A.N. This is the start of a long story for me, something that in all likelihood will be over eighty thousand words when it is finished, possibly even more. It's an A.U. based on the Jak and Daxter universe, the characters and knowledge imparted by Jak 3 taken and placed in a medieval setting where swords and magic take the place of guns and technology. I'm hoping that it'll be as successful as most of my other Jak and Daxter work but this will be my most ambitious project to date and I hope you all think it's worth it. Anyway, that's enough from me. I hope you all enjoy it and will continue to read as it progresses.
The Visionary
Dune Born- Chapter 1
The sun rose slowly over the desert, the early rays picking out the sand in a hundred shades of red and gold as the darkness of night retreated, grains of salt and crystal carried on the breeze sparkling in the new light. Across the desolate landscape outcroppings of rock sheltered shallow pools and patches of greenery among their shadowed crevasses, giving clues of the secret lives led by the creatures throughout it. Normally some of them would have been seen as they scurried across the dunes or grazed lazily on the sparse vegetation but on this morning not even insects stirred the air in their search for wild flowers. The entire landscape seemed to hold its breath, waiting.
The fighters of Spargus waited also, crouched as still as the rocks that littered the desert around them, unseen among the dunes as their sand-dusted cloaks lent them camouflage, only their eyes moving as they picked out individual forms from the throng below, trying to guess at the numbers that moved before them. The metalhead column wound through the dunes for almost a mile, the massive, hundreds strong herd slowly plodding its way across the endless sea of sand as their screeching, unearthly calls filled the emptiness. There were over a dozen different species among them, the unique physiology that their alien kin bore meaning that the tiny skittering hatchlings that came from the first eggs could grow to almost anything. Most became the four-legged animalistic grunts, the work-horses of their evil race, leathery hide and metallic bone forged into armour and claws and all built onto some twisted, canine form, the dark energy that their race bore glowing from four eyes and the skull-gems that glowed atop their features.
They were the majority of the herd below, they and their closest cousins, the warriors, the heat pushing them to the same lumbering, four-legged walk as their more primitive brethren but the bulkier lines of their limbs and the dark eco that hissed in their jaws with each breath marking them out. Most hatchlings would never grow beyond these forms but in some cases they would be able to find the switch inside them that would see them cocoon and emerge up to months later in a new form.
Among them those that had done this snapped and hissed at each other, the oddly mechanical movements of the walkers taking the safest positions in the centre, as their spider-like legs moved in disconcerting unison. A multitude of others swarmed about them, some reptilian, some snake-like, yet others moving with the deceiving swiftness of bugs and insects. But in the centre was one that dwarfed them all, the quarry that Spargus' hunters had come to take, the quarry that had to be hunted if they hoped to prevent him from joining his troops to the scattered herds of the desert and rallying them into a force that would crush Spargus.
It was monstrous, a giant that towered over the largest of its kin, a six legged lizard-like body but sheathed in armoured scales. Great horns of bone travelled the length of its spine, from the vicious, mace-like head of its tail to the great, gaping maw of its face, razor teeth lining a gruesome bastardisation of elven features. Those that knew it not feared it, those that did feared it all the more. This was Kor, the leader of the metalheads. In truth he was not the leader of all for the metalheads covered Gaia with their numbers and no one being could claim dominion over all, each of their nests with their own overseer. Once a being like him had lived in these deserts and made war on Spargus before he had been dragged to the ground and torn asunder decades since. His children remained to keep the wastes treacherous to man though, but it had been years since they had summoned the strength to battle the desert people in earnest.
This column however was part of a migration that could see that change. It was the largest group that had come from the lands around Haven City, these the ones that had been come from the nest itself but thousands more of the creatures had begun to pour into the desert in scattered packs. Left to themselves most would simply become scattered through out the dozens of small nests that littered the desert wastes. But if Kor was allowed to live he would re-form these into a new army here to bring them down on Spargus City in a tide that would not be stopped. That was why Damas had given the decree, Kor would die by their hands.
Given time the nomads could have been called on and the full strength of the desert lords marshalled, the leaper host crushing him no matter his power in an unstoppable wave of spears and blades. But as it was there was no time, even this small force that had been gathered had barely arrived in time to lay this ambush, all of them knowing that victory was by no means certain over the approaching force, but that it had to be gained nonetheless. Their one chance lay in a swift strike that would leave him unable to marshal his troops to his defence. It would be so if he just continued along this valley, its slopes still sheltered from the low sun the shadowed rises aiding the stealth of the hunters that lay in wait, most lying flat inches beneath the surface as the sand covered them, trusting their captains to call on them when the time was right.
As the metalheads approached the ambush site several of them raised their heads, snouts tilted into the dry breeze to try and catch some scent, even their basic intelligence recognising how apt the location was for an ambush. Kor growled and two dozen trail breakers broke away from the main herd, reptilian forms that darted into the canyon, this species reminiscent of the salamanders that made their homes in such places. The few fighters that had not buried themselves in the ground watched them silently from the dunes, their cloaks and masks camouflaged, dipped in resin and then tossed into the sand to pick up a natural coating, rolling naked in the same sand making the men they hid virtually scent-less.
A metalhead skittered past within two paces of the first pair, their eyes almost closed so that the whites would not betray them, sand dusting over what little tanned skin exposed so that by feel alone could it be discerned from the desert. Its snout was low to the sand as it tried to catch some scent, pausing for a moment as a whiff caught it's attention and the two tensed, fingers curling around the hilts of their blades beneath their cloaks. The metalhead snuffled again and sneezed as sand shot up its nose, shaking its head to clear it as it moved on, deciding that the faint smell had been nothing but an echo of some old trail that had been carried here by the shifting sands.
The two watched it move on, cantering onward across the dune. Glancing at each other, an almost imperceptible slackening of their shoulders beneath the cloaks telling of the silent sighs of relief they let out. Around them thirty reeds that poked from the sand shivered with the same sigh. One by one the trail-breakers barked the all clear and they watched as the winding column slowly made it's way deeper and deeper into the trap, the first fingering the horn that was at his belt, the horn that would signal the start of one of the most daring hunts in living memory.
The metalheads moved forward with more speed now, into the trap, their trail-breakers failing totally as they reached the opposite end of the deep valley without catching scent or sight of the ambush. It was hardly surprising used as they were to searching among rich, lush jungle where scents were carried far and kept fresh, their eyes and noses unused to searching among the barren sands. Kor entered the trap as the column continued to move with a regular, plodding step and the Captains watched them unmoving as always despite the fearsome urge to spring the trap and end the waiting. They had crouched in place for two hours now and those who breathed through reeds the same, what was a few more minutes? Their patience was rewarded as the last metalhead passed the watchers and the trap was ready in fullness.
The Captain, one of those who had watched the rear of the trap stood suddenly, sand spilling from his cloak as he flung it open and brought his horn to his lips with a single smooth movement to let out a long, rolling blast that echoed in the valley. In the moment of silence that followed every metalhead turned to him as he drew his blades, a straight, double-edged sword in his right and an exotic, curved dagger in his left. The sword swept down, it's point toward the column.
'Archers!' Hunters burst from the ground itself at his summons, sand rising with them to cover their numbers with a sand-storm of their own creation as they rose like a mist from the dunes, short-bows already knocked and drawn. Surprise was total and the metalheads had no time to turn their armoured backs to the volley, nor to thin the numbers of arrows with spells and the arrows hummed down like a flight of angry wasps. The short, heavy bolts found their marks amid the tightly packed herd below and metalheads fell with pained yelps, the ethereal glow in their eyes dying as their armour failed. But even as they crumpled to the floor and more arrows rained in the guttural language of the metalheads rose in reply and began to martial them into ranks. Yet as Kor prepared to send his own troops charging up the slope to fight the archers on a more even footing the captains' dagger descended in a signal that started the next phase.
'Archers, pick your targets. Slingers, let 'em have it!' The hiss of arrows became a staggered song and over the crest of the dunes a rank of men rose, heavy sacks in their hands as in the bottom of each something hummed and crackled with trapped energy. Each man began to spin it slowly as below the metalheads began to answer the arrows with the dark eco of their cursed species, ugly, purple and black balls of energy slamming into the sand to leave twisted sculptures of sand melted to glass where they did not find their marks among the fighters. The archers responding to the fire by breaking their formations to become darting, shifting forms, never still for more than a moment as they loosed their short, barbed stingers at those below. They bought the slingers time enough to complete their task as they span their whole bodies to give their burdens momentum, feet pounding the sand as faster and faster they moved until the weight in each sack whirled overhead.
There seemed to be a lull in the fighting as in a scattered volley both ridges let their charges fly, the sacks arcing over the heads of the archers to plummet into the steep valley. The first hit home and a sound like shattering glass could be heard for a moment, before white fire blossomed with a thunder-clap where it had struck, a blinding flash that consumed near to two dozen of the evil race. Grunts, warriors, and all manner of their kin shrieked as the white fire passed through their bodies, the darkness in them extinguished to leave them little more than lifeless husks when it receded.
Almost thirty of these were hurled into the herd below, the ranks that had been marshalled and the fire that had begun to drive the archers back broken in a few moments of light and noise that saw hundreds of the creatures die, even the greatest of them helpless before the magic of these weapons. The ambushers knew better than to let such confusion go to waste and even as the fires died a second horn sounded from the Eastern edge of the valley, the long, rolling note accompanied by a thunder of feet, the breaking of the metalhead ranks paving the way for this new wave.
At the rear of the metalhead column, over the horizon that they had passed mere minutes before a line of silhouetted forms appeared against the sun. These were the leaper knights of Spargus, the power of the desert clans, the hunters of the dark children almost a hundred of them gathering to join this hunt. Their mounts were two legged creatures that stood a head taller than any man, but were in truth almost three paces from tail-tip to nose, running like raptors, short, but viciously clawed fore-arms on long, sleek bodies, sheathed in scale. Un-armoured but for their own natural protection a multitude of sun-bleached colours moved among them as powerful, toned muscles propelled them over the sand, wide, three clawed feet meaning that they charged as though across a tourney range. A bony ridge atop their heads was presented to the metalheads as they went, their backs as straight as a rule, each a battering ram that could smash rock, these creatures bred for war through dozens of generations.
Mounted upon each were the knights themselves, the heat of the desert meaning that full armour was an impossibility and each was dressed as the archers for the most part, light, desert-toned robes but these with more armour strapped across them a breastplate, greaves, braces and helmet, toned by whatever metal had been scavenged to create them. It mattered little though, they fought to kill before they could be struck at. What need of armour when all before you were dead? Their lances were levelled like a forest of needle-points as they swept into the valley, the archers continued sniping meaning that little in the way of a resistance could be formed to meet them.
They smashed into the column like a sledgehammer, lances splintering and cracking as they left their spear-heads in the dead under foot, the sheer force of the impact sending metalheads arcing back over the heads of those behind. As broken lances were cast away the sound of swords escaping sheaths joined the din of battle, all but lost under the thunder of hooves as those behind the vanguard of the charge slid aside from the thick of the fighting to loose none of their momentum as they crashed into the flanks. A dozen ranks had simply been ridden down before the swords even needed to be used and it was obvious that with that charge the metalhead column was broken, their animal language filling the valley with panicked shrieks and cries as they fled.
The fight would have been over but for Kor. The cursed beast was not winged for no reason and the moment the slingers had loosed their deadly load he had taken to the skies with a thrumming buzz that seemed to shake the world. As the knights reached the larger of his children, the ones whose power meant that they knew no fear and stood their ground he swept down to show just why he was so feared.
His maw opened and syllables that were neither of his tongue or man's echoed in the valley, something ancient and evil in the words that gathered darkness in his jaws, his eyes glowing with a sibilant light, his body swooping low over the battlefield just as he completed the incantation. Black lightning seethed from his maw as his sinuous neck traced a path across a rank of knights, the warriors dying for their bravery as both they and their mounts were crushed beneath the power of his spell. He circled, gathering his power once more but as he approached the rest were ready and spears soared up at him as on the hills the archers swung their bows up to him, barbed stingers finding weaknesses in his scales as two spears lodged in his flank, his roar of pain giving them fresh heart.
But once again he showed his power as his jaws closed on the hafts, wrenching them from his flesh as he soared beyond their range. Hovering above them he hissed that evil language once more, the glow in his eyes flaring once more as dark lightning traced across his skin. He dropped like a stone into the party of knights, scattering them like nine-pins as the remnants of his herd rallied to fly at the archers, brutal close-combat erupting through-out the valley as the bows were cast down and swords scraped from sheaths.
The knights moved back in against him, those who still bore them heaving their spears at him but a word of power shattering them in the very air, his jaws sweeping out to snatch riders from their mounts as they came at him with their swords. They fought him like piranha mobbing a pike, the swift, agile leapers darting in to let their riders slash at his legs and under-belly before bounding away from his jaws and the stabbing points of his legs. But pike could not call dark fire to their aid and where they out-fought him in combat many of them fell to his spells, the numbers that moved against him lessening as he reformed his troops around him, holding back the hunters on foot as they strove to come to the aid of their mounted brethren.
Surprise had been lost and now Spargus' fighters had been drawn into melee where the alien strength and natural weapons of the metalheads gave them the advantage. As the tide began to turn many feared that the gamble had been for naught but their forces were not totally spent yet. On the hillside that the knights had charged down a small group remained, the figure in their middle watching the battle below as his plan was failed by sheer power. He turned to his entourage as Kor once again swatted a knight from his saddle.
'Ready your blades, if we must buy his life with our blood then so be it but we cannot let him reach the nest.' He was Damas, King of Spargus, a warrior lord in his light desert robes he bore hardness in his face that spoke of many battles, his skin scarred all the way up to his clean-shaven head, locks of sun-whitened hair falling to his shoulders around it, bracelets and beads woven into them that clicked and swayed with his every move. The armour strapped over his muscular frame bore a look of age and strength in its clean lines, the dark, coppery metal seeming to be have been somehow forged out of the unworkable precursor metal left behind by the ancient race, the robes beneath made of a fine but thin linen in light desert tones. He turned his mount back to the battle below as around him the dozen knights who had sworn their lives to protect him loosened their blades in their sheaths, hefting their spears as they readied themselves to join him. Behind him one of them did not move as beside him in his own saddle the young teenager that he was charged to protect pawed at his own blade.
Damas glanced at him for a moment before turning to the knight, 'Keep my boy safe. If I fall the crown of Spargus will belong to him.'
He began to turn away but Jak started forward, his protests rising. 'Let me fight father, I've hunted before.' He had the same deep voice as his father and features that shared his rugged handsomeness though his were softened by the youth of his fifteen years. Now that he was mounted a red scarf was pulled up over his nose but his piercing blue eyes still showed unafraid beneath his elfin ears and swept-back blonde hair, his locks cut close enough not to get caught in undergrowth as he went about his hunting. There was little to mark him as a prince though for he was dressed as most of the desert people were, an odd collection of armour strapped on to vital areas over fitted blue robes now coated with dust by the long ride, the material hugging a slim, but muscular form. His sleeveless arms showed more of a finely tuned physique despite his youth, the hands in his finger-less armour-backed gauntlets obviously powerful as he guided his mount forward, one hand on the hilt of his sword.
Damas shook his head, 'No Jak, this quarry is greater than any that we've faced in our lives. I cannot risk leaving your mother without us both.' The knight with him laid a hand on Jak's bridle and before he could protest Damas was already spurring his mount down the hill, the powerful war-beast thundering downward as he hefted his spear, pulling it back as they closed on the battle, a fresh battle cry rising from his throat. When they were flung one of the spears found it's mark but it was not a telling wound and Jak watched as his father and those with him drew their swords and plunged into the melee. He had earned his place as King by right of combat and his skill showed as he battled Kor, guiding his leaper around the spells and claws that were cast at him as he wielded his blade. He scored a dozen wounds as the battle raged around them, his blade slick with the creature's luminous blue blood when he wheeled to face him once more.
But his success had been due in a large part to those who rode with him, their spears and attacks distracting Kor enough to let him fight as he did. But without their power the fighters had had no answer to the most powerful of the metalhead numbers and though few of them remained they had scattered the archers, hounding them into small melees where they were forced to form circles and fight for life rather than victory. Even as Damas had wounded Kor more and more of the metalheads had broken away from these skirmishes to turn upon the knights, forcing them to turn from the battle with Kor and robbing Damas of his advantage.
He paid for it as Kor's foreleg swept out as he darted in and this time struck true, Dama's cry of pain forcing its way free of clenched teeth as he was flung to the floor, only his breastplate saving his life as it absorbed most of the impact. He lay stunned as Kor towered over him, a dark incantation on his lips, dark eco swirling into being around him surely destined to extinguish the king's life. And it would have, had it not been for his son.
The moment he had seen that the strike would hit home his fist had knocked his guardian from his saddle, power in the blow despite his youth. The same strength rang in his voice as he used his freedom to draw the sword at his hip, a slim, quick weapon but with a broad, exotically curved blade that glinted in the sunlight. His leaper was at a gallop a moment later, bearing down on the battle as Jak stood in his stirrups, no thought in his mind except to save his father. The dark power began to gather as he approached and Kor's head reared up to deliver the killing blow when he dug his heels in and his leaper proved why it was called such, the powerful muscles in it's haunches coiling and bunching for a moment before propelling him skyward.
Athletic as he was he added his own jump to the height it gave him, twisting and leaping from the saddle as the leaper reached the apex of it's flight alongside Kor's reptilian body. Jak's path carried him directly over it, his sword raised above his head as he landed atop the line of bone plate that protected Kor's spine. The impact made Kor hesitate in his spell and even as he turned to see the new presence Jak's whole body snapped like a whip and plunged his blade down like a dagger, his sword coming down at an angle and meeting scaled hide which split beneath his blade rather than bone, the curve of his steel meaning that as he thrust it deep into cursed flesh, its keen edge found what Kor's armour should have protected. In truth a dozen knights had done as Jak had done, their weapons buried almost to the hilt in Kor's flesh but each time he had spun to deny them a strike at any vital organ. However Damas' skill had enraged him and so intent had he been upon his kill that Jak had struck unopposed and made it a telling blow.
He jerked like a puppet that had had it's strings cut, his legs giving out from under him as his tail thudded to the ground like a limp rope, the wound grievous but not fatal as the terrible spell that had been on his lips turned to a agonised yelp that even before it died became an enraged roar. As his body collapsed to the sand Kor himself seemed to ignore what should have all but ended him, his head swivelling atop his neck to turn his attention from Damas to Jak as he wrenched his blade free, black blood following it in a thick spout of liquid.
He turned to face the terrible visage that swung to stare at him on his own back, unafraid as the incantation that had been for his father was turned on him as he raised his sword and rushed for the creature's neck. Kor's vengeance however would not let him strike the killing blow and even as he lunged forward black lightning caught him like a butterfly in a gale, a bolt searing from Kor's eyes to plunge into his shoulder and drive him from his back and into a dune like a battering ram, his agony echoing across the valley as his entire body twitched in agony. But though he yet lived Kor's animal passion for revenge had forgotten that the warrior king that had been before him moments before was only stunned. It was too late as his spell ended and he realised that Damas had not been idle as his son paid for his bravery. A moment was all it had taken for him to seize the broken length of a spear and dart forward. By the time Kor turned back to him, he was already plunging it home where his son could not.
The point found it's target in Kor's throat, the serrated edges of it's tapered head ripping open what the monster could not spare as his second roar of pain became a terrible, drowning sound that bubbled to a halt as the spell ceased and his head slowly arced toward the ground. The glow in his eyes that had unleashed so much evil died to nothing as across the melee the metalheads turned to watch the scene, the thud of impact as his head finally struck the ground rolling across the field, luminous blue blood turning to dark mud as it drained out onto the sand. Damas however took no time to celebrate his kill as he turned his back on Kor's body and the spectacle of his knights riding down the now fleeing metalheads, the archers chasing them with arrows. Fresh hunters would have gathered in Spargus by the time they returned and they would be ample to hunt down what remained of this column but right now he had more pressing matters to attend to. Kneeling beside his son he called to him as he examined his wound, the knight that had been with him on the hill pulling to a stop behind him, swearing as he caught sight of Jak's wound, his shoulder a burnt, ruined thing of blackened flesh.
The knight jumped from his leaper as he drew his sword should any of the scattering survivors find the courage to try to avenge Kor, his voice however showing that they were of little concern in his mind. 'My King, I have no excuse to offer you. He struck me unaware when he saw that you would fall and knocked me from my saddle so that I would not stop him.'
Damas did not turn his eyes from his boy as he ripped the remnants of his tunic away, unbuckling the twisted and burnt armour that had probably been all that held his shoulder together when the impact struck. 'Do not blame yourself, he has ever been as rash as his mother, I should have left two of you with him.'
The captain that had led the Knights on their first charge came to their side, standing over them as he wiped his broad-sword clean, experienced eyes roving over the field. 'Rash or not he did the job that none of us could do. If he hadn't done what he did it wouldn't have been long before we were just bodies under the sand.'
Damas bit back a curse as he saw that the wound went deep and that it was sceptic, Kor had woven enough darkness into the spell to poison his blood if it was left untended. 'Aye Keiver, but now we must see that his first great kill is not his last. Rig a stretcher, we have to get him back to the fountain in Spargus. Hopefully the white eco will be able to drive the darkness from him.'
---
Haven City was a fortress of stone in the centre of the rock strewn jungles that surrounded it, war-scarred walls standing almost thirty paces tall and nearly five deep, it's gates constructed from massive wooden beams encased in iron, the ground for a kilometre in every direction around it stripped bare to keep enemies from approaching unseen. The walls surrounded a city of tens of thousands, a bustling hub of elven-kind, farmers and shopkeepers, smiths and engineers all working in the sprawling metropolis, thatched roofs rising alongside stone and slate, marble and metal, every facet of the elven race contained within its walls.
Here and there scars and burnt out buildings showed that the war still cast a shadow over it but now that it had ended with Kor's flight to the south the shadow was lifting, a note of hope in the voices that rose in the marketplace despite the early hour, the sun peeking over the walls to spill golden light down onto the city as it awoke. In the centre the palace keep dwarfed its largest neighbours, the massive stone structure rising over the thatched roofs of Haven City like some great monument of power. The walls hung with banners but, many stone faces chiselled smooth recently enough for the tool marks to have not completely faded, those that saw them knowing that they were evidence of the battles that had been fought inside the palace as the war waged outside, the insignia of the baron only recently removed by his triumphant daughter and her fiancé.
In one of the dozens of rooms a hand groped for a pull cord as it rose from bed, the curtains sliding aside to let light into the room as it found it. Keira yawned as she sat up from among the thin, summer blankets, stretching languidly as she smiled at the feel of the sun on her face. She had come to treasure these mornings where she could take her time rising, for the first time in her life not having to worry about the alert horns sending her scurrying to the shelters. Growing up in the war had left her little in the way of vanity and considering her father's part in it and his apparent lack of a motherly nature it was hardly surprising that she had grown up with little feminine about her. It showed as she rose without bothering to primp and puff as many girls her age did, instead discarding her shift to don a pair of aged and worn overalls, cinching them at her waist as she pulled on a white vest and a well-used tool belt.
Her age more than her gender surprised most who saw her like this for at fourteen she was barely old enough to be more than a few years into an apprenticeship but she had grown up in a soldier's world where skilled hands were a welcome aid in delicate tasks no matter who they belonged to. There was a small nod to pride in her appearance as she leaned over a small mirror and pulled her brush through her shoulder-length hair, it's deep, aqua green a shade darker than her eyes as she smoothed it down from her night's rest. The locks framed a heart shaped face, a button nose and pert lips complimenting her large, expressive, emerald eyes.
She supposed that she was pleased with the way she looked but she had never been one to worry over it, the soldiers whose armour she trimmed and perfected were far more interested in her ability to make a joint fit just right than any of her other qualities and she had learned to take more pride in that than in her appearance. Pushing a hair-band into place to keep her locks out of her eyes she knew that she had another busy day ahead of her but the frenzy had gone from the workshop with the end of the war and the work was carried out a more leisurely pace, seeming enjoyable rather than necessary to her.
The thoughts left her however as she stepped out into the hall and saw the green glow emanating from beneath her father's door. He had been acting strange of late, ever since Kor's disappearance a month ago truth be told, spending more and more of his time in communion with his plants, the glow telling her that he was at it once more. Most shrugged it off as part of his station as a Sage but she had lived with his powers for her whole life and had found the shift in his attention disconcerting. She glanced up at one of the windows, there was still time before her shift in the workshop began, she could afford to pop in and check on him before breakfast.
She had just raised her knuckles to rap against the wood when it burst open, her father standing before her, his face set in its perpetual thoughtful scowl and his untamed white hair flowing around it in a voluminous beard and full head that encompassed the still living section of log that grew atop it. His clothes, a fine but purely functional tunic and trousers stained from their natural dark brown to a deeper shade of the green tinge that shaded his skin as in his hands he held his staff, spring growth sprouting from it as a testament to his power. Something in his bearing told her that he had not slept, his ears twitching either side of his head in the way they always did when he was in a hurry.
His eyes fixed on her from behind complex spectacles, a host of different lenses and crystals sprouting on arms that he could swing into position at will to aid in his spells, one green filtered eye staring at her next to a blue. He had been meditating again, the verdant, lush undergrowth that seemed to consume the room behind him telling of it, the plants unnaturally bolstered by the life energy that he commanded.
'Keira, good, you're up. We need to go.' His voice was gruff but fatherly, enough energy in it to tell anyone that his aged appearance had not dimmed his wit.
She blinked, taking a moment to find her voice. 'What? Go where?'
Samos turned, pulling her into his room behind him, 'To Spargus, something's happened there. The plants have told me a little of a great battle that was fought out there. The metalheads that abandoned their nest to the East have been migrating into the deserts. This very morning Spargus began to hunt them, starting with Kor. Every oasis in the desert felt him die.'
Keira watched him as he scurried about the room, sweeping things into a pack, 'The Desert Lords? They've killed Kor?'
He seemed to pause, looking at the plants around him, 'Aye, my power will be diminished there but I felt a sage's call. With the power it had even Faso felt it up North. I've just finished talking with him and the others, none of them had any idea that there was a sage there, or even a bloodline with any skill in it at all. I've got to get down there and find out what's going on.' He stopped again and looked up at her, other thoughts but his mission seeming to enter his head for the first time. 'But I suppose it's foolish of me to impose this on you. This is Sage business and I've got no right to drag you along. I'm sure Torn and Ashelin will see to your needs if you wish to stay in this city.'
Keira grinned at him as she gently took the pack from his hands and pulled out the possessions he had haphazardly stuffed into it, beginning to neatly but swiftly fold the garments before replacing them in it. She had a gentle, musical voice as she replied, the energy of youth in it and her movements. 'Are you kidding. I've been stuck in this city all my life. This is the first time you'll have let me outside the walls for more than a few hours at a time. Of course I want to come. I've heard stories about some of the Desert Cities, they say that Spargus has a rig that lets them pull water from a river almost a half mile underground. I've wanted to see it for years.'
Once, almost a generation ago a great alliance of kingdoms had existed around Haven, Spargus the twin jewel in its crown, the seat of the Desert King just as Haven had lordship over the jungles. The arrival of the metalheads in the area almost fifty years ago had shattered the alliance and seen all of the jungle kingdoms but Haven simply disappear, ruins in the jungle and the scattering of foreigners that made their homes in Have city a testament to that. Spargus had nearly gone the same way, the desert clans sundered after the death of the Desert King, the clans splintering into rivals as most gave into the metalheads and spiralled into the chaotic madness of dark eco worship.
Some small communication remained between the two, wanderers travelling between them on occasion but both their rulers too busy with their own wars to give attention to their neighbour. She could still remember the chills down her spine as she heard wastelanders tell her stories of them to the soldiers late at night as she listened from the shadows, chills coupled with gleeful curiosity as the gentler tales spoke of the wondrous sights to be found among the dunes.
Not all of the wanderers were from Spargus of course, for all of the danger Spargus and Haven were not the only places that elves survived, not by a long way. Villages remained scattered throughout the jungle in hidden valleys where a score of trained men could hold off an army. The cost of taking such places compared to the threat they possessed made them all but immune to any concerted attack by the metalheads, the same of the nomadic desert clans who trekked through the wastes around Spargus.
She knew that regularly her father would convene with the other sages through their unique abilities, Faso Blue in a small village in the centre of a vast inland sea to the North and Kiros Red not far to the East of him, the two with their own contacts to the other sages and even their own apprentices, their wars easier to fight and allowing them to teach those with the gift how to use what was becoming a dying art. She had seen the map he had drawn with the information gleaned from them and from his own experience, nearly three hundred communities noted on it, ranging from cities to villages but each a bastion of elven-kind against the metalheads.
She would spend hours pouring over them and the books she could find upon the desert clans and the other distant lands, dreaming always of going there herself, of seeing the places spoken of in the books about the old alliance. She guessed that it was another side-effect of growing up with few of the thoughts that most girls had. Where they dreamed of creating a family, she dreamed of adventure and exploration. Samos seemed to be thinking of all the times he had found her like that in his study and let a fatherly smile cross his lips.
'Very well Keira, I suppose I should leave the preparations to you, you've got a better head for them than me, always have. I'll go talk with Torn and Ashelin, see about getting us a couple of horses for the journey. It'll be a long, hard trip. The roads have not been used since Kor first arrived and it will probably take us almost a month to follow the trails. Hopefully I'll be able to find a guide from the hunter guilds to take us.'
A.N. There you have it, the first instalment of my newest saga. Hopefully the writing was up to scratch and the shift from sci-fi to fantasy was well blended, please tell me what you think, after all, I write these for you. As always, any constructive criticism is more than welcomed and any questions or comments that you wish to make outside of the site can be sent directly to me via my personal e-mail I'll try to answer all as quickly as possible. In addition, since updates may become irregular during the course of the story I'm offering a personal alert service where anyone who wishes to be sent an e-mail by myself every time I upload a new chapter can ask for it on that same address. I look forward to hearing opinions from each of you.
Go with God
The Visionary