Chapter 7

Kuirst was an idealistic young man who believed in all the propaganda his rebels threw about, and Ikharos knew it even before they reached the base camp of his brothers-in-arms. The fear of the Guardian never left him, but slivers of personality shone through. He was disarmingly optimistic and cheerful, even if it was suppressed by the awe and terror of the Warlock's power.

"How did you do that?" Kuirst asked at last.

"Do what?"

"Move us outside the city."

Ikharos nodded. He liked to encourage others to ask questions, to learn. He loved to teach. "I am a Guardian. I can tap into the power of the Light and exploit the primordial elements of Arc, Solar and Void. As a paracausal entity, I can sidestep the physics of the universe to make my will reality, even if I must destroy the fundamental laws of existence to do so."

"Oh," the rebel said quietly. Ikharos could tell that some of it went over his head.

"Ask me another time, if there is one, and I will try my best to put it in understandable terms."

"What about... Zeen?"

"Xiān?"

"Yes. How did it-"

"She."

"Pardon?"

"Xiān is a she," Ikharos explained. "Ghosts are not objects or drones."

"Apologies, I... how did she know that I told the truth?"

The Warlock clasped his hands behind his back. "The human body is flawed. We are not perfect creatures, and we should be glad for that. Deception is not our forte. She checked the common tells of deception.. Turned out you were telling the truth. It is as simple as that. Now, whether you told an altered version of the truth or not is still up for debate, and I can assure you that I do not take kindly to being deceived."

The other rebels weren't as easily trusting. As soon as the pair arrived to an isolated barn some dozen leagues away from the city, half a dozen spears were pointed at the Warlock's face. The sun had begun to rise, a bright imitation of that star which fed and sustained the life of Sol.

"Wait, Rendan, it's me!"

"Kuirst? We surely thought the soldiers had caught you!" One of the spearmen dropped his weapon and embraced the Guardian's prisoner-turned-guide. "Thank the gods you're alive! How did..."

The unfamiliar man turned to regard Ikharos. "Is... is this the wizard?"

"It is." Kuirst swiveled to face the Warlock. "He is..."

"Willing to help, on the grounds that some terms of my own are met," Ikharos told them. He removed his helmet, if for no other reason than to put them at ease.

Rendan gestured for the other rebels to put aside their weapons. "Not here. Come, please."

The man retreated into the barn. Ikharos followed, the spearmen at his back, Kuirst awkwardly tagging along.

There were others inside, some armed rebels and others sympathisers of the cause. There was a small fire being fed kindling in the middle, the smoke trailing up through a hole the barn's thatch roof, and a pot of food bubbled over it. Men and woman set to work readying the breakfast while a couple of children squealed happily as a frail old man told them a story in a hushed voice.

The moment he entered, Ikharos became the centre of attention. All eyes were drawn to his armour, or the rifle on his back.

"This is the wizard," Rendan announced. Whispers slithered to life, but the Warlock paid them no mind.

"Is there a leader?" He asked, his eyes trailing over the warriors of the rebellion. If they could even be called that. They had no armour and their weapons were either repurposed farm tools or archaic antiques of a previous age.

"No leader, I'm afraid," the old man in his rocking chair was the first to answer, breaking the nervous silence. His eyes were white and gazed off into nowhere in particular. He was blind. "But Rendan is a former soldier. He knows how to lead."

"This is Ertharis," Kuirst told Ikharos. "He is a monk of the Arcaena."

Rendan leaned his spear against the gate of an empty stable and crossed his arms. "You wanted something in return?"

The Warlock nodded. "I need access to the Reliquary."

The hushed gossip returned. Rendan frowned. "What you ask is not so easily given. The knowledge of the Arcaena is to be safeguarded from threats that would see it destroyed."

"It is of some urgency."

"Is it? I doubt it. Still, it is not in us to grant you this." The rebel leader glanced to the old man.

Ertharis smiled sadly. "Death for knowledge. This transaction is a terrible one, but it is necessary. Do you know why we fight?"

"The empire is trying to destroy your faith and you don't seem to care for that very much. And you want me to help you drive them out."

"There is more than that."

"Is there? I don't think there is." Ikharos ignored the heated looks sent his way. "I want access to your records and you want me to help your cause."

"We have, against our better judgement, allowed you into our midst only for your enmity with the empire, but I still worry that you may be a spy. How can we be sure you are genuine?"

"I think that everyone here is still alive is evidence enough."

Rendan and his men bristled, but Ertharis held them back with a raised hand. "We have no magic here. We have no mages. To you we are helpless. And that is why we need you. The king's hold grows ever tighter. Their men sully our streets, demean our lands and harass our people. With you, we can fight. Without your help, the king's mages will kill us."

"He killed two of them," Kuirst blurted. "In the city. I saw their bodies. And then he... He is powerful. Please, grandfather, let him into the library."

"Kuirst…" Rendan scolded in a warning tone.

The old man thought it over. Seconds passed, then a minute. Ikharos could see the gears turning in the monk's head.

"My grandson is far too trusting," Ertharis said finally. "Yet we have little other choice than to meet your demands. So I ask of you, will you help us?"

Ah. His own dilemma. But no matter how high the price, he needed to achieve what he came for. To safeguard this planet and keep the Hive from further power, he needed to understand how it began. Even if the price was a city full of bodies, this was too important. "I will. To an extent. If I find your actions disagreeable, I will oppose you. That is a promise."

Rendan, his features contorted by hostility and his hand gripping his weapon tightly, growled. "We have no choice, but that does not mean I trust you."

"I don't need your trust. Only your library."

Ikharos left the barn while the rebels discussed... well, him. They had that right, and he had to respect their wishes.

The lands of Kuast seemed peaceful out in the middle of nowhere. He sat against an apple tree and overlooked the vast grasslands, listening to the singing or clicking of insects and watching, utterly enraptured, as a fox scurried about, looking for prey.

He was joined almost an hour later, when someone vaguely familiar handed him a bowl of stew. She had sharp facial features and brown hair in a loose braid, similar to another, but that wasn't the reason he recognized her.

"Thank you," he said quietly. There was something he just couldn't... "You were in... Kalas. Oh."

"I was," the woman dipped her head gratefully. "Thank you. There was no telling what those soldiers would have done."

The Warlock shrugged. "I did what anyone would have." He turned his gaze back to the distant form of the fox. "Are they dead?"

"I don't know. The militia took their weapons and put them in binds. Rendan collected them."

"I see." He sipped from the bowl. It lacked in a lot of things, but it was decent all things considered. "So you are a rebel?"

"No. I just help from time to time. My brother is of those who fight."

"Is it Kuirst?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Is that why he came for me?"

The woman shrugged. "Perhaps. He loved stories of heroes and magic as a child. I think he believes you are one of those heroes."

Ikharos grunted, neither denying or confirming it.

"He told us you are powerful. That you moved both yourself and him leagues outside the city in an instant."

"Nothing more than an altered version of a Nova Warp."

"What is..."

"A Nova Warp is a common ability employed among Voidwalkers. I am a Warlock, one of three types of Guardians, and we have these different skillsets in which we train. The Voidwalker, like the Stormcallers and Sunsingers, are examples of that. There are guidelines to be followed, but we can break away from that. It is always advisable that younger Warlocks keep to the abilities already discovered and proven as safe, while older and more experienced Guardians experiment with their Light."

"What is Light?"

Ikharos held out a hand, allowing electricity to crackle between his fingers. "That, or-" He exchanged the Arc for a ball of flame. "That. There's more, too. It's an energy Lightbearers can tap into, which is most potent by the Traveler. Void is more viable when we leave Earth behind, as I have."

"You come from another land?"

"... yes." It would probably be easier to go with that assumption.

"And there are other mages from your home?"

"Not here, but yes."

"And do they-"

"Tellesa!" Kuirst called out cheerfully, coming from the direction of the barn. "What brings you... Ah, greetings, Ikharos."

"Kuirst." The Warlock said. "I must apologise for earlier."

The rebel shook his head. "No, the fault is mine, you had not known who I was."

"I still held you at knifepoint, so... sorry about that."

"No harm was dealt."

Ikharos nodded, turned away and began humming an old Golden Age tune.

The Reliquary was an old monastery hidden in a small valley of the Spine, well hidden from the outer world. It ha a small courtyard where the monks tend to a garden to provide some food, but it quickly became clear that the Arcaena relied on the generosity of the villages below. Ikharos had hiked the peak with Ertharis, Tellesa and another rebel by the name of Tainvay. The Warlock helped the other man carry packs of supplies up the mountain, the bags filled with food and medicinal herbs.

"I know this path," the blind elder hobbled along, Tellesa helping him. "We have arrived?"

"Seems so," Ikharos saw the other man struggling, huffing heavily under the weight of the huge back. The Warlock grabbed one of the shoulder straps and helped the rebel out of it.

"Th... thanks..." Tainvay practically crumpled by a boulder, panting like his life depended on it. "J... just gi… give me a..."

Ikharos lifted the bag effortless and marched ahead. He could feel the rebel's surprised stare on the back of his head.

The small gates of the monastery were already open, a trio of monks waiting for them with welcoming smiles. "Master Ertharis!"

"Yes, yes, I am here," the old man grumbled. "My bones are aching, let me rest."

The two robed men gingerly took the elder's arms and supported him the rest of the walk into the abbey while the third took the second bag off of Ikharos, sparing the Warlock a curious look.

The Guardian took a moment to look around at the other buildings, the gardens and the short stone walls. It was small and far from perfect, but something about it appealed to him. The tactical soldier in him objected to it, pointing out how exposed it was to an aerial attack, but the bookish scholar loved it. It was isolated from the troubles of the world, allowing the monks to write and study in peace.

"The empire doesn't seem so mighty from up here."

Ikharos glanced to Tellesa. "I suppose it wouldn't."

She sat by the wall and watched as the ships, not bigger than a miniscule dots at that distance, sailed in and out of Kuasta's bay. "I would give anything to have my land back."

"I thought the empire began nearly a hundred years ago?"

"Our people never forgot. How the Imperials murdered our duke, burnt down our temples and forced any who fought into slavery."

"They aren't very nice," the Warlock agreed. "But why do you make the extra effort to support this rebellion?"

Tellesa frowned. "They killed my parents."

"Ah. I'm sorry."

She sighed. "It was a long time ago. Why do you oppose the empire?"

He shrugged. "I don't? I'll admit, I'm not overly fond of them, but I can attribute their dealings with me to lack of experience with Guardians. However, their... magic, for want of a better word, is an abomination."

"Do you not wield magic?"

Ikharos shook his head. "Light is different. And Guardians have good reason to use it the way we do. We have too many enemies intent on our extinction. These abilities, here, has nothing to monitor its usage. No Praxic Order to capture and rehabilitate those who use it with ill intent. No Man with the Golden Gun to hunt the monsters down."

She gave him a funny look. "Much of what you speak of makes little sense."

"Sorry. I mean, there's no one to keep order over this power. It's too dangerous."

"It sounds as if you speak from experience."

Ikharos paused. "I was raised in the Dark Age, when Guardians were just Risen and they reigned as petty kings over all those without power. Warlords fought and murdered to their hearts' content. We should have rallied together to fight off the Devils, but we were more preoccupied with killing each other."

"Devils?"

"Fallen. Pirates organised into Houses. The Devils are the worst of the bunch."

He looked up and saw the sky falling down on top of him. He couldn't comprehend the darting stars and metal shells shooting above, dancing lower and lower, but the drone who had been there when he woke knew exactly what it was.

"RUN!" She yelled. He hesitated. Then those steel beetles started dropping monsters with too many arms. That convinced him to move.

People, squatters in shattered buildings and broken shelters, screamed as the creatures descended on them, killing without mercy. The man, who hadn't yet remembered his name, ducked as one monster pounced. Its blades missed, but it ran after him on all six limbs, faster than he could. The man snatched up an old gun from a motionless body with dead eyes and found that he liked how familiar it felt in his hands. He didn't recall a name, but he remembered how to fire a gun.

"What happened?"

"The Iron Lords rebelled against the Warlords. They had good intentions, but lots of innocent people died in their battles. The Guardians came after, near the end of the Dark Age, and rallied their strength to build and defend the Last City, with walls that would last hundreds of years."

"But..." Tellesa's eyes sharpened. "Hundreds of years... how old are you?"

That took him by surprise. "I... don't know. Three hundred and something?"

"Like the king..."

"Excuse me?"

"The king. He is like you. He has ruled since the creation of his empire, for a hundred years."

Warlord. "That's... odd."

"How is it you live so long?" She questioned.

"The Light sustains me, strengthens me, gave me life. But this... Did... This doesn't make sense. The only humans to ever live so long are Guardians or... people from the Golden Age, but it wouldn't work here, this far from the Traveler… This... I need to think on this."

If Tellesa had been to say anymore, she was cut off by Tainvay, having finally mustered the strength to carry on, stopping next to Ikharos with a wide-eyed expression. "Teach me."

"What?!" All thought processes stopped. "I can't. Light doesn't come to anyone so easily as that."

"Your strength is impossible. I must know how you achieved it.

The Warlock backed away. "Just... eat vegetables or something."

"Welcome to the Reliquary. " The grinning monk bowed before the Warlock. "Master Ertharis has granted you access to the library."

"I am grateful." Ikharos slowly strolled into the massive study. It looked like all the knowledge of a Cryptarchy was inside, hidden among the thousands of books and scrolls carefully place on dozens of bookcases. "My goodness..."

He didn't know where to start.

Ikharos began with the hefty read that was Domia ab Wyrda. It began with the original natives of Alagaësia, and utterly nothing of the Exodus Prime before it. No Warmind, no colony ship, nothing regarding anything the colonists arrived with. Just about the dwarves and the dragons. He very nearly tore the tome apart. Everything about the dragons was false, leading him to question everything about the dwarves or the beasts of the Beor Mountains. He had to put it aside for fear of losing his temper. It did, however, raise a topic he was intrigued by. The dwarves, like the Urgals, sounded like another race of genetically altered neohumans. The Warlock strived to understand, and he spent the entirety of three days studying all he could find on Urgal and dwarven biology and culture. There were mentions of dragons in those scrolls and texts too, which further irritated the Guardian because they all copied off the same misconception, and he did his best to ignore it.

Dwarves had a monarch and an aristocracy. Urgals had primitive tribes or clans, and their chiefs were chosen by trials of combat and proving. Dwarves were short. Urgals were big. Both had lots of toes. Both hated each other. But, then again, everyone seemed to hate Urgals. It was hard not to, if what he'd seen of them was any reflection of their society.

"How do you fare?" A monk opened the door to the library.

Ikharos grunted. "Alright. I was wishing for more history."

"Can I recommend Domia ab Wyrda? It details the history of the peoples of Alagaësia, written by a member of our order."

"I tried, but the history I seek is older."

"I see... I do not know if we have anything of the sort." The monk hesitated. "A messenger came by. Rendan desires your assistance."

So it was time to fulfill his end of the bargain. "I might as well..."

He put away all the books in their proper places (the Cryptarchs had drilled that into his head), then left the monastery to hike down the mountain. The climb down was entirely uneventful, so he used the time to think over what he had read and hypothesize the reasoning for the genetic modifications. He ruled out all of them by the time he reached the bottom of the Spine. Nothing on this world made any sense.

The barn had more rebels than before, each and every one of them armed with something pointy. Rendan stood in the centre of the crowd, outlining some sort of plan by drawing some shapes in the dirt. Ikharos slipped in unseen and joined Tellesa at the back. She seemed surprised, initially, but regained her composure and refocused on the rebel briefing.

"Why don't you take part?" He finally whispered.

She turned to regard him suspiciously. "What?"

"Why aren't you a rebel proper?" Ikharos murmured. "You have a reason."

"I'm can't," she murmured, as if that explained anything.

"So I've noticed, but that doesn't... Oh." He kicked himself. Of course. It wasn't just technology that had been torn away from these people. If it had been that simple, then they would have rebuilt to some extent. No, valuable knowledge had been lost along with it. All the advancements of their Golden Age society went with it. "Sorry, but that's bullshit. Trust me, that's backwards thinking. I don't think that-"

"Ikharos!" Rendan called. "You've arrived."

The Warlock withheld a sigh. "We'll talk later," he told Tellesa, then walked to the forefront of the crowd. "I have. What requires my presence?"

The rebel looked like he had bitten off something bitter. "Imperials have extended the search for you outside the city. They had taken to raiding the homes of any they sound suspicious, seizing wealth and grain, things they need to survive the winter. They would starve our people. We will take it all back."

"Bold." The Warlock said, if only because he felt like he had to. "Where are they taking it?"

"To Kuasta, to be shipped to fill the Imperial coffers. We will intercept as many carts as we can before then."

"Why not wait until they have it loaded on a ship, then capture it all at once?"

Rendan shook his head. "We have no ships of our own."

"In that case take one. It's a port city, there's bound to be a few ships lying around."

"We do not have the manpower to break through the city."

"You don't need to break through. Only sneak a few people in, find a suitable vessel, and seize it. Admittedly I do not know how to sail a ship, but it shouldn't be very hard."

"That's..." Rendan's words faded away. He looked down, deep in thought, then turned to another man. "Edmont?"

The big man, full of muscle and old scars, rubbed the back of his head. "The wizard ain't wrong. We could sail a ship out, if we slip past them guards. Pick up everyone else at Crista Cove and then chase down the Imperials. But they'd have a lot of soldiers on that ship. It's a big bitch."

"I can deal with the soldiers," Ikharos informed them. "And I can help us get to the ship."

Rendan nodded cautiously. "Are you sure?"

"'Course, mate."

"I am."

The lead rebel scratched his neck. "That changes things. Alright, new plan. We going to..."

Ikharos had to trade his recognizable armour out for more casual clothes. Xiān gave him the least colourful and extravagant set he had, and it still looked off. Still, they didn't have time to see if the rebels had anything that would fit him. Ripped jeans, leather boots, a pale tunic and a check shirt over that was going to have to cut it. The Warlock just hoped that his wardrobe wasn't too conspicuous.

He, Kuirst, Tainvay and Edmont took an ox-drawn cart to Kuasta the next day and joined the morning traffic. The guards at the gate hardly so much as glanced at them as they were waved through. Their youngest member sighed loudly the second they were through, prompting a smack on the back of the head.

"What was that for?" Kuirst complained.

"Quiet!" Tainvay hissed.

"I was just-"

"You don't see the wizard acting the maggot."

Ikharos leaned back. "I'm screaming hysterically on the inside."

"Wait, really?"

"No."

Edmont snorted. Kuirst looked lost.

They kept on their route, something the rebels had decided on beforehand, and meandered throughout the streets so it didn't look suspicious that they would go straight to the docks. They passed the broken Arcaena chapel, moving the rebels enough that they placed their hands over their hearts for some reason, and then the spot where Ikharos and Kuirst had teleported out. A crater remained, the stone path and walls of the adjacent buildings with chunks just cut away. The Void had devoured, but it was no more sated than before.

Edmont brought the cart to a place on the south end of the city and tossed the coin to a stablehand. The four disembarked and made their way westwards, to the fish markets. The smell of the sea grew in strength until Ikharos found himself at the water's edge, staring at a distorted mirror of himself. It had been some time since he had taken off his armour. There had always been another battle, another fight just around the corner in Sol...

"'ey, look." Edmont nodded to the north, where soldiers had a part of the port cordoned off. A huge vessel floated there, bearing a black and red sail, fitted with ballistae and spear-throwers. "How the blazes are we goin' to take that?"

"I'll disable the defences, if you want," Ikharos offered. "It really doesn't matter if there's no one to operate them."

"He can do it," Kuirst added. "He's like no one else."

"We're trusting you to, or it'll be our hides..." The sailor warned.

The Warlock drank in the sight before him. If they stationed too many soldiers... then the ship might get damaged. Void was easier to control than the fury of Arc, but it would test him to keep the collateral damage to a minimum. He hoped he was up to the task. Letting entire families die of starvation was not on his agenda.