A Prince's Errand

by Dan Zangari

  Praetorians were casting offensive spells as they dueled with Cornar’s men. Barsion from Vargos shrouded the warriors, and their weapons glowed with rainbow hues from elemental and arcane enhancements from the wizards. Igan was mustering a swarm of arcane orbs—pink light almost veiled the wizard from sight as hundreds of the orbs took shape around him. The younger wizards and Clodin were hurling their own magics into the fray—lightning streaked from Renal while Tinal launched a volley of disintegrating bolts. Clodin’s acidic javelin struck one of the Praetorians, weakening his foe’s barsion.

  Cornar was drawn back to Kaescis. The prince dashed through the room, uttering those sharp incantations. He barreled past two of the warriors and knocked them to the ground. White magic surrounded the prince and wisped into the gems of his armor. It was undoubtedly an enhancing spell.

  Two more of the warriors spun to meet Kaescis—Morgad and Naelis—but the prince leapt, kicking Naelis and using the man as a stepping stone to soar through the air. Kaescis sailed over Morgad and several other warriors. Cornar hurried past his men, chasing after Kaescis.

  In mid-air, Kaescis uttered that same incantation he had spoken in the vault—the one to summon his monstrous blade. Black magic clustered around Kaescis’s right hand, and the blade formed. At that moment, Cornar realized the prince’s intentions. Kaescis was falling toward Vargos.

  “Vargos!” Cornar shouted to the barsionist. But it was too late. Old Vargos spun in time to see Kaescis falling toward him. The barsionist attempted to dodge, but Kaescis threw the newly formed Darkness blade like a javelin. That monstrous sword shattered the barsion and impaled Vargos through the stomach.

  Vargos’s eyes widened in shocked realization.

  “No!” Cornar cried, barreling past his men.

  Kaescis landed atop Vargos, crushing the barsionist’s leg. An agonized wail filled the room but abruptly died as Kaescis removed his monstrous blade. The prince turned, twirling his weapon in the air as if it weighed nothing. A diabolical grin lit his face. He met Cornar’s eyes for a moment, but then swept his gaze across the room.

  “I,” Kaescis declared, “I am the Champion of Cheserith!”

  Cornar pushed past more of his men fighting the Praetorians. Others—Gregan, Haetan, Kamdir, Kalder, Nordal, and Midar—were converging on Kaescis. They yelled battle cries as they charged.

  “No!” Cornar shouted, running as fast as he could. “Stop, you fools!”

  But there was nowhere else for the men to go. Of course, they could move down the halls, but Kaescis would chase them. These men, as valiant as they were, charged unwaveringly toward an impossible foe. If they didn’t advance, Kaescis would undoubtedly move against the other mages and those fighting the Praetorians.

  “I was Chosen by his Messenger!” Kaescis shouted as Gregan neared him. The warrior swung his fanisar at Kaescis’s exposed face.

  Defiantly, Kaescis sliced through the fanisar, severing the shaft in half. Gregan evaded, but Kaescis’s blade continued in its sweeping arc, cutting through the warrior’s arm and chest.

  Gregan! Cornar clenched his teeth while running through what was now a cleared path. He watched with horror as one of his dearest friends fell to the floor in pieces.

  “And I will cleanse the world!” Kaescis shouted, advancing on Haetan.

  Haetan lunged, screaming for his fallen cousin—but the cry was immediately halted as Kaescis’s blade severed Haetan’s head from his shoulders.

  Within a matter of seconds, both cousins lay lifeless on the floor.

  “Before His coming,” Kaescis continued, advancing on Kamdir, “I will eliminate His enemies!”

  Kamdir rolled sideways to avoid the blow—he obviously intended to be a distraction to allow the others a chance to strike.

  “And I will purify Kalda!” Kaescis shouted, swinging his misting black blade in a wide arc that caught Kamdir by the arm and nicked his chest.

  The young warrior rolled over once, losing his arm above the elbow. A gash marred his chest, and black particles festered around the wound, devouring flesh, bone, and blood.

  Kamdir struggled for breath and his eyes met Cornar’s for a moment. An overwhelming sense of paternal protection welled within Cornar. That young man was like another son, and Kaescis would not take Kamdir from him.

  You will not take my men! Cornar vowed. I will preserve them! Cornar lunged toward the vile prince—weapons extended—as Kalder, Nordal, and Midar converged in a unified attack.

  Kaescis raised his blade, reveling with sadistic glee while attacking Kalder. “None will stand to oppose—”

  Cornar intercepted the blade. Black particles misted from the prince’s weapon and wisped into Cornar’s serrated dagger. The dagger absorbed the devouring particles and glowed with a deathly light. In a flash of movement, Cornar struck the monstrous blade with his short-sword, and it too began absorbing the Darkness magic.

  “Clever…” Kaescis growled, retracting his blade while stepping back over the dead.

  “Slay the Praetorians,” Cornar shouted, dropping into a wide stance, his weapons spread to shield his men. “Once they are dealt with, secure the vault.”

  * * * * *

  Igan heard Cornar’s command to the brash warriors. They had instinctively engaged Kaescis. With their plan in shambles, and all the Praetorians engaged, there was no reason for them not to attack the prince. Igan was grateful for their intervention, as Kaescis would have undoubtedly come after the party’s other mages.

  This was not the last place Igan wanted to see.

  Shifting his focus, Igan gazed at a Praetorian fighting Hemrin and Cordel. Though the warriors’ barsion had vanished, both were holding their own against the armored Mindolarnian. Igan’s eyes fell upon the Praetorian’s breastplate, and he willed a volley of arcane orbs toward the armored man.

  The Praetorian started at the magical assault. He tried to evade, but Igan manipulated the orbs to strike the breastplate. The two warriors leapt back, barely evading the eruptions. Igan, however, manipulated the explosion, forcing the blast toward the Praetorian. Soon, a crack appeared in the crimson armor. Igan redirected the orbs meant for the Praetorian, sending them circling throughout the room near the ceiling.

  Hemrin forced the Praetorian to parry blows from his sword. Cordel moved in, stabbing through the crack in the armor. Within seconds, the warriors disarmed their foe and forced the Praetorian to the ground.

  With one Praetorian subdued, Igan scanned the battle for his next foe, but noticed Nordal running back to the vault.

  “Cover me!” Nordal shouted to Igan. Nodding, Igan stepped backward toward the hole leading to the vault. However, there wasn’t any danger of a Praetorian breaking past the warriors.

  As Igan searched for another Praetorian to weaken his eyes fell upon Kamdir. The young warrior was struggling for breath, but there was nothing Igan could do about it. If only Iltar were here… he groaned inwardly. Poor Kamdir’s wounds looked severe. Kaescis’s devouring magic had torn through Kamdir’s ribs and dissolved part of the warrior’s lung. Igan could see Kamdir’s heart beating.

  It was an inhuman sight.

  Repeated pounding echoed from the vault. What was Nordal doing? Igan peered through the hole, but Nordal was around the corner. No matter, there were more important things to deal with.

  Whirling back to the battle, Igan eyed the two Praetorians fighting Kalder, Midar, Kren, and Drenor. Both Praetorians struggled against their foes.

  Igan wasted no time, raining the orbs down upon both Praetorians. Amid the assault, he heard Nordal cursing profusely.

  What’s Nordal doing? Igan wondered, his magic cracking the armor of Kalder’s foe. The Praetorian was bleeding within seconds, the warriors taking advantage of the opening.

  With only a few arcane orbs left, Igan hurried through the hole to the vault. But to his surprise, the remaining orbs vanished, and Igan could feel his spell no longer. It was as if the orbs were dispelled.

  “By all th
at’s magical,” Igan murmured.

  A slew of curses resounded through the vault, and Igan turned to see Nordal hacking at one of the large orange shards protruding from the wall.

  “I can’t get this damn thing loose!” the warrior shouted, growling and grunting as he struck the pommel of his sword against the strange rock.

  Igan looked back to his hands. Why had the magic vanished?

  “Too bad you can’t help me,” Nordal snarled, his anger directed at the rock. “If you could only blow apart the wall.”

  “What are you doing?” Igan demanded.

  “Trying to get one of these shards,” Nordal said. “What else does it look like I’m doing?”

  Igan shook his head. “This stuff prevents magic from forming,” Nordal said, grunting as he strained to free the orange rock. “I happened to turn when Cor shouted for us to attack. The prince was trying to summon his blade, but he couldn’t. We can use this—turn the tide against Kaescis and the Praetorians.”

  That intrigued Igan. He crept through the vault, searching for any loose fragments. So, this can nullify magic, he thought, eyeing the orange rocks impaled in the walls. Could this negate the effects of the storm beyond the island? If so, they wouldn’t need to gamble on the elves granting them mercy.

  Igan assumed they could evade the Mindolarnians until Solidin arrived to attack. The elf would come to Dalgilur. Igan was sure of it. But with this—if it did as Nordal supposed—they could flee to the Promised Maiden and set sail before word of Kaescis’s death reached the Mindolarnians.

  Nordal continued to curse and strain against the large shard as Igan reached the opened end of the pedestal. Another tome—like the one Cor had been reading—was standing on end. Five red porous rectangular cases were neatly stacked beside the tome, their length the same as the tomes’ width. But something orange caught his eye.

  Might as well take these out, Igan thought, removing the cases. Once he removed two, an orange shard—about the length of his hand—slid from the opening.

  “This must have penetrated this… box,” Igan muttered, pulling the shard close to his face to examine it.

  A light flickered within the hollowed pillar.

  Surprised, Igan pulled out the other tome and the three remaining cases—one of which was cracked—and set them on the floor.

  Is this pedestal some kind of tevisral? Igan wondered, glancing to the shard in his hand. Intrigued, Igan moved the shard farther away, stretching his arm as far as he could.

  More light filled the hollowed pedestal.

  “It is,” Igan whispered.

  “What are you muttering about?” Nordal demanded between curses.

  Igan didn’t answer. He stepped back, moving almost to the hole leading to the cratered mountainside.

  The pedestal’s interior became brighter. Soon, it was more luminous than the sun’s light at noon. The light then turned red, and a deafening screech resounded throughout the vault and seemed to permeate the entire mountainside—no, the entire island.

  The screech soon ceased.

  “What on Kalda was that?!” Nordal demanded, turning from his vain attempt. The warrior raised an eyebrow at Igan. “Where did you get that?”

  “It was inside,” Igan said warily, looking at the shard in his hand. Was that an alarm? he wondered.

  * * * * *

  Luring Kaescis into their trap should have made Ordreth apprehensive. Instead, he felt rather calm about it. Uncle Cor had made his opinion of the prince quite clear. Kaescis must die. He was a threat to all Kalda. And that was good enough for Ordreth.

  “Oh, I wish we could stay longer,” Hem said, his wide-eyed wonder apparent in his voice.

  “Why?” Demsal asked tersely. “How I see it, our stay here has been totally fruitless.”

  Hem shot Demsal an appalled glance. The two of them continued bantering as they crossed the hall leading to the enormous chamber and the war camp.

  Ordreth kept his gaze forward. He had to be calm. He couldn’t let the prince see anything other than an eager explorer ready to make a report. In order to make the ruse believable, Ordreth turned his mind to other adventures, where grand discoveries were made. Nothing but elation accompanied those memories.

  “You’re grinning…” Sharon said, her hand brushing against his.

  “Just reminiscing,” Ordreth replied, taking Sharon’s hand in his. He squeezed reassuringly.

  Sharon looked tense. “It’ll be fine,” Ordreth said.

  “And what if it’s not?” she asked, frowning.

  Ordreth took a deep breath and opened his mouth but a deafening screech resounded through the corridor. They all clapped their hands over their ears, and Ordreth heard Demsal shouting, “What on Kalda is that?!”

  The sound soon ceased, and Ordreth’s elation faded. Grim-faced, he dashed through the corridor, coming to the balcony on the western side of the enormous Hall of the Guardians.

  And then, he saw the unfathomable. The enormous statue depicting a dragon was shifting. Its wings fluttered while its tail slithered across the stone floor.

  “By all that’s magical!” Hem said with a gasp. “Am I really seeing this?!” Both Sharon and Demsal gawked with slack jaws.

  The dragon-statue flapped its stone wings, then lifted itself into the air. It flew through the enormous chamber, climbing nearly to the towering ceiling.

  With the dragon-statue moved out of its place, the three smaller statues—still twice as large as any man—were walking from their pedestals. The weapons they held turned from stone to other substances—by some sort of transmutation, Ordreth assumed. The sword held by the center statue turned to glistening metal while the staffs held by the other two began glowing with what Ordreth could only assume was magic.

  The three statues lumbered across the enormous space, following the path the dragon-statue took through the air.

  How are they moving…? Ordreth wondered. He looked to his friends, who gazed at the unbelievable sight with amazement.

  “Come on,” Ordreth urged. “Let’s get to Kaescis. Hopefully we can still persuade him to go to Uncle Cor.”

  * * * * *

  The reports from Crenai and her scouts of the last two days were quite interesting. Krindal was particularly fascinated by their finds to the north—a whole naval yard concealed within the mountain. Entire ships hung from mounts on the walls. Crenai explained it as “an armada suspended in the air.”

  Oh, I must see that, Krindal thought, flipping the page of scribed reports. He sat at a table within the Royal ring of the war camp. His eyes went to Bratan, who was at a nearby table examining the weapons found the previous day three levels below the war camp. The weapons were right out of a fairy tale.

  Smiling, Krindal returned to the report, but as his eyes fell upon the words, a deafening screech filled the enormous chamber. Krindal fell out of his chair, clutching his ears. Then the noise ceased. Soldiers rushed about, as did Crimson Praetorians. Bratan called for soldiers to investigate the sound. An uproar echoed throughout the entire war camp.

  Krindal sat up, but remained on the ground. He had never heard such a noise.

  “Are you all right?” Bratan asked, looming over Krindal.

  “I… believe so.”

  “Here,” Bratan said, offering his freehand to Krindal. In his other hand, Bratan held a staff. The weapon was divided into thirds by narrow grooves. Long slits ran the length of the end sections. It seemed familiar to Krindal. Reluctantly, Krindal took the Praetorian’s hand. Bratan grunted as he helped Krindal, then stomped off with annoyance.

  A shadow suddenly veiled the Royal ring. But it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Bratan tensed, then shouted commands for the nearby soldiers to prepare for combat. The order soon left the Royal ring, and Krindal heard the orders noised throughout the war camp.

  “Bratan, what is happening?” Krindal called after the Praetorian, but Bratan didn’t answer. “What aren’t you telling me?” Bratan disappeared within the I
mperial Tent, still clutching that staff.

  Unsettled by the lack of answers, Krindal hurried through the war camp. Pandemonium reigned. Squads mobilized. Mages enhanced nearby soldiers. Praetorians hustled to the entrances. Wildmen milled about, awaiting orders from Mindolarnian squad leaders.

  That shadow passed again.

  Krindal looked up, then started in horror. He cursed under his breath and his eyes widened. One of the white statues—the one representing a dragon—was flying through the Hall of the Guardians. He had heard tales of statues coming to life, but he had thought they were just that—tales. Krindal had never considered they were real—but then again, this was the home of the ancients.

  The dragon flapped its wings, and the stone of the massive span seemed to ripple—but how could stone ripple?

  A Wildman bumped into Krindal, nearly knocking him off balance, and the dragon-statue soared overhead once again, casting another shadow.

  That noise… Was it an alarm? Had someone intruded on something forbidden within Dalgilur?

  The dragon-statue swooped by again. It was studying them… the Mindolarnians, the war camp. Was it sensing whether they were intruders? No one beside Krindal was attuned to Dalgilur. Surely, they would be seen as intruders.

  Panic struck Krindal. He ran, pushing his way past soldiers and Wildmen. He wound through the war camp, making his way to the entrance aligned with the massive twenty-story doors.

  I need to distance myself, he thought. I can hide in one of the buildings outside. Krindal dashed out of the war camp, passing a group of mobilizing soldiers and Wildmen. As he neared the massive doors, they swung open. But I’m not close enough… Krindal thought, then his panic turned to dread.

  Krindal abruptly stopped as the massive portico became visible through the doorway. Dozens—no hundreds—of figures in white armor marched through the portico and toward the opening doors. They gleamed with bluish tints—undoubtedly barsion barriers—their weapons also shining with auras of destructive magics.

  Not them! Krindal froze. Though he couldn’t see their pointed ears, Krindal knew they were those relentless elves.

  Behind the armored elves marched colossal conjurations towering almost five times the height of a man. They were elementals of fire, ice, and stone. Gray skinned horrors were mingled in the ranks of the invaders—creatures that consumed magic. When enthralled, these nightmarish monsters were a mage’s bane. It was no wonder they were called mages’ parasites.