The palace, as Arnoan had come to find out, was a huge warren filled with corridors, libraries, barracks, courtyards and kitchens, all filled with marvellous displays of architecture and the arts.
Freor had excluded him from the war council that was to be held in the throne room and had told him he could do what he liked, in reasonable bounds of course.
A part of him was angry that he had been ostracised from something as important as this, which involved him as much as Freor, but the other part was excited that he would be able to explore the palace.
He had been given a map, so not to get lost, and an identification crystal for security reasons.
He wandered around the marble corridors aimlessly, looking at the sights that the palace could offer him. He examined frescos, paintings, potteries and statues while travelling exclusively on the central corridor.
Most of the arts were dedicated to the history of Ioradas, but some were of foreign design, showing places and battles that Arnoan had never heard of in a far off continent.
After half an hour, he became bored and proceeded to the central library instead. He had a thirst to learn more about the world he was living in, and its history.
Freor would hardly help him, so he would find out what he wanted to know himself.
He walked steadily up the central corridor until he found what he was looking for, the big oak entrance doors to the library. He pushed open the doors easily, gliding on their oiled hinges.
The library was a cavernous room, but a little smaller than his house. Rows of shelfs crisscrossed the room, each neatly stuffed with old books, yellowing parchments and maps.
Each row had an individual number attached to the front, which he assumed dictated which books it contained.
He walked up to a large desk where four people, librarians he supposed, were sorting old books into piles, scribbling notes in a relatively big record book slumped at the front.
One of them saw him and motioned for him to come to the front, so he asked them if they could point him out to the direction of the history section.
He wanted to know about the old council, the wars they waged, the seven apprentices, magical exploits in history, who Freor might actually be and, especially, Draemor.
'Come with me,' said one of the younger librarians, a girl with dark hair, green eyes and ink stained hands, about his age.
She led him through the maze with ease without falter, as if she memorized the whole library perfectly. This was probably her whole life, and it was a cosy one. Arnoan envied how peaceful it was compared to what was now his existence.
She talked with him as they walked. 'You don't seem to be armed all too well. After the first assassinations, we were all given tranquilizer propellers. Didn't you know?'
She led him to a shelf with the number six pinned on the front.
'Here is where you will find most of the prominent history books, mostly dating back to a thousand years ago up to now,' she said as she smiled at him. 'It seems you and me share a common interest. If you need any help, just call out for Felima.'
She left him to his investigation of the shelves.
Arnoan piled up a few books of interest that he might want to read on a nearby table.
When he had gathered about nine, he sat down on a rickety chair and picked up the first book, "The Struggles of the Old Council", and started to read.
He was rusty in his reading. Freor had taught him so long ago, and as a farm boy, he had not used it much, except maybe at the market.
He read out of it most of events that Freor had told him, except in more detail including dates, logistics, origins, eyewitness accounts and maps.
He picked up a few interesting snippets though.
"The rebel leaders of the last meeting were, alas, betrayed by the one they had least suspected, and maybe not suspected at all. Zaor's only daughter had been captured during the Second Battle of Daolicia, where Zaor had reputedly sheltered her from Draemor's prying search to capture Taron children."
"Draemor found her and coaxed her to tell him anything that might be useful. She, unwittingly, told him the plans of the rebel meeting and a gap in the protection barrier which Zaor himself had weaved around the Silver Tower, which she had sensed with her Ability."
"Draemor used this information, appearing at the meeting without warning and killed nine of twelve human leaders of the united rebellion."
"Zaor's daughter then disappeared from memory, and no author could ever write an undisputed account of her capture. Whether Draemor killed the daughter of his worst enemy or subjugated her into his apprentices, only Zaor can know, though even he has disappeared into the sands of time."
He skimmed through the book quickly, reading only those parts of the account he had not known about in detail.
He picked up the second book, "The Studies of the Cartographer", and read that also. It had been translated from Taron writing, it said annotated at the front, since the Cartographer himself had been of that race.
It was mostly composed of instructions on making different machines, mathematical values for consideration, sequences of values and many other things he did not understand.
It was mostly a boring book, but he read something worthwhile and probably the most interesting subject in the whole of his readings, though a little confusing in its scientific form.
"Properties and Values of the Directional Portal."
"The directional portal is a potent device designed to make a fold of space and time, as interpreted by the Cartographer himself. An example that the Cartographer annotated was that the shortest way to get from point A to point B is zero."
"To use this method of transportation, space and time would need to be folded so point A and point B existed in the same place. Imagine a sheet of parchment, with point A at one corner and point B at the other."
"If you fold the parchment so that point A and point B existed at the same place, you could step from point A to B via the portal and you would have crossed the whole sheet in a fraction of the time. Space and time would then return to normal, the sheet unfolding, and the portal would dissipate."
"But powerful energy from specific forces is required to drive the portal, to imbue it with enough exotic energy to sustain the opening. The stability of these powers is in question, when used in conjunction with constructs."
"The Cartographer also has noted that the use of the powerful abilities of one of the Taron is required to direct the portal to the selected place of transportation, but the specifics of this was lost when then the Cartographer was supposedly killed in his investigation of the inner gateway."
"Machines are required to open the gateway if it is to be created by non-Taron experimentalists. The innate Ability of the Taron can supply the energy needed for the gateway to open, and the combined power of three can complete this task without the use of machines."
"Non-Taron must use machines to concentrate the required power and supply the gateway, but they must have at least one magic user to supply the gateway with the required force of magic."
"Once the gateway has been successfully opened, the need to supply magic to the gateway by the magic user is no longer required if machines are used."
"The three Taron procedure to create a gateway without machines, requires at least one Taron to maintain and direct the portal."
"The Cartographer has noted that without a directing Taron, the portal will automatically converge on the "Abyss" as is named by him."
"The Abyss is a dangerous place not of this world. Certain death awaits one to cross the threshold without protection. Magic and all other forces are distorted there, so there may be no viable protection at all."
"In his first examination, the Cartographer used his abilities to protect himself when he crossed. The other place is noted as 'surreal, with vicious apparitions killing anything that trespasses.'"
"He found that as he proceeded deeper into that place, the distortion grew until he could no longer bear to hold the shield"
"After his return, in his notes he connects the distortion of the forces to another force, so strong in that place that it bends everything to it. He guesses a strong artefact imbued with an unknown amount of power of an unknown force or if not, an invisible force corresponding with one of the unknown laws of science in that space."
"He returned to that place to carry out further experiments, but he must have delved too deeply into that place for he never returned again."
"Such is the detail of the last experiment of the Cartographer."
Arnoan finished the book, digesting the information. An artefact imbued with an unknown amount of power of an unknown force. Is that what Draemor was after or something else?
He must have known that even the Cartographer died trying to reach whatever was contained there, so why did he think he had a better chance? He also must have known that he would need a Taron to direct the portal, but he constructed it anyway.
Was his original plan really to invade the other continents, lead his colleagues to their deaths or retrieve something from the Abyss?
Arnoan couldn't puzzle out the answers and was about to reach for another book, when a hand gripped his shoulder.
He started, jumping up and whipping around, only to see that the owner of the hand was Felima.
'Sorry. I didn't mean to start you,' she said apologetically, withdrawing her hand. 'Your uncle is at the front desk, calling for you.'
Arnoan followed her back to the front desk carrying the seven heavy unread books. He borrowed them and walked out of the library with his uncle, heading for their quarters.
On the way, Freor asked 'What books are you reading? The guardsmen told me that you had last checked in with the security crystal at the library'
'I've been searching up a few books of history, about the time of when the council still ruled,' replied Arnoan passively. 'I didn't know you could track people with these crystals.'
'I asked about that too in the war council. They said that it was to counter any spies that could be on the lurk, especially Draemor's apprentices' explained Freor.
'The crystals are very hard to find, and can only be found in places where the Ability is strongly resonant. These crystals have a special capability to mind link, and only a few people can use it.'
'All users of the Ability apparently can use it and a few people without it also. The people in the red armour are "Readers". They can read the crystals, and can sense but cannot use the Ability.'
'The mind link the crystal establishes creates a network of Readers and crystals. Through this can any Reader track you or any of the enemy if they get their hands on a crystal.'
'But the Readers maintain constant vigilance and shorts out the innate power of any crystal in the hands of spies or otherwise. They also relay their location to the Sword-Captain of the Guards. Unless one of the Readers has been subverted, you don't need to worry about anyone trying to kill you. Yet.'
Arnoan was not heartened by the news.
When they arrived at the door of their quarters, Freor stopped him from opening the door to his room.
'I speak from experience when I say that you shouldn't go into a room without caution, even if it's your own.'
Arnoan nodded slowly, dropping the books and silently unsheathing his knife. Freor opened the door a little, before pushing it out of the way with his foot.
Instantaneously, a knife flashed in the darkness towards Arnoan, thrown from the hand of a black garbed assassin.
Freor pushed Arnoan hard onto the floor as the knife flew past, hitting the outside corridor wall with a dull sound.
With a savage shout, the muscled man ran with berserk rage to tackle Freor, but he nimbly side stepped and drove his elbow into the man's gut.
The assassin faltered, clutching his stomach, before his momentum drove him into the wall. Freor helped Arnoan up from the marble floor before checking on the man.
'Unconscious, with a cracked scull' observed Freor, over to Arnoan.
After a few seconds, running footsteps could be heard from the other end of the corridor, echoing an approach.
Seven Royal guards along with a Captain, with their swords unsheathed, stopped as they saw the scene.
Freor explained what happened and the Captain, pale faced that something of this magnitude had occurred under his watch, gave his sincerest apologies to Freor.
Two of the guards dragged the man out of the corridor, heading for the dungeon, while the a third sprinted to tell Liorian of the attempted assassination.
The other four, including the Captain, stayed with them, checking their quarters for any further threat before telling them it was all clear.
Nonetheless, they kept their swords at the ready.
Freor advanced up to the wall, where the forgotten knife was stuck, Arnoan walking up with him.
Pulling it out of the marble which it so cut through like butter, Freor seemed to examine it for half a minute before showing Arnoan the knife. Taking a look at the dagger, he shivered; it was still fatally sharp.
'Careful, the whole knife is covered with a deadly poison, probably created by the Ability in nature,' said Freor. 'Also, I found this attached to the side of the knife.'
He handed a piece of torn parchment over to Arnoan. What it read made him shiver.
"A gift from the Master"
Freor examined the knife with a harder scrutiny, as if he could see something that Arnoan could not. Some sense twinged inside Arnoan, reverberating into the notice of his mind, but he did not give it another thought.
'It was aimed at me, because the knife has an aura about it. The poison and the blade was encoded to hurt only me. You can prick your finger and nothing will happen, no blood will be drawn and no poison will be given.'
'The assassin must have targeted you first, since you were the closest. Draemor would want to know if the blade struck me or not, so if the blade touches me, he would know instantly that I was as good as dead.'
'Since he wouldn't want anyone to die before schedule, he aimed this assassination at me only. He can be very sadistic in his methods' concluded Freor, in a troubled tone.
'How do you…' began Arnoan, scrutinizing Freor closely.
A shout and sounds of battle came from the corridor, echoing chaotically around Arnoan, Freor and the four soldiers, their eyes darting everywhere up the marble corridor.
War horns blew somewhere inside the palace, giving rise to realisation to Arnoan. How did the assassin get in? The only way would be if the palace itself was breached and some, if not most, of the palace guards were not at their post…
Freor seemed to stare blank-eyed for a moment before reacting at all to the sound, focusing on Arnoan as if he could read his mind.
'The assassin … was a diversion and an attempt at my life at the same time! He was always good at double strikes, maybe more than we know. We have to get out of here quickly. Whatever Draemor is planning, it will be catastrophic to the war effort.'
They and their escort ran up the corridor, passing multiple intersections before emerging into the central corridor, where a scene of pure pandemonium was occurring.
White-blue uniformed Royal guards were fighting ferociously with black beetle-armoured soldiers with gold and crimson capes running down their backs, just up the hallway.
Soldiers were killing each other with cudgels, knives, swords, axes and other exotic weapons that Arnoan could not give a name to. Hand to hand combat was common, soldiers pinning, striking and breaking the necks of their enemy.
But in the centre of the massacre, mysteriously, stood a woman, wearing black with the striped colours of the Rael Empire on the left shoulder of her long dress, like bars of rank though they were curved to fit the shoulder.
Arnoan could not see her face; a blue nimbus seemed to envelop her, warping her image as if he had looked through the wrong end of a spyglass.
She looked insignificant beside the gory fights of the male combatants around her, but he soon saw why she was standing so calmly and unafraid in the battle and was unapproached by any of the Royal guards.
She saw them approaching from the side passage and advanced towards them in swift strides. A Royal guard tried to lunge her with a huge broadsword, and Arnoan was certain that she was about to be sliced from head to navel, until she flicked her wrist lazily to send a blast of fire into the man's chest.
The poor soldier was thrown back against the wall and he screamed as he quickly was enveloped in the blue fire fuelled by the power of the Ability. The fire seemed to be feeding on his flesh as he was roasted in his armour, until he was but a piece of blackened meat. He fell quickly, as did all the others who dared to attack or get in her way, friend or foe.
The corridor was already littered with dead warriors, more with Royal guard colours than the oppressive beetle-like black, and blood was splattered on the walls of the palace. A few Readers also lay lifeless, looking to have fought rather then be taken.
Splinters of tapestry and pottery lay on the floor where they had fallen, while swords and weapons were buried under rubble and corpse alike.
Arnoan could not believe that this was what war could be like. He had thought it had been all about glory, but as he saw the carnage that erupted and blood spraying around the area, he nearly threw up.
The woman was not but five metres ahead, and from this distance Arnoan could see through the confusing distortion that covered her face.
She looked a year older than him, with black flowing hair, a delicate face with petite lips and high cheekbones, hard green eyes and a medium graceful figure. She was probably one of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, yet there was something, a darkness which haunted her features…
Beside him, he could feel Freor stiffen, but with surprise or fear, Arnoan did not know. He hoped it was not the latter.
She stopped, looking squarely at Freor as if the solders and Arnoan did not exist.
'Freor Trimaerlon,' she said as she smiled without joy. 'We meet again. I knew you would survive the Master's unsubtle attack, but he wanted to test you, see how you would cope to a change of tactics.'
'Liaane' Freor acknowledged with his unreadable eyes fully directed at her, his tone suggesting he was greeting an old friend. 'You look as powerful… and as vain as you did at the time of the Revolution.'
It was Arnoan's turn to stiffen, as did the soldiers flanking him, when they heard the name. Liaane, the Second Lieutenant of Draemor, he thought in terror. This was the end of them. But, simultaneously, another thought forcibly entered his head. What was Freor's connection with her?
Behind Liaane, the battle continued to converge toward the throne room, though the miniature Rael army was no match for the Royal guards without the supporting sorceress.
Liaane flicked her eyes over the group, settling for a while on Arnoan before continuing back to Freor. Arnoan was annoyed how he was so easily disregarded, and when he realised what he was thinking, he laughed at himself. Here of all times!
'I will not tolerate any more games, Freor. Give me the boy and you will not be damaged… too badly,' she demanded, though the confidence she had exuded earlier had slightly diminished, her eyes narrowing at every move Freor dared to make.
'You were no match for me last time, Liaane, and even now. Run back to your petty master, while you still have your life' Freor pouncing on her obvious weakness.
But as he said this, a man in a near identical uniform to Liaane stepped out behind her from another side passage. The same bars covered his shoulder, but there was a difference. Under them were a line of three saffron stones which seemed to glow with an inner red light, exuding an aura of crackling power.
He was taller than Freor, and moved with strong steps towards them. He had a handsome face, with black hair and a sharp face which resembled with his night black uniform very suitably.
Arnoan recognised him. He was the man Arnoan had engraved in his mind, a feared and hated enemy, the one who had destroyed his life and now held in his possession what he regarded as the only person he had ever truly loved as family.
His penetrating blue eyes seemed to sear through Arnoan, as he swept his gaze around them, promptly disregarding him and the others. The soldiers and the Captain dropped their swords as if they had been for a moment white-hot, before freezing into place.
Arnoan tried to run for it, but he found he could not budge a muscle. They were locked in place by some unknown force. The man must have noticed, for he sneered at him before turning to Freor, who seemed to be the only one who could move.
'You are beaten, Freor. The Master will be pleased once your death at my hands is announced,' said the man, directing the comment at both Liaane and Freor, baring his pointed teeth towards his prey. Freor did not react, setting a smooth face which seemed to make the man sneer even further.
'You may find that I am very hard to defeat, Drael. Do not believe that you have the advantage even though there are two of you. Even your spineless Master could not kill me with his currently dead allies,' said Freor, in tones of absolute self-confidence, unshaken by the fact he was facing the two most powerful figures ever to walk the continent. Had Arnoan control of his muscles, he would have bolted and run from the sheer knowledge of the evil deeds that the man in front of them had committed.
He returned to his eyes to see Drael flush angrily, but he countered Freor by a taunt Arnoan did not understand.
'No, perhaps not, but he did something even better. I hope you still miss her, for she will serve the Master always, and will be an empty shell for as long as she lives'
Pure rage came onto Freor's face, something Arnoan had never before seen in his trouble-free uncle. For a moment, he seemed to dwarf everything and everyone, until even Drael took a step back, face white with fear though fists clenched in determination.
Arnoan heard something at the back of his mind.
Get ready to run, said the presence, before disappearing out of his consciousness.
Freor raised his hands, and something pure white shot out of them towards Drael. Arnoan suddenly found he could move his muscles again, and dived into a side passage out of the crackling air.
The soldiers abandoned their swords and did the same, their armour creaking as they struggled through the air, crashing like tin plates when they hit the stone ground.
Both the sorcerer and the sorceress raised a green nimbus as a shield around them, obscuring their features from Arnoan's eyes.
The entity that had shot out of Freor's hands seemed to be absorbed into it. Liaane and Drael conjured two fiery orbs into their hands, and simultaneously hurled the fireballs towards him.
He leaped into the side passage after them, and cried: 'Didn't I tell you to run, you blundering fools!' as the scorching globes hit the wall next to Arnoan, after slowly curving towards Freor in an attempt to finish their master's will.
He and the soldiers ran in terror as the two sorcerers chased after them through the hallway.
Arnoan, this is Freor. Don't ask me how I can talk to you through your mind now, just listen. Somehow, those two combined are both stronger than me; I can't hold them off forever. But I have a plan and if it doesn't work… just hope it works.
Freor abruptly wheeledaround to face the two sorcerers as they came around the corner into a dining hall.
Arnoan faltered in his run and stopped, turning around to face Freor's back and the other two who were previously chasing them. Surprising them, Freor launched a tirade of attacks in the seconds before they had time to raise their protection fields. Unfortunately, they themselves dived for cover before any attacks could reach their targets.
Even though he had been told to escape and his own fear strangled him, he couldn't leave his uncle to probably die against these people. He was no soldier, only just a farmer, but he had to do something.
The crackling of power in the air told him the confrontation had just begun in earnest, and a whistling sound seemed to grow stronger before something barely missed his head and knocked one of the lamps out of its brackets on the far wall.
He hid in the newly created shadows as the lamp rolled off down the opposite corridor, partly because of fright and partly because of its underlying strategic value. He did not know where the latter thought had come from.
He could see Freor now, battling inevitably to his doom as he was pushed back through the tables near a wall close to the blockaded rear exit.
Flashes of razor sharp light and obscured darkness flew threw the air, seeming as if the three were conducting a colourful but dangerous light show.
A wild plan formed in Arnoan's terrorized mind as he wracked his brains to think of what could help Freor. It was so mad but at the same time so brilliant that he was surprised that he had thought of it.
If I could just get behind them…, he thought.
A flash of inspiration came as he saw Freor accidentally knock a few more lamps out from a misplaced attack. The thought that the darkness provided a good vantage point was as good as any that he would likely think of now.
He crawled to the side of the wide passage, covering himself with the veil of darkness until he was nearly beside the enemy sorcerers.
They were concentrating on Freor, perspiration running down their skin, but hardly near the amount Freor was sweating. He had taken cover behind a thick stone barricade that had been erected near the exit. To re-energise perhaps, thought Arnoan, half-hoping and half-fearing.
But the two assailants pounded at the stone with all their might, using heat, cold, air, sorcerous fire, light, darkness and even hurling objects using magic. Huge chunks of stone flew off, hitting the walls and the floor with lethal force, but bouncing off Drael's and Liaane's green nimbuses.
They had the upper hand, and they knew it, but in their fervour they had forgotten everything else. They would not notice him unless he came up behind them and said boo. Something that can be exploited…
He whipped out the spare tranquilizer propeller that Felima had given him when they had been talking in the library. He fitted his only piece of ammunition; a transparent dart filled with a potent yellow substance. If he missed, it was the end of Freor.
He crouched and aimed the propeller like a crossbow, straight towards Drael. He was dreadfully afraid of getting caught or missing, but it was the only way to save Freor. He steeled himself and fired.
The unexpected recoil overpowered his weak arms, toppling him into the wall, though he managed to stop most of his momentum with his hand.
Thankfully, the dart had escaped the propeller's influence before the machine had jerked in recoil. But he felt something else escape him, travelling with the dart; something which he could not place but had still made his arms weak to feel like lead.
Drael reacted immediately, head swivelling to the side, icy blue eyes staring straight at him, as if he had known Arnoan had released the dart from that very same darkened spot.
Meanwhile, the dart travelled true, and struck straight into Drael's neck. The green shield didn't even seem to slightly slow it down.
He gasped with pain, as the dart struck and emptied the fluid into his veins. Drael ripped off the dart quickly, but realized it was drained.
In just a few seconds, the tranquilizer worked to its full effectiveness, landing so close to his brain. Drael's shield flickered and died, as the man stumbled to keep his footing.
He had lost his wits, struggling with his own muscles and swaying around like a drunken man in a brawl, nearly tripping over an upturned bench.
He must have been a lot stronger in will and physical strength than he looked, for the dart could incapacitate a human in less than fifteen seconds so close to the head and Drael was still standing in thirty.
But the battle was over for Drael and Liaane, for they knew they would be crushed by Freor in their weakened state.
Liaane looked towards Drael and then towards Arnoan in the darkness, but strangely did nothing to harm him or capture him even though he was so close, quickly supporting Drael to hobble out of the corridor. That left Arnoan wondering.
Suddenly, Freor appeared over the scarred, battered barricade, advancing towards him. He looked at angry, but Arnoan saw a glint of admiration in his eyes.
'Why didn't you follow my orders, Arnoan' Freor asked quietly.
'I couldn't leave you there to die. I had to do something. I will not leave a comrade who it is within my power to help, even if I like him or not,' replied Arnoan with stubborn resolve.
Freor unexpectedly smiled. 'There is more to you than I thought, for a farm boy. Thank you, Arnoan, for helping me. No doubt that I would be dead or in Drael's hands by now had you not intervened'
Arnoan accepted the thanks humbly, before following Freor out of the hall into the central corridor. He had a strange feeling that beyond that hallway, there would be a hard road awaiting him, one that would change the course of history. And that he would be one of the very few and fortunate to witness it evolve and mould it. Actually, the thought that it was fortunate now seemed remarkably absurd. What he would do to get his life back, even Arnoan did not know, for he had nothing to lose anymore. A weakness or strength, only time would tell.