by Dan Zangari
“It doesn’t look too bad,” his father said, and then looked to the mage. “Adrin can heal this right up.”
Adrin? Cornar’s eyes widened. Iltar’s father!
Faint garbled words reached Cornar’s ears, and both he and Melthas looked to the sounds. Adrin had finished his incantation, and the soldier was speaking, “… scout will relay your location. Our master planned this well. You will not survive…” The soldier suddenly fell limp, eyes glazed.
“What else did he say, Adrin?” Melthas asked, his tone stern. Cornar had rarely seen his father that serious. It seemed odd to him.
“The Mindolarnians have a larger force outside the town, cloaked in invisibility,” Adrin said. “They knew we’d send the rest of the village away. They’re planning to come in full force to kill us.”
“I’d better get my armor,” Melthas said, and hastily climbed the mound back to the manor home. The blue magic surrounding him vanished.
“You’d better go,” Adrin said to Cornar. “We can handle this ourselves.”
“Are you sure?” Cornar asked. “A hundred soldiers is one thing, but the two of you against an army? I don’t like those odds.” Cornar and Iltar had faced those odds before, and though they hadn’t fallen, they were not victorious either.
“We’ll be fine,” Adrin said with a smile. Cornar thought those words cocky, but there was a quiet confidence in Adrin’s face as he looked across the ruined town. “We’ll take them by surprise.” He paused, then noticed Cornar’s wound. “Here, let me heal that.” Adrin cast his spell, and green arpran magic wisped into Cornar’s arm. The healing magic stopped the bleeding and vanquished the pain. Within seconds, Cornar felt whole.
A moment later, Melthas hurried down the mound toward them. Cornar could see his father’s grim expression through his helmet. “Elana didn’t make it out,” Melthas said.
“I’m sorry,” Adrin rested a hand on Melthas’s armored shoulder.
“We’re going to make those bastards pay, Adrin!” Melthas growled.
Adrin nodded, looking solemn. “Your wife will be avenged, my old friend.”
My old friend? Cornar wondered. Were his and Iltar’s fathers friends? Cornar never remembered hearing his father talk about a mage he was friends with. Perhaps they fought alongside each other when his father helped liberate Tor. Surely, Kandish would have made mention of the friendship. How ironic that their sons would become like brothers.
“I think your insubordinate soldier is determined to stay and fight,” Adrin said, gesturing to Cornar.
“He’s not one of mine,” Melthas said. “But I welcome the help.”
Adrin grunted, raising an eyebrow at Cornar. “Well, let’s get invisible and head out there. That scout should be there any moment.” As Adrin cast enhancing magic upon the three of them, a familiar quickening surged through Cornar. He often commanded the mages of his band to enhance him and his warriors in such a manner.
Adrin cast a few more spells on both Cornar’s and his father’s weapons. Lightning, fire, and disintegrating energies surged along the weapons. Melthas’s weapons, a serrated dagger and a short-sword—the same weapons Cornar favored—absorbed the magic. The blades exuded those magical properties. Imbuing magic would float around normal weapons, but the serrated dagger and the short-sword held the magic. The blades could maintain a spell where a normal weapon could have its enhancements dispelled.
Adrin cast barsion magic on all three of them and then concealed them.
“They’re on the south, by the entrance near Dalgiri’s Tavern,” Adrin said, his voice trailing. He was obviously running.
“Try not to get yourself killed,” Melthas said to Cornar.
Cornar hurried after them as they ran through the ruined town. The fires were dying, but smoke still filled the air. It should have been hard to breathe, but the barsion magic seemed to filter the smoke. That was something Cornar had never experienced. Odd to have new experiences in a dream…
Soon they reached the edge of the city. The field beyond the burning walls was empty.
“I’ll cast a mass-dispel,” Adrin whispered. “I’ll run up the middle, you two should flank the other side.”
“I’m good with that,” Melthas whispered back.
“As am I,” Cornar replied. There was something invigorating about fighting alongside his father. At first this dream was frightening, but now it was thrilling.
Adrin’s light footfalls hurried away. An off-white light gathered quickly, moving away from the town, and then a massive wave of dispelling magic washed across the field. Hundreds of soldiers clad in silver armor appeared from out of nowhere. They wielded fanisars, swords with shields, hammers, maces, and other deadly weapons. Mages dressed in crimson robes stood amid their ranks. Horsemen wore blood-red armor, wielding glowing shields and black swords—swords that looked as if they were composed of magic.
“By Heleron’s Scales!” Cornar swore with a gasp. He wasn’t astounded by the size of the army, but rather the odds it represented for him, his father, and Adrin.
“This is no time to be cursing the names of false gods,” Melthas said. “I’m going right. You take the left flank.” Cornar heard his father hurrying away. It was time for him to move too.
He, Adrin, and Melthas were still invisible. Commands resounded from the enemy ranks and the mages amid the army began casting their own dispels.
Must advance, Cornar thought, darting from the ruined town. He bounded across the field, moving faster than normal. Cornar needed to get to the soldiers before the mages finished casting their dispels. He came within a dash of the enemy line as a wave of white magic washed past him. The dispel tore apart the invisibility particles but not the barsion shielding him.
The soldiers lunged toward Cornar, weapons flailing. Amid their advance, they and the rest of the army shouted in unison, “May the Crimson Eye remain hidden for all time!” It was like a battle cry. The soldiers shouted another phrase, but Cornar ignored it. He had more important things to focus on.
Cornar dodged a blow from a fanisar, tumbling sideways. He sprang up, striking the fanisar’s shaft, his blow cleaving the weapon in half; Adrin’s imbuing magic was devastating. Cornar swept his sword, piercing the soldier in the gut. His enhanced blade tore through the plate like wet parchment.
The thrill of battle surged through him. Oh, it was invigorating! Cornar moved swiftly, felling another foe. Another fell, and another. Out of the corner of his eye, Cornar saw Adrin and Melthas pushing through the enemy ranks. They were killing faster than he was! They really could hold back this entire army by themselves…
One of the crimson-armored horsemen dismounted, pushing his way through the crowd of soldiers. The other soldiers shied away from him, careful not to touch his weapon. Those fighting Cornar backed away, clearing a spot for the dismounted horsemen. Was he some kind of commander? The soldiers seemed to regard him as such.
“Foolish man,” the commander said, his tone mocking. “You cannot stand against the might of Mindolarn!” Cornar lunged forward, sweeping his sword toward his foe’s legs. The commander blocked the blow with his sword. Both weapons clashed, and the commander’s magically composed sword ripped through Cornar’s blade, severing it.
Surprised, Cornar darted sideways, avoiding a swing from the commander. The weapon moved just beyond his face, trailing a black mist. It does look like Iltar’s magic, he thought. Cornar continued evading and tumbled backward, putting distance between him and the commander. How was he going to defeat this—
A sharp whistling noise whizzed past Cornar—like an arrow cutting through the air. He felt something pass by, and then a flash of black and white struck the ground. Cornar had expected to see an arrow, but it was a curved sword in a charcoal scabbard with a white hilt.
The commander stared at the weapon, muttering something strange. The words weren’t Common. In fact, they sounded like gibberish. Seizing the opportunity, Cornar dropped his broken weapon and grabbed this new swo
rd. It had a strange oblong guard, which looked like scaled wings. The guard curved downward, providing some protection. Scaled patterns adorned the handle.
Cornar drew the sword. Its curved blade had only one sharp edge. The blade had a remarkable reflection, like a mirror. Cornar had never seen such craftsmanship. He quickly pulled the scabbard from the ground, wielding it with his other hand.
Cornar squared off with the commander, but the commander backed away, looking to the skies. Why was—A brilliant flash of light erupted behind Cornar, near the town. He didn’t turn. He didn’t dare, not with that deadly weapon a mere leap away. A thunderous crash resounded behind him, accompanied by tremors shaking the ground.
The enemy ranks in front of Cornar backed away, completely ignoring him. Some of the soldiers looked frightened. Perhaps he should look. So he did.
A masculine figure stood within a ball of light upon a small crater in the field. The light soon faded, revealing an armor-clad figure in white formfitting armor. The armor looked melded to the man, without seams or joints. Cornar heard shouting from the enemy ranks in that same gibberish. Although he couldn’t understand the words, he heard one repeated several times, “Ulk’sha.” The soldiers spoke that word with tones of fear and anger.
The man in white armor bolted forward, moving faster than even a man enhanced with magic. He drew a sword from the sheath upon his back; it looked like the one Cornar was holding. Once near, the man leapt into the air, soaring above Cornar and crashing into the enemy ranks, weapon swinging with beautiful finesse.
The commander turned away from Cornar completely, focusing on the man relentlessly slaying the soldiers. Cornar could see the detail in the newcomer’s armor. It was scaled and seamless. The armor flexed with the man’s muscles as he moved, like skin.
Soon, the commander and the newcomer clashed. The commander’s black sword struck the newcomer’s blade, but it didn’t have the same effect as with Cornar’s first sword. How was that possible? That black magic should have ripped through that sword… They dueled fiercely, but the commander fell to the man in white armor.
The soldiers around Cornar fled. The man in white armor steadied himself, sword gripped with both hands. He glanced toward Adrin and Melthas, now deep within the heart of the army. But before moving, the man turned to Cornar.
“Do you know how to use that thing?” he asked, voice muffled beneath his armor. His voice sounded familiar.
“Yeah,” Cornar said, nodding.
“Good,” the man said, “follow my lead.” The man in white armor darted toward the soldiers fighting Adrin. Cornar followed, struggling to keep up. How was the white-armored figure moving so fast? Cornar had been enhanced by Adrin’s magic. But enhancing magic could only bolster one’s abilities so far. A slow runner would still be slower than an athletic sprinter if both were enhanced by the same spell.
The enemy soldiers fell swiftly to the man in white armor. His blade cut through the Mindolarnians as if they weren’t wearing armor at all. Cornar followed along the edge of the man’s wake of devastation. He struck soldiers as he passed, and they fell easily. Cornar couldn’t even feel the resistance in the blade as it struck his foes. How was that possible?
The man in white armor neared Adrin, fighting side by side with him.
“Zatryn!” Cornar heard Adrin exclaim. Was that the man’s name?
Cornar joined them, and the three cut through the enemy ranks. They had felled hundreds. How many were in this army? It had to be thousands.
A horn resounded amid the ranks of the army, calling for a retreat.
Cornar kept killing the soldiers as they fled, but Adrin and the man in white armor stopped. Cornar noticed Melthas out of the corner of his eye, also standing still. His weapons were lowered.
Extracting his blade from his foe, Cornar turned around. The last stragglers fled past him. He ignored them and surveyed the field. It was littered with fallen soldiers. What a massacre! The four of them had done this?
Melthas picked his way through the corpse-filled field and joined Adrin and the other man. “I thought you were investigating that lead in Marden,” Melthas said, looking at the man in white.
“I was. That’s where I learned of this attempt on your life.”
“Then you know who’s behind this?” Melthas asked with fury. Cornar had rarely seen his father angry, and definitely not like this.
The man in white nodded. “An aspiring prince. One of Mindolarn’s sons. He wishes to prove himself to the new emperor.”
“We should get back to the town,” Adrin suggested. “And find your children.” Melthas grunted and nodded.
“I’ll track the Mindolarnians,” the man in white said.
“Keep us informed,” Melthas said. “But don’t kill any of them. I want to exact vengeance myself.”
“Be careful, Melthas,” the man in white warned. “Seeking vengeance is not always the right answer.” He then walked toward Cornar. “My blade,” he said, extending his gauntleted hand. Cornar nodded, sheathing the weapon. He handed it to the man in white, who then hoisted it over his left hip.
“Cor.” A voice echoed across the horizon. Cornar spun, searching for the source of the sound, but didn’t see anything.
“Cor! He glanced at the others, who didn’t seem to hear the voice. They continued discussing their next course of action.
“Cor!” Cornar felt a kick against his boot, but looking down saw nothing.
Then everything changed.
A sea breeze brushed across Cornar’s face. The sky was blue, not smoky. He felt a sack of grain beneath his head, a makeshift pillow. Was he lying on his back? A dream, he realized.
“Are you all right, Cor?” Nordal asked. He stood a pace away from Cornar. “There’s blood on your arm.”
Confused, Cornar glanced down to his arm; his sleeve was covered in blood, and still damp. There were no tears in the sleeve. Cornar felt at his arm, but there wasn’t a wound.
“How’d that happen?” Nordal asked, kneeling down and examining the area where Cornar had slept.
“I don’t know,” Cornar said, propping himself up.
“Krindal wants to meet with you and Captain Salisar,” Nordal said, standing. “The Executor’s Breath is veering off.”
“All right,” Cornar said and rose to his feet with a grunt. He looked over the rail to the large Mindolarn vessel. The Executor’s Breath was heading north.
What a strange dream, he thought, watching the ship move away. The man in white had said the attack was an attempt on Melthas’s life. That’s not what his father had told him about that night. The men who attacked Tergol were supposed to have been disgruntled footmen who had lived in that area before the Western Sovereignty won their independence from the Mindolarn Empire. They were attacking out of spite.
“Are you okay, Uncle?” Ordreth asked.
Cornar turned, seeing his nephew behind Nordal.
“I’m fine.”
“And the blood?” Ordreth asked, sounding worried.
“It’s nothing. Probably nicked my arm sleeping.” Cornar shrugged. “I was having a vivid dream about my past. Fighting Mindolarnians alongside my father.”
Nordal cocked his head and grunted. “When did that happen?”
Cornar grinned. “It didn’t. I was reliving the night of my mother’s death, but I was like another participant. So I saw my younger self, interacted with him, and then found my father. I helped him fend off the soldiers. Those Mindolarnians were quite cunning…” He couldn’t help but think of the plot the man in white had mentioned.
“Do you not trust them, Uncle?” Ordreth asked.
“Well, they seem trustworthy,” Cornar said, shaking the thoughts aside. “Kaescis doesn’t act like typical Mindolarn Royalty. Nothing seems amiss.”
Cornar walked across the main deck of the Promised Maiden. He found Krindal and Captain Salisar on the open-air bridge, talking beside a table which held a logbook and various maps of Kalda.
&nbs
p; “Good morning!” Krindal called. “I hope we haven’t wakened you too early? Lying on that sack of grain couldn’t have been comfortable…” He trailed off, looking at the blood on Cornar’s sleeve.
“Just nicked myself,” Cornar replied with a smile, “and I slept just fine.” He actually preferred sleeping out in the open when on a ship. Being cramped in a small cabin was actually more uncomfortable than using provisions as bedding. Krindal shrugged and uneasily eyed the stain.
“What did you want to talk about?” Cornar asked, stepping up to the table.
“We’ll be traveling on our own until we reach Klindala,” Krindal said. “I wanted to discuss the particulars with you and the good captain here. Prince Kaescis is mooring in Keliur’s naval yards to resupply. He’s bringing two more vessels with him, with five hundred soldiers.”
Five hundred soldiers? Why would they need more men? Kaescis hadn’t mentioned recruiting more help. “Why so many?” Cornar asked. Krindal shrank at the question. He was hiding something.
“I’d like to know that answer as well,” Salisar said. “I thought this was a simple expedition of discovery.”
“Well, in case the Wildmen refuse to barter with us,” Krindal replied, sounding nervous. “There are thousands of those tribesmen. And we wouldn’t want to risk our lives.”
“I thought the Mindolarnians were certain the Wildmen would accept.” Cornar asked.
“Well, they are,” Krindal said. “This is just a precautionary measure.”
Cornar folded his arms. He didn’t like last-minute surprises.
“I didn’t want to tell the Order,” Krindal continued. “I thought if I came to them saying that the Mindolarnians were helping me and that we’d have a sizeable force, they wouldn’t lend any aid.”
That seemed sound, but Cornar felt there was more to Krindal’s reasoning than he claimed. What was he trying to hide?
“We’re going on ahead to make preparations,” Krindal said. “We’ll wait in Kretin for Prince Kaescis and his fleet. The trip to the ruins will take nearly twelve days.” The old scholar looked to the captain. “I’m planning on being ashore for a month and a half. Would you and your crew care to join us on the trek?”
