by Jon Bender
The following image showed mages in brown robes constructing the fortress he now stood in. The three uncompleted towers clearly marking the structure. The next showed the construction of Terika, its circular walls being laid one stone at a time. The final mural as he reached the doorway to the staircase showed the battle that had sealed Terika. A barrier of impenetrable darkness, taller than the walls themselves, surrounded the city as mages outside futilely cast magic against it. Looking at that mural, the worst emotion he had ever felt crept slowly throughout his body, a loss of hope and emptiness. He jerked away and leaned against the archway, waiting for the feelings to pass.
When he recovered slightly, he peered up the stairs. They were lit with the same robed statues. As his mind cleared, he felt the draw to ascend the stairs return more powerfully than ever. He stepped through the arch. As his foot landed on the first step, the desire was replaced by a calming sensation. The steps seemed to go on forever, and he was forced to take short breaks. Placing a hand on the smooth stone to support himself, he would rest for only a moment before continuing on. The only sounds he heard coming from his boots clicking on the stone and his labored breath.
As he reached the landing, he felt the door almost before he saw it. It looked just as it had in his dream: grey, pitted wood framed in iron with bands of metal wrapped across the heavy planks. The iron handle held no lock, and he gripped the cold metal with trepidation, giving it a hard jerk. It opened easily, sending him flying back to land on his rear. The door slammed against the wall with a loud clang. The air that wafted out was stale and smelled of decay. He saw only blackness within. Standing, he took a tentative step over the threshold, then another, and another, until he was fully in the room. He strained his eyes to see into the gloom when the door slammed closed behind him. Jumping back, he rammed the door with his shoulder, but it did not budge. He placed his back against it and felt along the wall in the dark. Suddenly, the room lit up as the statues began glowing. He was not alone.
In small alcoves lining the curved walls stood six men dressed in thick plate armor that would allow no normal man to move. Each held large, half-moon axes balanced with large spikes. They stood as still as statues, their skin pale and lifeless behind the barred faceplates of their helmets. Around each neck was a wide collar connecting to the helmets, making it impossible for the steel cages to be removed. At the other side of the room was another door, twin to the first. To reach it, he would have to pass between the six. Most disturbing of all were the four skeletons scattered around the room. Jaxom spotted old weapons as well, including a spear like the one Buewin carried. The most recently killed, whose tattered clothes still clung to his bones, leaned against the other door with its skull cleaved open.
Jaxom drew his sword, the sound of the metal leaving the sheath rang out in the quiet space, but the men did not move. Taking a deep breath to steel his will, Jaxom drew on the power of death. Being filled with the magic was akin to a cool drink after days of walking in the desert. He had almost forgotten how it felt to be filled with such strength. Instantly, he wanted to draw more of the power, but could already feel himself slipping away as the energy pumped through his body. Using the task before him to focus his mind, he held back the flow and reached out to the nearest of the armored men.
His attempt to enter the risen’s mind was stopped cold. He pushed harder, trying to dig his way into the mind when the man’s eyes opened, glowing white between the bars of the face plate. It took a heavy step down, its armor clanging loudly as it moved. It turned to face Jaxom even as he struggled to gain control. The risen’s axe came up as it stepped toward him. Jaxom lowered himself into a crouch, gripping his skull-pommeled sword with both hands. The axe came down, aimed at his shoulder. Stepping to the side, he parried. The heavy weapon slammed into the stone floor, sending chips flying into the air. Spinning in a complete circle, Jaxom brought his sword to bear on the risen’s exposed neck. The impact with the steel collar sent sparks through the air and a painful vibration through his arm. The risen took an unhurried step back and lifted the axe again. The next attack came from the side with the intent of cutting Jaxom in two, forcing him to leap back against the door as the blade passed in front of him.
Sliding along the wall, he put space between him and the risen and cast the blight. The swirling columns of black and white smoke hit the center of the chest plate and split into a dozen smaller tendrils that searched for the gaps in the armor. Jaxom’s surprise was absolute when the armor began to absorb his magic, the cast being drawn into the steel itself. He released the blight and formed the coil instead. Fearing to lose himself in the magic, he held back, summoning the less powerful form of the cast instead of the hardened spear he had used to kill the transformed dark priests. Whipping his arm forward, he slammed the coil against the risen from shoulder to hip, the magic bursting apart as the energy was drained into its armor. With the cast shattered, he was forced to roll forward under the next downward stroke of the axe. Coming out of the roll, he back-peddled as the risen turned to face him once more.
Jaxom had a fleeting moment regret at not bringing Adriana and her mace. His sword could not penetrate, and his magic was useless against whatever enchantment imbued the armor. He doubted the bones about the room would be able to penetrate the small gaps of bars covering the face of the helmet. Sheathing his sword, he raised both hands before him. His own sword absorbed offensive magic but had no power over anything else. He had to hope that was also how the risen’s armor worked. The barrier formed between him and the risen, the shimmering waves of the cast making everything on other side appear as if seen through water. The risen bounced back from the barrier, its armor incapable of absorbing the magic. Without hesitation, the risen raised the axe and brought it down in a powerful strike against the barrier. The strength of the blow made Jaxom stagger. Knowing he could not hold against another such attack, he drew in more power just as the second blow landed. This time, there was no shock as the barrier held firm, but he felt himself slip further away from maintaining control. The risen battered at the barrier as he prepared to assault its mind. Reaching out, he felt the resistance once more. He clawed at it, searching for the edges of the powerful will that controlled the risen. Allowing a burst of energy to infuse his body, he focused his mind and launched an all-out attack. The resistance seemed to flex inward and stretch as he forced his will upon the risen, feeling as if he was trying to run through a man-sized spider web. Finally, the web tore, and he burst through to seize control. The risen froze with the heavy weapon poised above its head.
Jaxom tentatively withdrew his mind, waiting for whoever had controlled the risen to reassert themselves, but they did not return. He released a long breath. Lowering his hands, the barrier vanished. He turned toward the door when the remaining five risen opened their eyes and stepped down from their alcoves. They turned as one to face him. Jaxom took control of the risen he had just defeated and commanded it to confront its fellows. Two stopped to face his defender as the other three moved closer to him. He raised the barrier once more, drawing in even more energy. With every ounce he pulled in, he felt himself grow less concerned. These risen were nothing more than obstacles in his path. The heavy axes came down in rapid succession in a series of clinks as the blades bounced off the barrier. He reached out to the mind of the nearest and met with the same resistance as before. He forced his way through the will controlling them. The extra power he held made the conquests far easier than before. In control of the second, he turned the risen on its fellows. Deeper in the room, his first risen was not faring well against the other two. Already there were several ragged tears in its armor. Jaxom ignored the struggle and concentrated on the next risen beyond his barrier. He could have overpowered the mind of this one even faster, but something inside of him reasoned that doing so was not necessary to win. The third soon fell under his influence and then the fourth. He released the barrier as the risen stepped away, grappling with the remaining two.
; The room went quiet as the last risen lowered its axe and stood still. Reluctantly, he let go of the magic. Touching the minds of the risen, he commanded them to return to their alcoves. Stepping around the skeleton, he grabbed hold of the iron handle and pulled gently. The heavy, iron-banded wood swung easily open without so much as a squeal of protest. The skeleton leaning against it broke apart and scattered on the stone floor like scraps of dried wood.
On the other side, there was only an empty tunnel. Jaxom took a few steps forward and heard the door shut quietly behind him. He tried to open it again and met no resistance. He could still turn back if he wanted. Two more towers lay ahead of him, and he had the sinking feeling that they all held some sort of trial. He kept his eyes fixed on the door at the end of the hallway. As he got closer, a slight chill overtook him, and he quailed for a moment. Perhaps he should turn back. He could just not use his power for the rest of his life. What would life be like without power? Could he really live as millions of others did? With nothing more than his body and mind to affect the world around him?
He put his doubts aside when he reached the door. He would conquer the curse or die to protect those he loved. He grabbed the iron handle without hesitation and pulled it open. As he stepped boldly into the room, the glowing statues came to life, and the door slammed shut, sealing him in.
He found himself alone, once more, except for the bones of his predecessors. There was more this time. He searched for some clue as to how they died and found none. His hand unconsciously drifted to the hilt of his sword, and he returned it to his side. Steel had been useless in the last room, and he doubted it would serve him any better now. Drawing the blade here would likely only impede him. The first step forward caused his vision to blur, and his head to spin.
The throne room was brightly lit in contrast to the polished black stone of the walls. Thick pillars of the same stone supported a domed ceiling depicting his final battle against Or’Keer. Jaxom stood atop the dark god’s faceless body in triumph, his sword held high as mages and soldiers surrounded him, cheering. Soldiers in shining steel armor with long black cloaks stood guard around him as he looked down at the latest petitioner kneeling before him.
He adjusted the heavy, jewel-encrusted, gold crown on his head of greying hair as he listened to the man’s request. “My Emperor, the Lehland King has increased the price of steel to only my lands in Trad’eon. It is just the latest attempt to further my rivals’ aggression. If you do not see fit to intervene, my family and I will lose everything. Already, my enemies have taken several towns and villages because I cannot properly arm my soldiers.”
Jaxom looked down on the man with pity. He could intercede on the Trad’eon lord’s behalf, but to do so would send a message to the rest of the fifteen kingdoms that he had taken sides. He held the empire together only because they were all equal in status. One kingdom could war against the another as long as it did not draw in their surrounding neighbors. This law had led to several wars that in the end had turned the fifteen kingdoms into ten. Now power was balanced amongst those that remained, and people had enjoyed a generation of peace with only minor skirmishes. So far, Trad’eon’s ruling lords had obeyed the law by keeping the fighting within their kingdom. He could do nothing even if he wanted to.
Jaxom stood slowly, the ache in his leg where Darian had driven an ice spear through it years ago renewed itself from sitting so long. He restrained himself from rubbing it and showing any kind of weakness in front of the man. “The law is clear. You will not receive aid for any internal kingdom matters. I suggest you either surrender, at which point I can offer you a place here where you and your family may live out your lives in peace, or fight on. The choice is yours.” The lord looked up, opening his mouth to argue, but a stern look from Jaxom dissuaded him. He lowered his head once more. “You may leave me now.”
The lord stood, never quite making eye contact, and bowed low before turning away. When he was gone, Jaxom heard the click of heels before Adriana stepped out from behind a pillar closest to the throne. With the exception of a few streaks of grey running through her hair and fine lines near the corners of her eyes and mouth, she looked as she did when they had first met. Her body was still lithe and her step sure as she moved closer. She greeted him with a soft kiss and a smile.
“Was it necessary to treat him so harshly?” she asked.
“The kingdoms are held together by this agreement. I can’t show favor to any, or I risk the others deciding that they are at a disadvantage under my rule. I only hope our son has been paying attention. When I’m gone, it will be up to him to maintain the peace.”
“Lindal always listens to you,” she said, her voice full of fondness. “He is just young and has finally achieved his status as Magus. Let him enjoy his life before he has to shoulder the responsibility.”
“I know,” he said, irritated. The Mages’ Council had withheld the title of magus from his son much longer than normal to prod Jaxom’s pride. Many of the older mages still held harsh feelings toward him. Consolidating the kingdoms and mages had been brutal and bloody. Rubbing the sore spot on his leg, he thought about how Darian had stood against him. He still missed his old friend, and not a day passed but that he wished things had gone differently.
As she watched him rub the old scar, Adriana’s face became grim. “Are you going up to see Da’san?”
“Yes,” he said softly.
“I think I will join you today,” she said. Jaxom nodded and gripped her hand gently as they left the throne room.
The guard outside saluted at their approach before opening the door wide for them. Da’san was sitting at his desk scribbling away in a book as they entered. He looked up. As always, his face greeted Jaxom with a mixture of joy and sadness. Around his neck was the black ribbon Jaxom had placed there years ago to keep him from communicating with the goddess Sarinsha. When Da’san turned in his seat, Jaxom could see the ribbon’s small enchanted diamond embedded at the neck. Jaxom had shared the secret of the enchantment only with Lindal. It would forever hold the cast in place until he or his son released it.
“I was wondering if I would see you today,” Dasan said, standing. Moving to the table, which was laid with fresh fruit and wine, he poured three glasses and waved at the chairs.
“I had a matter to deal with,” Jaxom said, pulling out a chair for Adriana before seating himself.
“Yes, I heard. Another skirmish in Trad’eon. I assume you refused to help.”
“I had no other choice,” Jaxom said. Da’san nodded in understanding.
“How is it you always know what’s going on the kingdoms?” Adriana asked.
“I don’t have much else to do but wander the city and talk to people. You would be surprised how quickly rumor spreads. Most of what is said is false, but if you have a good ear, you can pick out the truth.”
“What else do you hear?” Jaxom asked. Since he became emperor, people tended only to tell him what they thought he wanted to hear. It had become increasingly more difficult to comprehend how the people in the ten kingdoms felt.
Da’san shrugged, and Jaxom could see the defeat in his friend’s gesture. “For the most part, people are happy. Many still pray to the gods in secret but less so in recent years. You have been successful in weakening their hold over men. In a few generations, they may only be a legend.”
“We are better off without them,” Jaxom said, but felt a twinge of uncertainty. The temples were all burned-out husks or had been built over now, and the priests had either denounced their worship or died fighting back. All except Da’san. Jaxom could not bring himself to harm his friend, who had refused to give up his goddess.
“I know your answer, but I am not going to stop asking. Will you forsake Sarinsha?”
Da’san’s face hardened as stared into Jaxom’s eyes. “I will not.”
Jaxom leaned back, feeling tired. Every time he spoke to Da’san, he held the small hope that they could return to their former friendship. That hope w
as destroyed every time his friend denied him.
