared to the burning need to kill, ever present, surging forward from the cauldron that was his rage.
He looked at them. With one, glaring eye. The other was forever closed, the handiwork of the young punk who had lucked out too many times for it to be natural. It was a ever-present remainder, one which fuelled the dark feelings within him, which had driven him to fight harder than before, trying to surpass what he'd gleaned, to find a way to make his skill match the - the LUCK his younger opponent possessed.
"What's wrong?" he asked the nervous mercenaries around him "Don't wanna help? Fine with me. Don't need no help, I tell ya!"
Five men remained of the loyalist garrison. Five times, his blade sang a song of death and gore, filling his soul with an ecstasy, which failed to consume the darkness, the bitterness, and the hatred. He didn't even ask to get paid for his work, just turned around and left. The battle was over. That was all that mattered to him. All he wanted was to strengthen his skills, so that one day he would meet the lucky youth again, and make him pay. Yes, make him pay for it all!
He touched the scarred side of his face, the side that still throbbed on rainy days. "Gabriev...I swear next time I'll hack your limbs I tell ya!" he growled as he walked away. It was only when the gutted fort was just a speck in the distance that he stopped under a tree to rest.
He intended to continue fighting in order to increase his endurance and strength. But where? The war between Lumeria and Elmekia was over. The royal family had been slaughtered, its main cities razed or seized, its populace forced to submit to the Imperial Scepter. Only a few small holdouts still remained, but they would within the coming weeks. He supposed it meant that the Empire was victorious, but to Kalarus it was winded. The Emperor was out of most of his resources, and with keeping the Lumerian occupied and in line, he wouldn't have the strength to stage attacks for a good long while.
Where else? Sailune and Zefilia both had a position of peace. Together, they put checks on ambitious rulers such as the ones in Kalmaart and Ralteague. Lyzeille used to be powerful, but a plague a decade ago had weakened it, and it had yet to truly recover. Dils was economically and militarily weak, the weakest of all the human nations...
A vision of the pathetic Dilsean troops wafted through his mind, and he smirked darkly. "I tell ya, Dilsean are so weak, I'd be able to invade them by my own self, I tell ya..." he muttered.
It was then that he realized, to his horror that someone was now near him.
He kicked away from the tree he had been under, vaguely spying a shape next to him. Filled with adrenaline, he vaguely recognized a shape. 'A damn woman!' his mind exclaimed 'How did she get past me!?!'
The thought never even took residence in Kalarus - all focused upon fighting. Still not seeing the target, not caring about anything except that it was there, it was a damn woman who'd dared surprised him and finally that it gave him a way to burn his rage a bit. His sword was out before he could think and he rushed forward, his blade going up and down in one perfect arc, aimed at the bitch's neck. She was his!
He didn't quite understand what happened to him. One moment he had been about to kill the female interloper, and the next he found himself flying backward on his back, thudding on the ground. Pain blossomed where his body hit, but he was used to ignoring it now, after Gabriev. 'Magic. It was magic. Strong. And did she cast it? I didn't see, when did she do it?'
He rose on his feet at once, grasping his blade, looking at his opponent for the first time. That was what definitely stopped him an instant.
He had thought that he was facing a woman, a thief probably, and then a female sorcerer. But although the woman looked human in shape, there were many different items, which came to his sole remaining arm. She was dressed in an opulent suit of gold, reds and greens, looking, with a deep - nearly black - cape draped over one shoulder. But that wasn't what stopped him. It was, rather, her skin, metallic and reddish, and her hair, somewhat spiky and as red as her cloak.
One thought struck him: this ain't no human bitch.
The demonic woman looked at him with amusement, her visible arm on her hip. "Not bad. Not bad at all, I'd say. I know only a handful of people who could react faster." she said critically, and he almost shivered at the intense cold of her voice. He had a new thought: this bitch is dangerous, and she knows it. "Your attack was perfect, although there never was any hope you could do me any damage, little man."
"Watch yer MOUTH!!" he growled without thinking.
"Why should I? It is a truth that you cannot hurt me. Now, Loerik Gabriev, with the blade he has, probably would be a harder opponent..."
He didn't hear the rest, only rushed forward, sword ready. His mind was fire. How DARE she look down on him?!? How DARE she say Gabriev, that lucky RUNT, could best him? How DARE she?!?!?!?!?!? She didn't move as he struck, this time horizontally, as mightily as he could. He'd see if his steel couldn't dent that pretty little metal neck there!
The demon caught the blade with her forearm, stopping it as effectively as a thick iron pole would, and forced him backward with a few muttered words. Definitely magic there. She didn't look surprised or angry. She looked pleased. Very much so.
"You hate Loerik Gabriev, don't you Kalarus? I can understand it well. I, too, hate him. I hate them all. Marcus, Philionel, Loerik, Hallia, Zasthla, Lionel...and especially Fezra. All of them." her eyes seemed to actually catch fire "Fezra attempted to destroy me, Loerik tried to kill you. Both failed. And we can make them pay, if we are patient and do things right."
"I don't care about your blather. All I want is to kill Gabriev, I tell ya! And for that I need to fight!"
"You want to fight, I want to rule. I am certain I can help you. I can give you means to make you stronger. And I will let you fight as much as you wish, as long as you follow my plan."
Kalarus listened. There was something appealing in the way she said what she wanted to do. However, he rankled at having a woman give him orders, even a demonic one. Still, if she could make him strong enough to crush Loerik...if she could...
"And what's that plan you got?" he asked, trying to mask his interest and failing.
She gave him a smile - a smile that was too cold to be comforting. "I heard what you said about Dils. It's the right first step. But I want more. Much, much more. I intend to create an Empire whose memory will last long after I am gone. You can be part of it, you can fight for it. And one day, those we hate will try to stop us. They'll be drawn to it like moths to a flame." she thrust her open hand forward. "Do you want to be part of it?"
A part of him reeling, the idea of fighting and revenge upon Gabriev too strong to resist. He hesitated, and then took the proffered hand. "Make me strong, and I'll fight your little war, I tell ya."
"And I tell you, you will be strong. And feared." Power passed through her and into him. And within a moment, the patch of conquered Lumerian soil was free of presence. All except a presence, far off, protected by powerful warding spells. An entity that looked like a human priest with violet hair and a happy smile.
"This will be fun." Xellos said, and then he, too, was gone.
* * * * * * * * * *
In a realm beyond the Mortal Plane, two being watched glimpsed the passing events. Their attention wasn't fixed on those only - their powers allowed for much more. But they were interested nonetheless. Eventually, one being looked at the other.
"It appears that your little drama is over, my friend. The humans' adventure is over."
"Over? I daresay not. This was but the opening phase, the beginning of the piece. The pièce de résistance, as they say, will come soon enough. It will be interesting to watch these humans, as a former comrades takes them places they never intended to go."
"Their fate?"
"Their fears, my old friend. Their fears."
END OF BOOK ONE
- Lei Magnus, facing the First Knights for the final time
Anger begins one's fall to darkness. But more than anything else, it is pride that sustains it. When is one damned? I would say it is when he no longer fears himself, and what he may do.
- Rezo the Red Priest, Philosophy of Magic, 966 AR
Epilogue
The Grand Sailune Cathedral was a monstrous cavern, Fezra Inverse decided. A monstrous cavern as that the room inside was so large the ceiling was nearly lost to the eyesight, and that the sides were too far for comfort. Of course, there were major differences. After all, no cavern she knew ever had a floor made of marble and rich carpets. No cavern ever had majestic, carved and painted pillars to support a ceiling of excellent, painted stone. And she doubted that, save from a dragon's hoard, that she would ever find a cave with so much gold and silver and precious objects in it.
The stonework was excellently preserved, but obviously old. Phil had explained, between nervous fits and too much grumbling, that some parts still belonged to the chapel Sai Lune had built to minister his teachings of Ceipheed. Then considered a saint already, the preserved stone where Sai Lune had stood could only accept the highest of the Ceipheedian faith. It was Archbishop Venkin, the leader of the Sailunean priest, who presided over this important, traditional event.
The old man was now babbling in old Sailunean, waving his hands this way and that and looking all-important. It was all she could do to stand still with the myriad of people. Religion was all well and good, she supposed, but every sorcerous order scoffed at it, and she supposed some of her old teachings had stuck with her.
"At least they could offer some food. Wouldn't mind a bite right now, with that old geezer mumbling along." she hissed so low that only Zashtla and Marcus, who were nearest her, heard. The swordswoman frowned as the sorcerer grinned and nodded.
"Have a care, Fezra." Zasthla returned. "I take religion quite seriously. And I heard it is quite dangerous to openly ridicule the teachings of a god in the middle of one of its most favoured places of worship."
"Well I don't think that Ceipheed came and took his sweet little time and bore the people to death with a mumbling old guy."
"This is simply the Prayer of Cleansing. And if you think this is dull, try living it in that robe here! It's been itching me for an hour! I hate it."
Fezra grinned. "But frills go so well with you."
"Fez, if you say that again, I swear that, holy place or NOT -"
"Hey you two. Knock it off, will ya? Its beginning." Marcus cut the conversation before it became ugly swiftly.
The Archbishop has indeed topped muttering and had raised his staff. "May those who would wish union under the Light of Ceipheed come to His Altar."
At once, the doors fifty or so meters to each side of the altar opened, and out stepped the Heir to the Crown of Sailune and his bride-to-be. Being on the right side of the altar, Fezra and the others were able to spy Valmatia Ser Elmekun as she walked.
She looked queenly, Fezra had to admit. Tall, straight, proud, and decidedly beautiful, with luxuriant, dark hair cascading down her shoulders, wearing a wedding gown of white trimmed with silver and gems and probably worth the price of a small village, who wouldn't think so? And she had the face one would see in the romantic books, and the figure to go with it. Fezra wondered how fate could put someone so beautiful with someone who looked like a humanized ogre.
She winced. That wasn't fait and she knew it. True, Phil wasn't handsome - far from the term, really you bet - but he had good manners, a very strong sense of justice - TOO strong, in Fezra's opinion - and a heart of pure gold. For all of his quirks and speeches, he was a good man, and would probably take care of Valmatia well, in his own way. The problem was, how would she take his peculiar spirit, his tendency to go out and solve the problems directly? She wasn't sure of that.
One thing was certain in all of this, however: Phil had gained the status of friend in her head, and if Valmatia decided to play a bitch role, Fezra intended to screw her head right. She wouldn't let a friend be unhappy. She wouldn't take them for granted.
She'd never let a friend down as she had let Berwen down.
She felt as if tears were coming to her eyes again. Berwen. Her friend for so many years, now transformed into a powerful creature forbidden for a millennia. A fiend, turned malevolent by bitterness, loneliness, and misplaced hate. It had taken a week before she could speak of the encounter with the others, and in the seven weeks since then, the guilt had continued to rankle her. She had failed. She had let them transform Berwen into something so vile no one would ever want her near.
"Fezra, are you alright?" Marcus asked worriedly, and she forced herself to wrench her thoughts back to the wedding. This was Phil's big day, after all. She wasn't about to ruin it. She thus nodded at him and returned her attention to what was happening at the altar.
Phil - resplendent in a princely uniform - had walked to the altar as well and stood facing his almost-wife. The priest was talking. "Philionel Di Sailune, Proud Heir to the Crown of Sailune, descendant in fifty-five generations to Sai Lune the Holy, do you accept this union in your Heart, your Mind, your Soul, under Ceipheed's Guiding light?"
Philionel's voice was softer than usual, but held firm. "I accept it, under Ceipheed's Light."
The Archbishop, in his old voice, repeated his question. Valmatia was less prompt than her husband, and looked at her husband-to-be carefully, as if gauging him. What was she thinking? Would she turn away from the pledge, as was her right? If she did, she might start something she wouldn't be prepared to deal with, Fezra swore to herself.
However, after a moment in which the tension seemed to reach a crescendo, she took a deep breath and said "I accept it, under Ceipheed's Light."
It seemed as if the room breathed a full - if silent - sight of relief, for the tension let out at once. The old priest then intoned. "By the Light of Ceipheed, and by the Truth of Sailune's Founder, I deem them united in the Light!"
There were other elements as well, following that pronouncement. The exchange of token. Then the words of bonding between the two mates, and then, because they were both nobles of the highest standing, recognition from the King himself. These were details. Valmatia had accepted to be with Phil for life the moment she had accepted the pledge. Nothing could break it save death.
She was losing herself in her dark thoughts again, when everyone rose as the King came to the couple solemnly and put a hand on theirs. He then turned slowly. "Citizens, my people and fellow Sailuneans, I present to you Philionel and Valmatia Di Sailune, Heir to the Throne and Royal Consort!"
The room immediately erupted into applause - a vibrant, real applause, she realized. Everyone, she knew, liked Valmatia. And although the higher blood didn't like Phil, they would be fools to shun the one who would one day be their King. Under the applause and effusions, both walked away and out of the cathedral, to be welcomed by the roar of the common folk gathered outside. Although she wasn't present, she knew that the roar was meant for Phil, whom the people loved dearly. She held on to the joy she felt for them, chasing away the guilt, and took Marcus's arm.
"I'm going east as soon as this is over. Want to come? We'll trek along with Loerik and Hallia for a bit, and then turn north. How does that sound?"
He didn't hesitate. "You need to ask?" he said lightly.
No, she realized. She didn't. Marcus would follow her wherever she went, she was sure. But for some reason, it helped ease the pain, seeing him smile, having him with her. Yes, it was probably time to make things clear between them. But not quite yet. For now, holding him and walking beside him was fulfilling enough.
And if she were lucky, she wouldn't think of Berwen too much. Of her rage, of her words...
And, most frightening of all, the cold promise she had made to Fezra.
* * * * * * * * * *
Life was good!
Loerik knew that he shouldn't be feeling THIS good. Not after he'd heard what happened from Fezra's mouth, not when they knew that their first adventure hadn't ended successfully after all. Now Berwen - who had been a comrade if not a friend - had been transformed into something very dangerous, with the matching intention to use that power. It was like an echo to Lei Magnus' dark legacy come to life. He wasn't a quick thinker outside the battlefield, but he had enough wits to see the dangers in the long run.
It wasn't something that should make a man's heart cheerful.
But that was exactly what he felt as he walked through the depth of an Elmekian forest he knew well with the woman his heart belonged to.
The green-haired priestess, who had shed her usual garb when he had told her the walk might be a bit complex, tossed her head from side to side as she looked about in alarmed bemusement. "Are sure we're not lost? I see trees upon trees everywhere I look!"
"We're the right way, don't worry."
"And how can you tell, if I might ask?"
"Its harder to explain than it seems." he grinned "'Sides, you're not an elf. You wouldn't understand."
It made her eyebrows tick playfully. "High and mighty, aren't we? Especially for a humanized half-elf!"
He shrugged. He wasn't lying, however: explaining elven magic to a human would take some doing. He didn't think anyone but the highest sorcerers - such as Rezo the Red Priest, or any very cultured archmage - could make heads or tail of it. How was he supposed to tell that his elven blood allowed him to see shimmering on some trees, telling him the way?
He couldn't. No more than he had ever been able to make his brother understand why he'd chosen his human heritage, with its violence and short-lived nature. He only knew that by doing so, he had met and fallen in love with Hallia. If only because of that, he knew that his choice had been worthwhile. His father, who had fallen in love with an elf and chosen elven life - the ONLY human ever to do so in nearly four hundred years - might understand better, but not completely.
It didn't matter in the end. He felt complete with her, and that was the end of it.
"Three days here....I wonder if humans even saw this place?" she asked as she followed him through what certainly didn't seem like a path to her but was to him.
"No human comes here. It's far from any hunting or woodcutting grounds. That's the whole point, I suppose. The elves always put their portals where humans won't start playing with it. Can you imagine Fez finding one?" he laughed at the very image, and after a moment she laughed with him.
"Yes, I can see her playing with it alright, until she managed to open it. And then the elves would have a greedy human sorceress on their hands." she paused "And a sorcerer too."
He didn't what she meant. Marcus and Fezra had turned north a week ago, and Fezra had said that the red-haired man could tag along - if he wanted. What no one could miss was the fact that she WANTED him to come along. Hallia had bet that by the time they met again, they might be much closer than friends, and Loerik hadn't dared take the bet.
He supposed things had settled down, beyond the pall of their failure and the possible pain Berwen could become. Him with Hallia, Marcus and Fezra well on their way there, Phil back in his castle, having taken Zashtla in as a bodyguard. That last part had been strange, almost as if it was to test his own strength of will. The crown prince, as honourable as he was, could decidedly be strange.
He finally arrived at the clearing, and gave a sigh as he saw the rock pile collected nearby. "Good, good. Its still intact since last year." he said with a definite smile. Hallia looked at him in curiosity, then comprehension blossomed.
"You're saying you put something under the rock."
"Lots of somethings. Let me show you."
He walked to the pile of rocks, and scattered the smaller ones until he came to a large, flat one. He bent, strained as hard as he could, and slowly pushed it away revealing a dark recess. It was something he knew well, having worked to create it over two years ago. He put his hand in and began to draw out the contents of the cavity.
It was amusing to see Hallia's eyes as he drew off half a dozen large bags, and finally a very large one. He opened one, and silver pieces flowed out. He then opened the largest one to show that this one contained nothing less than gold and jewels. He raised an eyebrow, awaiting her reaction.
It came slowly, after she had spent a few moments gawking at the money. "L-Loerik...this is a lot of money. A LOT. H-how?"
"The silver? My wages in part, and the elves mostly." he knew his tone had turned bitter, but that was the way it was with him when he was reminded of his banishment. "That was their way of making things easier for me, I think - giving me silver, buying off their shame. The gold...well, I cleared out a bandit gang two years back, and the townsfolk let me keep a tenth of what I found. Turns out that band was wealthy enough."
"But why did you keep all...all this?" she asked, her eyes still disbelieving.
He shrugged. "Dunno. Making sure maybe, in case I was wounded and couldn't fight. But right now...I know what I want to buy with some of that." he couldn't help but grin "A house for you and me!"
She blinked, taking this in, but before she could respond, he had crossed to her, and put his hands on her shoulders. "I want that. I really do. A house where we'll be happy, where we'll be able to, you know, have kids. I really want to have kids. I don't know what kind of a dad I'd make - I'm a mercenary, after all - but I want to try it. I want to do this with you."
Hallia looked at him gently. "How long did it take you to make that speech?" she asked, and he flushed. So it did sound a bit rushed. Darn.
"Errr....well..." he fumbled, trying to force his slow mind to cough something out. He didn't have a long time for it, however, as she took hold of him and kissed him, completely scattering any response he might have made.
She looked at him with the sincere affection she had shown only he, gently caressing his neck, before she broke the kiss. "Thank you. I know you meant what you said. And I want to try it too. I want your children. Just come here and let me show you the little speech I've prepared..."
As it was, her speech didn't involve many words. Only a few, repeated many times. It was more enjoyable than his own however, and he found out that, of the two, she certainly had the more imagination! If any elves had come and found them at that time, it would probably have suffocated them from the sheer shock and indignation. Not that either would have cared about it much.
They were, however, pretty much alright by the time the gate opened. Their hair was a bit ruffled, and he had a red mark on his neck, but otherwise no one could know of their little discussion. No one, of course, except Mellyroon, his dear elven mother. One look as she came out, and amusement started to shine in her eyes. "I hope we didn't interrupt anything." she said after they had hugged their son, and Rowdy looked at her, confused.
Smiling, Loerik took Hallia's hand and kissed her, turning then to his knowing mother and suddenly comprehending father. "Mom, dad. This is Hallia, my wife." he said joyfully.
Who cared about Berwen, about Lei Magnus, about the future? This was a great day to be alive, and to Loerik, that was that!
* * * * * * * * * *
The man didn't even have the time to scream, as Kalarus's blade cut through his helm, head, and nearly split his body in two. Blood fountained, covering the warrior who was already drenched in it, and the corpse toppled backward. Around him, the few remaining Lumerian loyalists fell back, looking at him with a mixture of awe, hatred and, most of all, fear.
This was a usual sight for Kalarus. Ever since he had been a young man, he had shown an unusual ability at swordsmanship, and had used it to kill as much as he could. He had become a feared mercenary very quickly, eventually becoming part of the best mercenary band in the Elmekian Empire.
What was less usual was having his own allies giving him a wide berth as well. Ever since he'd come back to the mercenary business, it had become harder for him. Not because of his skills - they were still as formidable as they ever were. Rather, it was that he didn't care about other mercenaries anymore. They were nothing, nothing compared to the burning need to kill, ever present, surging forward from the cauldron that was his rage.
He looked at them. With one, glaring eye. The other was forever closed, the handiwork of the young punk who had lucked out too many times for it to be natural. It was a ever-present remainder, one which fuelled the dark feelings within him, which had driven him to fight harder than before, trying to surpass what he'd gleaned, to find a way to make his skill match the - the LUCK his younger opponent possessed.
"What's wrong?" he asked the nervous mercenaries around him "Don't wanna help? Fine with me. Don't need no help, I tell ya!"
Five men remained of the loyalist garrison. Five times, his blade sang a song of death and gore, filling his soul with an ecstasy, which failed to consume the darkness, the bitterness, and the hatred. He didn't even ask to get paid for his work, just turned around and left. The battle was over. That was all that mattered to him. All he wanted was to strengthen his skills, so that one day he would meet the lucky youth again, and make him pay. Yes, make him pay for it all!
He touched the scarred side of his face, the side that still throbbed on rainy days. "Gabriev...I swear next time I'll hack your limbs I tell ya!" he growled as he walked away. It was only when the gutted fort was just a speck in the distance that he stopped under a tree to rest.
He intended to continue fighting in order to increase his endurance and strength. But where? The war between Lumeria and Elmekia was over. The royal family had been slaughtered, its main cities razed or seized, its populace forced to submit to the Imperial Scepter. Only a few small holdouts still remained, but they would within the coming weeks. He supposed it meant that the Empire was victorious, but to Kalarus it was winded. The Emperor was out of most of his resources, and with keeping the Lumerian occupied and in line, he wouldn't have the strength to stage attacks for a good long while.
Where else? Sailune and Zefilia both had a position of peace. Together, they put checks on ambitious rulers such as the ones in Kalmaart and Ralteague. Lyzeille used to be powerful, but a plague a decade ago had weakened it, and it had yet to truly recover. Dils was economically and militarily weak, the weakest of all the human nations...
A vision of the pathetic Dilsean troops wafted through his mind, and he smirked darkly. "I tell ya, Dilsean are so weak, I'd be able to invade them by my own self, I tell ya..." he muttered.
It was then that he realized, to his horror that someone was now near him.
He kicked away from the tree he had been under, vaguely spying a shape next to him. Filled with adrenaline, he vaguely recognized a shape. 'A damn woman!' his mind exclaimed 'How did she get past me!?!'
The thought never even took residence in Kalarus - all focused upon fighting. Still not seeing the target, not caring about anything except that it was there, it was a damn woman who'd dared surprised him and finally that it gave him a way to burn his rage a bit. His sword was out before he could think and he rushed forward, his blade going up and down in one perfect arc, aimed at the bitch's neck. She was his!
He didn't quite understand what happened to him. One moment he had been about to kill the female interloper, and the next he found himself flying backward on his back, thudding on the ground. Pain blossomed where his body hit, but he was used to ignoring it now, after Gabriev. 'Magic. It was magic. Strong. And did she cast it? I didn't see, when did she do it?'
He rose on his feet at once, grasping his blade, looking at his opponent for the first time. That was what definitely stopped him an instant.
He had thought that he was facing a woman, a thief probably, and then a female sorcerer. But although the woman looked human in shape, there were many different items, which came to his sole remaining arm. She was dressed in an opulent suit of gold, reds and greens, looking, with a deep - nearly black - cape draped over one shoulder. But that wasn't what stopped him. It was, rather, her skin, metallic and reddish, and her hair, somewhat spiky and as red as her cloak.
One thought struck him: this ain't no human bitch.
The demonic woman looked at him with amusement, her visible arm on her hip. "Not bad. Not bad at all, I'd say. I know only a handful of people who could react faster." she said critically, and he almost shivered at the intense cold of her voice. He had a new thought: this bitch is dangerous, and she knows it. "Your attack was perfect, although there never was any hope you could do me any damage, little man."
"Watch yer MOUTH!!" he growled without thinking.
"Why should I? It is a truth that you cannot hurt me. Now, Loerik Gabriev, with the blade he has, probably would be a harder opponent..."
He didn't hear the rest, only rushed forward, sword ready. His mind was fire. How DARE she look down on him?!? How DARE she say Gabriev, that lucky RUNT, could best him? How DARE she?!?!?!?!?!? She didn't move as he struck, this time horizontally, as mightily as he could. He'd see if his steel couldn't dent that pretty little metal neck there!
The demon caught the blade with her forearm, stopping it as effectively as a thick iron pole would, and forced him backward with a few muttered words. Definitely magic there. She didn't look surprised or angry. She looked pleased. Very much so.
"You hate Loerik Gabriev, don't you Kalarus? I can understand it well. I, too, hate him. I hate them all. Marcus, Philionel, Loerik, Hallia, Zasthla, Lionel...and especially Fezra. All of them." her eyes seemed to actually catch fire "Fezra attempted to destroy me, Loerik tried to kill you. Both failed. And we can make them pay, if we are patient and do things right."
"I don't care about your blather. All I want is to kill Gabriev, I tell ya! And for that I need to fight!"
"You want to fight, I want to rule. I am certain I can help you. I can give you means to make you stronger. And I will let you fight as much as you wish, as long as you follow my plan."
Kalarus listened. There was something appealing in the way she said what she wanted to do. However, he rankled at having a woman give him orders, even a demonic one. Still, if she could make him strong enough to crush Loerik...if she could...
"And what's that plan you got?" he asked, trying to mask his interest and failing.
She gave him a smile - a smile that was too cold to be comforting. "I heard what you said about Dils. It's the right first step. But I want more. Much, much more. I intend to create an Empire whose memory will last long after I am gone. You can be part of it, you can fight for it. And one day, those we hate will try to stop us. They'll be drawn to it like moths to a flame." she thrust her open hand forward. "Do you want to be part of it?"
A part of him reeling, the idea of fighting and revenge upon Gabriev too strong to resist. He hesitated, and then took the proffered hand. "Make me strong, and I'll fight your little war, I tell ya."
"And I tell you, you will be strong. And feared." Power passed through her and into him. And within a moment, the patch of conquered Lumerian soil was free of presence. All except a presence, far off, protected by powerful warding spells. An entity that looked like a human priest with violet hair and a happy smile.
"This will be fun." Xellos said, and then he, too, was gone.
* * * * * * * * * *
In a realm beyond the Mortal Plane, two being watched glimpsed the passing events. Their attention wasn't fixed on those only - their powers allowed for much more. But they were interested nonetheless. Eventually, one being looked at the other.
"It appears that your little drama is over, my friend. The humans' adventure is over."
"Over? I daresay not. This was but the opening phase, the beginning of the piece. The pièce de résistance, as they say, will come soon enough. It will be interesting to watch these humans, as a former comrades takes them places they never intended to go."
"Their fate?"
"Their fears, my old friend. Their fears."
END OF BOOK ONE