Gareth Hateaxe woke suddenly to the sound of shouting voices, the cries of alarm ringing in his ears and bouncing around in his head. He rose, forgetting where he was for a second, before noticing the half-empty bottle of alcohol laying next to him and remembering the events of the night before.
His warriors had plundered an isolated village, looting and slaying with wild abandon – they had celebrated the victory that night, drinking and fighting over the spoils of war. Gareth recalled little after that, assuming that he must have staggered back to his tent drunk and passed out. His head hurt like he had been punched by an ogre. He reached for his helm, and fastening it on, grabbed his double-edge battle axe and pushed the flap open.
The first thing that hit him was the smell – a putrid miasma of festering corpses that caused him to throw up, the contents of last night's meal spraying across the wind-swept ground as he bent double. It was very early in the morning, the feeble light of the rising sun illuminating everything with weak light. A hand gripped his shoulders and pulled him upright, Gareth scowling at the Mardu who had touched him.
"My lord, we have to leave now!" cried Fared Scattersword, a fresh faced youth that had only been Named a few months ago and joined Gareth's raiding party soon after looked at him, panic and fear warring for control of his features.
The Hordechief back-handed him across the face, blood exploding from the wound, and Gareth grabbed by his collar and pulled him closer.
"Run, you idiot? The Mardu do not run," Gareth growled, the stench of his breath utterly eclipsed by the reek of death emanating from the west.
"Victory or death! Drive the enemy back!" Gareth yelled, throwing the stunned Fared away from him and raising his axe, charging towards the west side of the camp. And then he saw the foe.
A gargantuan horde of groaning undead in various states of decay shambled towards them – some were clearly Sultai, with chains of brass stabbed into them and torcs of gold encircling their arms, wrists and throats in an obscene display of wealth. However, some were clearly more recent, Gareth recognising the fallen villagers, many of which he had slain only the night before, in the forefront of the legion, as well as a few Mardu warriors.
A huge wave of dark-blue magic spewed from the back of the rotting crowd, and Gareth spied a gilded palanquin hoisted by towering figures – two reanimated ogres, their size undiminished by death and perhaps more terrifying than ever carried the ostentatious box-carriage. He could see a few arrows being fired into the mass, but it was like throwing a stone at a dragon – utterly pointless. The few dead that were downed by the bolts stood back up again.
Most of his warriors had not awakened from their drunken slumber, and Gareth felt a chill run down his spine as he knew that there was no way to stop the horde from slaughtering them and rampaging unchecked through Mardu territory. He had to get out, to warn his Khan of the Sultai threat and to escape the dead – the thought of death did not scare him, but the prospect of his soul being stuck inside of a rotting corpse terrified him beyond belief.
Gareth began to run, but as soon as he started tendrils of Black mana wrapped around him, corrupting the flesh it touched and pulling him into the air. He screamed in pain, the agonising grip of the sorcery tearing his nerves apart.
"I can't have you leave yet, the fun is just beginning," a sibilant female voice whispered in his ear, the words paralysing him, preventing the Hordechief from resisting as he was dragged through the air to the palanquin and pulled through its silken curtains.
Inside, a beautiful human woman waited, her body and features so perfect as to be disturbing. She was draped in expensive and rare fabrics, with gold jewellery covering most of her exposed flesh. As Gareth looked into the glittering orbs of her eyes, mesmerised by her unmatched beauty and feeling desire outweigh his need for freedom, she smiled cruelly back and the colour of her eyes changed to a deep darkness.
Agony shot through his body and he spasmed in torment, black liquid erupting from his throat and onto the Sultai's dress, who tutted disapprovingly and stepped backwards. She started to laugh, the horrible sound cutting through Gareth's eardrums as he died, his final sight the alluring but utterly evil woman.
"Welcome to the ranks of the Sultai," Dethara giggled, as Gareth's corpse rose from the floor of the palanquin and staggered out, joining the ever-increasing horde gathered in front of her.
.*.*.*.
Jakhan sat up in the bed, stretching and yawning as the effects of his sleep wore off. He had not slept that well in weeks, and he woke feeling revitalised and ready for a new day. He looked down at his twin, who was still asleep, and gently shook him. No response.
Jakhan sighed, wondering what was wrong with his brother and moving towards the rack, picking up the largest outfit – a brown short-sleeved shirt, with matching brown trousers. When he had just about finished dressing, there was a loud knock on his door. He picked up the keys from the table and putting them into the lock, cursing he dropped them.
The locking mechanism released with a clack of metal, and the door swung open as Arethe burst in shouting joyfully:
"Good morning Jakhan!" noticing the slumbering Kaldros, she comically placed a hand over her mouth and Jakhan laughed.
"There's no chance of waking him" he chuckled, before his expression became glum, and Arethe put her arm around his shoulder, the gesture slightly over-familiar as they didn't really know each other, but touching nonetheless.
"Master Shintan said that he thinks Kaldros is suffering from an extreme form of Mana Deficiency," Jakhan looked back confused, and Arethe explained:
"Mana Deficiency occurs when a mage uses too much mana – they are prevented from using magic, as they need to regenerate it and can't supply their spells with any. Kaldros must have used a huge amount of mana to be in this state."
"He definitely did," Jakhan replied, nodding. They both stared silently at the albino for a moment, his fraternal twin realising how much he missed his brother already.
"What is he like?" Arethe asked, a look of curiosity in her sparkling green eyes.
"Smart. And determined. He has occasional mood swings, but normally he is kind and calm. He has a way of just seeing right through people," Jakhan answered, and then added: "But he is strong. Not physically, like I am, but his magic is the most powerful I've ever seen. I always forget that, and treat him like a fragile little brother."
Arethe said nothing for a few seconds, but then turned towards the door saying,
"Breakfast is being served now," she stated, smiling back at Jakhan, "Master Shintan and Meja are already there. He seems to have calmed down after the master talked to him. Come down when you're ready."
Arethe winked back and exited the room, leaving Jakhan alone again. The muscular youth looked at his brother for a second, and silently promised he would help him recover. He then left the room, leaving the door unlocked in-case his twin did awaken, and went down to get breakfast.
.*.*.*.
After a filling meal of snow-horn meat and some sort of sweet fruit, Jakhan and Arethe talked for a bit about their respective cultures, Meja ignored them and Shintan sat in silent contemplation.
After a few seconds of silence, Shintan slammed his hand onto the table, causing Jakhan to jump back in surprise, which provoked a disdainful eye roll from Meja.
"My students, the young Kaldros is suffering from an extreme case of Magical Deficiency, and may even die without aid," Shintan calmly stated.
"What!?" Jakhan shouted in shock, as Shintan held his hand up.
"Therefore, your first test in Sarashak will be a test of kindness and magic: to heal him back to full health. I will give you each some money to spend on medicine today – you will go into the trading quarter and buy some. I want you to each spend alternating hours with him, starting with Meja at noon. Jakhan, you can choose which of my students to accompany, although I already who."
"Where will you be going, master?" Meja interjected, and Shintan turned to reply.
"I have clan business to attend to. Expect me to return in a few days' time. I trust that you will keep out of trouble until then."
"Yes, master, I know," Meja groaned, Arethe laughing and shoving him playfully.
"Would you care to join me, Jakhan?" she asked, pushing her chair back, standing up and running excitedly towards the door.
"Yeah, okay, I will," Jakhan said hurriedly, getting up and sprinting after her.
Meja sat for a few seconds, watching the Mardu catching up with his fellow student and conversing enthusiastically with her.
"Well?" Shintan asked, rising to his feet and casting a glance at the glum Meja. "Shouldn't you be setting off now?"
"Jakhan and Kaldros, are they-" Shintan nodded, smiling at his student.
"Very observant of you, Meja, though that is not is the only reason we are helping them. The two will play a pivotal role in future events, I am sure of it. Now go. Purchase some medicine, this will give you a good opportunity to develop your healing skills."
.*.*.*.
Meja avoided the crowds of people that swarmed around the numerous hollering traders that announced the prices of their stock, increasing every time in an attempt to out-shout the competition, like a litter of pups wailing at their mother for attention.
It was almost noon, the sun close to reaching its peak in the sky and the Jeskai had already bought what he had intended to, leaving him with just enough money to buy one more set of herbs. He scanned the stalls, looking for an apothecary of some sort, and noticed a quiet Abzan trader wearing the traditional scale plate of the clan.
Meja guessed that he must have been a Salt Road trader, the Abzan there all combat-ready in order to protect their precious cargo. He sauntered towards the apothecary, and turned towards him, greeting him friendlily.
"What brings you to the Market Quarter?" he asked politely, although he wasn't actually that interested.
"I am just selling stock that we would be unable to take with us. It is a dangerous journey back to Arashin, and it is imperative that we are not weighed down with unnecessary goods. Anything caught your eye?" he replied.
Meja knew that the Abzan were the masters of endurance and hoped to find some medicine that would reflect that.
"I have a friend suffering from Magical Deficiency. Do you have anything to help with that?" he inquired, thinking that something all-purpose would help reinforce the other, more specialised herbs he had collected.
"How about some Eltos? We Abzan often use it to help recuperating mages. It is 3 Azrai." noticing Meja's undecided look, he added: "It comes free with this, a good luck charm." he produced a silver pendant shaped like a strange collar. The trader had found it in the stash of unwanted goods, and didn't know what it was.
"I'll take it then," said Meja, exchanging the money for the herbs and pendant – he thought it would make a nice gift for Arethe, to make her notice him again.
He looked up at the sky, the sun was sat in its centre, Meja realising he would be late, and although there was no way that master Shintan could know that, he began to sprint back to the inn.
He pushed the door open and ran up the stairs to the room next to his. He stopped just outside it, breathing heavily, and checked that he still had the required ingredients. Meja then slid the entrance open and entered.
Kaldros was sat up in the bed, and snapped his head in Meja's direction as soon as the older boy came in, a look of suspicion on his youthful features.
"Who are you?" he questioned, becoming increasingly guarded as he saw the Eye of the Dragon on the Jeskai's forehead.
"My name is Meja, my master decided to take you and your brother in and buy a room for you. Now me and my fellow student have to heal you."
"Interesting," Kaldros mused, his red eyes relaxing, "Any specific reason?"
"For what?" the Jeskai student replied, placing his bag of medicine and running over the mantras for conjuring White mana in his head.
"For taking me and Jakhan in. Jeskai never do anything spontaneous," Kaldros slid his thin legs over the edge of the bed and tested standing up, nausea clouding his vision as soon as he attempted it.
"If there was one, my master hasn't thought to inform us of it," Meja lied, and Kaldros grinned knowingly. He was not like other Mardu, the Jeskai concluded, Jakhan's brother much more intelligent and calm than the other members of his clan, his twin included.
"You should probably take those off," Meja suggested, motioning to the albino's bloodstained clothing. Kaldros complied, shrugging off the garments onto the floor next to the bed (obviously leaving his underwear on). Meja noticed that the boy's pale skin was unscarred by the violence of war, apart from a large bruise on his throat, which meant he didn't have to waste time on physical healing, and grabbed a bunch of Weland, a plant restorative properties.
He concentrated hard, a feat made more difficult with the curious red eyes of Kaldros resting on him, and fused White and Blue mana into the herbs – Meja hoped that it would augment the properties of the Weland.
He passed it to Kaldros, instructing: "Eat these while I prepare some spells,"
The young mage made a face at the bitter taste but didn't outwardly complain as Meja infused White mana into his hands, the enchantments almost failing. Magic, especially healing spells, was not the young Jeskai's strong point, Meja preferred to engage the enemy at close quarters and use the many different fighting styles he had been taught. He cursed as the magic sputtered and died down.
"You need to focus less on the outcome of the spell, and more on the generation of mana," Kaldros told him, only serving to irritate the student further.
"By all means, heal yourself!" he yelled angrily, which earned a condescending sigh from the Mardu.
"You warriors really need to learn to control your emotions," Kaldros said, and Meja was tempted to punch him. Instead he calmed down.
"My apologies. I am not normally this rash," he replied, finally getting the spell to flow from his hands and into the smaller boy.
.*.*.*.
Jakhan was pulled down the Market Quarter by Arethe, the girl yanking him through the crowds towards a specific destination, one that he had no clue of where it was.
"Where are we going?" he asked, letting go of the Jeskai's hand. She smiled back at him, and pointed at an ancient-looking establishment with a sign depicting some herb or medicinal plant on the cover of a book.
"There," she explained, "It is a healer's library, I've been there once before when master Shintan took us to Sarashak, when Meja was ill. I remember it being very extensive." she paused.
"Although that was ten years ago. Anything could have happened since then,"
"That is reassuring," Jakhan exclaimed, and looking up at the sun, he added: "Meja should be back now. I hope Kaldros is alright."
"He will be," Arethe responded, and seeing Jakhan's look of worry, she patted him on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, Meja's not that type of person," she declared.
"I know, I wasn't thinking about that," Jakhan spoke, his tone soft and his eyes distracted and lost in contemplation.
"Anyway, let's get going!" he added cheerfully, his brief melancholy forgotten as he gripped Arethe's hand again. They walked into the shop – Arethe was right, there was a huge library of books covering all sorts of random topics.
"We should look for ones on mana restoration and Magical Deficiency, it should be in the Non-Physical section," Arethe suggested, letting go of Jakhan and looking at a scroll showing the layout of the library.
"There," she pointed, "The second floor,"
The two made their way towards it, when out of the shadows a figure emerged and tapped Jakhan on the shoulder. The Mardu spun around, his hands on the axe at his waist, and the figure raised a placating hand.
"Be calm, Jakhan. I do not wish to hurt you," he said in a gruff, thickly accented voice, and stepped into full view. The figure was clad head-to-toe in the scale armour of the Abzan, wearing a helm with a peaked cap and a jewelled longsword sheathed at his side. He was taller and even more muscular than Jakhan, who stared back in confusion.
"How do you know my name?" he asked, and the figure removed his helmet. Small, black eyes stared back, set in front of pointed ears on a large head, and the two realised that the Abzan was an orc.
"My name is Dragin. Believe it or not, our fathers were both friends. I was there at your birth, and I can still remember your scent. Not long after, he was killed in battle with my current clan and I was adopted. I was only a child at the time, and became a Krumar, an orphan adopted by an Abzan family. When my siblings needed to go to Sarashak, I came with them and detected your scent."
"Why are you here now?" Arethe questioned, her green eyes alight with suspicion.
"To bring you a warning: You and your brother are in great danger, especially Kaldros. Come with me," he replied direly.