by Dan Zangari
“I know what you’re trying to do,” the prince said, chuckling. “You think you can use my magic against me.”
Clever, Cornar thought.
“You’re using the same strategy your father used at Laelin Lake,” Kaescis said, taking another step back. “Dueling you like this is risky. I know the capabilities of your weapons.”
Kaescis then uttered an incantation, and gray magic clustered in his hands.
The incantation was so swift Cornar didn’t recognize it. He recognized most spells when they were cast, and that gave him an advantage on the battlefield. Luckily, Cornar also knew the colors associated with the various types of magic. Manipulation spells were gray.
What’s he doing? Cornar wondered. He hadn’t seen Kaescis use many spells, other than to summon that blade of his.
The prince finished his incantation, and a gray cloud zipped toward Cornar.
Cornar threw himself out of the way, swatting at the cloud with his weapons. The blades drew some of the gray magic, but most wisped to Cornar’s nostrils.
An enthralling— Cornar couldn’t move. Limp, he fell facedown on the ground, his head turned awkwardly toward the prince and his eyes as immobile as the rest of his body.
“This isn’t how I envisioned killing you,” Kaescis said, slowly closing the gap between them. “This isn’t how they want me to kill you.”
They?
“They want a glorious battle, rife with perils. They thrive on that.” The prince continued to advance, his Darkness blade held out.
“I could use you as a puppet,” Kaescis continued, “But I don’t think they would approve. Even now they want me to relinquish my hold on you.”
The prince continued explaining himself, but Cornar ignored Kaescis. This couldn’t be the end, could it? Feelings of melancholy washed over him. He yearned for Karenna. He missed his children. I’ve failed them, Cornar thought. Kaescis would triumph. Even after Cornar’s inevitable death, the chances of his men finding the prince were slim. They could search this labyrinth for days. Kaescis would undoubtedly make his retreat to his war camp and bring the full might of his forces upon Cornar’s band.
“… even if I did release you, and we had this monumental battle, I don’t think they will leave me alone. They just want death.” The prince sounded like a madman. But then, most tyrants were mad.
With the wonders of Dalgilur, Kalda would be subject to another crazed oppressor. Nations would suffer. The dead would litter the streets of countless cities. The Mainland would bleed with the blood of any who resisted the Mindolarn Empire. That scene of sorrow was more than Cornar could bear, and the agonizing moment seemed to last forever.
Then, Cornar remembered.
Can’t you do anything? he directed his thoughts toward that strange being from his dreams. It claimed Heleron was a petty creature. Your words imply you’re greater than a god. If so, I implore you, reach out and free me!
Movement down the hall caught Cornar’s eye. He couldn’t hear anything above Kaescis’s reasoning, nor could he redirect his gaze to see who was there. Reddish boots and the skirts of a dark-red robe came into Cornar’s vision, and then an aged hand touched the ground. Had his plea been answered?
Off-white light gathered between the stranger’s aged fingers and the ground, but again, Cornar couldn’t hear anything above the prince. He watched as the magic formed. Was it a dispel?
Through unblinking eyes, Cornar noticed something different about the stranger’s clothing—what he had thought was red, was actually a tint of pink against black. An arcane barsion?
“… unfortunately, you won’t be able to see it,” Kaescis said, his blade rising out of Cornar’s field of vision.
The off-white light shot across the ground, like lightning. It wove between Kaescis’s sabatons and struck Cornar. The enthralling spell was gone.
In one swift motion, Cornar gripped his weapons and threw himself upright.
“What?!” the prince shouted, swinging his blade in a downward strike meant as an executioner’s blow.
With lightning finesse, Cornar blocked and parried the prince’s Darkness blade while grating his serrated dagger upward along Kaescis’s breastplate.
Stunned, Kaescis leaned backward to evade, but Cornar rose, following the prince. He sliced his serrated dagger—still imbued with the Darkness magic—across the right side of Kaescis’s face, from chin to cheek. Cornar barely grazed the prince, but the devouring particles eroded flesh, drawing an enraged scream.
Kaescis dropped his blade and threw his hands to his face, falling backward. Cornar fell with the prince, then rebounded for another attack. But his blades met only armor, and the gemstones in Kaescis’s suit absorbed the dark mist around Cornar’s weapons.
At that moment, Cornar saw his benefactor—Jahevial. The necromancer-scholar rose from his crouched position, clothed in a veil of arcane-infused barsion.
Returning his attention to Kaescis, Cornar struck again, attempting to reach the prince’s bare face, but was barred by thrashing arms.
Still screaming, Kaescis grabbed Cornar with one hand and threw him against the wall. The prince was still enhanced, and thus able to manage the feat. Now freed from Cornar, Kaescis scurried away, shielding his face.
An incantation sounded in the direction of Jahevial, and more white magic gathering in front of the necromancer-scholar. Jahevial’s gaze was focused on Cornar.
Not the first person I expected to come to my aid, Cornar thought, recovering from the repulsion. Jahevial’s spell zipped through the air, surging around Cornar—enhancing magic.
The screaming ceased, and Kaescis staggered to his feet, gazing down the hall. Kaescis lowered his gauntleted hand, revealing grotesque scarring. The right corner of his lips was gone, exposing his teeth. The wound lacked blood, as the Darkness magic cauterized the gash.
“You…” Kaescis slurred, his tone mingled with pain and anger, “you betray me too?!”
Jahevial grunted with amusement. “You’re the betrayer, Kaescis,” he said, moving down the hall toward Cornar. The prince growled.
“First you lie to us about Klindil,” Jahevial said, “then you deprive us of our discoveries, and now you attack us!” Jahevial uttered another incantation. It was a type of barsion—arcane, from what Cornar could tell.
“You’re barsion won’t save you,” Kaescis slurred, then uttered that incantation to summon his blade. It had since puffed away.
Jahevial finished his spell and a pinkish tint veiled Cornar’s vision. Although the barsion wouldn’t protect Cornar from Kaescis’s blade, it would prevent the prince from placing another enthralling spell upon him.
Now, Cornar could finish what he’d started. He would be a shield against Kaescis’s maniacal ambitions. With Jahevial’s aid, Cornar would slay Kaescis and bring an end to the threat of this madman.
Amid the thought, a sudden surge swelled through Cornar. He felt renewed, even empowered. But no spell was cast upon him.
You… Cornar glanced to the ceiling. Are you helping me? There was no response, but Cornar felt his muscles quicken. His mind sharpened, and the fuzziness from the various blows he had sustained during the fight vanished. The clarity ignited a burning zeal within him, and he dashed toward the prince.
* * * * *
The last of the Praetorians fell in the darkness.
Nordal drew his blade from the dead man’s neck, cursing as his foe fell to the ground. Several more of his fellow warriors had fallen, but he couldn’t tell if their wounds were life-threatening. The only one totally unharmed was Hemrin.
Lucky bastard… Nordal shook his head. “How many did we lose?”
“Thirteen,” Kalder replied. “Kamdir just stopped breathing.” Kalder picked his way across the sitting room-turned-battlefield. “And four are severely wounded.”
Nordal cursed again.
“Midar, start bandaging the wounded,” Kalder commanded.
“What are we going to do about the dead?” T
inal asked.
Nordal shook his head. They didn’t have time to bury them.
“We leave them,” Kalder said solemnly, making his way toward Nordal.
The wounded were soon tended to, and Nordal eyed the giant orange shard, about the length of his forearm, in his hands. Nordal was still amazed at how it snuffed out magic.
We could make a killing selling this, Nordal thought. He envisioned nations vying for such a powerful tool. These shards could turn the tide of skirmishes, disrupt battle strategies, and negate tevisrals… Oh, the possibilities—
A hand clasped Nordal’s shoulder. Kalder leaned close. Though it was dark, the sternness in Kalder’s face was visible. “What are you thinking?” Kalder whispered.
“How lucrative this could be,” Nordal answered, grinning. “We should go break off more pieces.” Kalder narrowed his eyes at the rock.
“Igan thinks we should use this in our escape,” Nordal said. “He believes it’ll negate the storm.” Kalder seemed intrigued.
“I don’t see any other way to leave the island,” Nordal said, shaking his head. “It’s not like we can drag Krindal back to the Promised Maiden.”
“Fetching him would be unwise,” Kalder said, his tone still stern. “Let’s get more of that rock. There’s no telling how much we’ll need to survive that storm.”
* * * * *
Where is that half-breed prince? Solidin wondered, swiftly landing another blow against Bratan’s wounded shoulder. Solidin was close to severing it. Both Bratan and Laeyit had mustered barsion, but Solidin had dispelled each.
Bratan yelled while swinging his ancient fanisar at Solidin. Effortlessly, Solidin parried the blow. Solidin created another opening and rapidly struck at the bloodied joint. On the third strike, Bratan’s arm fell, painting the ground red.
The sound of a singing blade filled the air, and Solidin whirled to meet Laeyit, who screamed with unquenchable wrath. They exchanged rapid blows, blocking and parrying each other’s flurry of swings and jabs. Laeyit’s weapon exhausted the dispel on Solidin’s daggers. She struck again, cutting Solidin’s left dagger in two.
Solidin started, evading by throwing himself back toward the massive doors and rolling over one shoulder. He recovered from his evasion, turning so both his foes faced him: Bratan rose from the ground, seeming unaffected by the loss of his arm. Laeyit, however, swiftly closed the gap.
That shadow rushed toward the three combatants, and Solidin finally allowed his gaze to wander.
A dragon? His eyes widened. Here?
Laeyit was upon him, but Solidin evaded her advance. No, it’s too small to be a dragon, Solidin noted, observing the white winged creature soaring toward him. The scales were wrong too—no, those were not scales. Stone? Solidin wondered, dodging another blow from Laeyit.
Bratan was also upon Solidin, swinging his fanisar. Undaunted, Solidin kept evading his foes. He needed another weapon if he were to overpower them. There were plenty of dead around, both elf and Mindolarnian. Unfortunately, no weapon nearby was short enough.
Evading another blow from Bratan, Solidin moved closer to the battle. His forces had since pushed the Mindolarnians back toward their war camp, a good hundred or so phineals from the towering doors.
Still. there was nothing on the ground short enough.
Blast! Solidin sighed, then his eyes fell on Laeyit’s haviklur. Perhaps—
That shadow passed over once again. It is stone! Solidin grinned as he advanced on Laeyit, narrowly ducking under her haviklur. He closed the gap between them, then grabbed Laeyit’s sword arm, pushing it aside while knocking her off balance. In one swift motion, Solidin threw Laeyit to the ground and wrested the blade from her.
The haviklur was now his. Laeyit cursed, and the shadow passed over once again.
Impressive. Solidin’s grin widened. The shadow was cast by a statue of a dragon. In the draconic tongue such statues were called mis’thralim, but the elves called them gholistra—statues imbued with the minds and memories of the beings they represented. A gholistra could withstand an onslaught of magic greater than the strongest barsions. And a dragon as a gholistra… it would be nigh indestructible.
The draconic gholistra soared through the opened doors, landing in the portico to block any from escaping. It spread its wings wide while whipping its tail.
Laeyit began uttering an incantation, but Solidin ignored her. With his stolen weapon, Solidin unleashed a flurry of blows against Bratan. The haviklur was larger than the weapons he was accustomed to wielding, but it would do. Magic crackled as haviklur and magical axe-blade clashed.
After a moment, purple light caught Solidin’s eye. Laeyit was mustering disintegrating magic. A ball nearly the size of her torso was forming.
That looks like a hefty beam… Solidin mused, landing a blow that cracked Bratan’s breastplate. He spun, positioning Bratan between himself and Laeyit—her disintegrating blast was building.
“A Keeper of Truth and Might,” a deep voice bellowed from behind Solidin. “A Bladesinger, no less.”
Bratan started, apprehensively glancing beyond Solidin.
What’s he looking—?
Bratan staggered, retreating from Solidin. “Laeyit…” he murmured.
Laeyit’s attention was no longer on Solidin. She gazed over his shoulder, her expression aghast.
Solidin decided to chance a glance. Behind him were three more gholistras, each advancing slowly and brandishing glistening weapons. One was an elf whose likeness resembled Ilnari, Kardorth’s Supreme Commander from a thousand years ago. Another was a mage-looking fellow. The last was clad in armor akin to that worn by the ancient heroes of the Kaldean Alliance. The sword it wielded resembled a sword of legend, one said to amplify the soul of its wielder. The last person to wield that weapon was the man who led the revolt against the Karthar Empire, General Lith Luzdom.
These can’t be who I think they are, can they? Solidin wondered, his eyes narrowing. If the elven gholistra was Ilnari, and the sword bearer Lith, then the mage must be none other than the Losians’ first ruler—Dorin, the Mage-King.
But how…? Solidin wondered. The Keepers of Truth and Might had disappeared before the rise of the Karthar Empire. Why would gholistras of these three—those who toppled the Karthar Empire—be here on Dalgilur? There was a two-hundred-year difference between the disappearance of the Keepers and the rise of Lith’s rebellion.
Suddenly, Laeyit unleashed her attack upon the Lith gholistra. The gholistra stood its ground, swiftly extending its freehand to the beam. Laeyit’s magic was as nothing against that stony hand. The figure simply swatted Laeyit’s magic.
“Whatever faction vies against a Keeper is an enemy to Dalgilur,” the Lith gholistra said. “So, you and your forces must die,” it added flatly, then stepped forward, raising its blade to strike.
Solidin backed away. If the gholistras were going to deal with Laeyit and Bratan, then he could focus his attention elsewhere. He turned to the battle raging near the war camp—many of the Sapphire Guard had fallen, and the situation looked grim.
Laeyit ran, leaving Bratan to stand alone against the three unstoppable beings.
“Laeyit!” Bratan shouted, his face twisting with anger.
The flapping of wings filled the enormous space, and the dragon gholistra zipped from the entrance, flying straight for Laeyit. With incredible swiftness, the stony claws snatched Laeyit from the ground. The draconic gholistra soared with its prey toward the war camp.
Soon, the other three gholistra were upon Bratan. The elf and the mage twirled their staffs, which suddenly burst with light—the elf’s red and the mage’s blue. They became double-bladed fanisars, like Bratan’s, then separated into three sections—connected by flowing chains of pure magic.
Bratan stumbled backward, tripping over a lifeless Wildman. He looked frantic, and rightly so. The slow movements of the three gholistra changed as quickly as a flash of lightning. The three of them moved so fast that Solidin barely c
aught it. In unison, they cut down Bratan. The hulking Praetorian was dead in less than a second.
Solidin stared in amazement. He knew the stories of gholistra, but seeing them in action conjured a sense of wonder.
“We will destroy your enemies,” the Lith gholistra said. “Dalgilur’s invaders must be eliminated.”
“Spare the elves,” Solidin pleaded.
With that, Solidin and the three gholistras marched toward the raging battle. Solidin twirled his dagger and stolen haviklur. Today he would reclaim this place lost to the ages.
The shadow passed by once again, and Solidin watched the draconic gholistra soar through the massive doors, carrying more victims in its stony claws. The dragon disappeared, flying far above Dalgilur.
* * * * *
Chilling wind whipped against Laeyit’s face as she struggled to break free from her captor’s grip. Panicked cries from the others clutched by the draconic mis’thralim reached her ears.
Kaescis, you fool, Laeyit thought as she struggled. We should have destroyed those mis’thralim when we had the chance! For as much as she loved Kaescis, Laeyit hated him in that moment.
The air became foggy. They were in the clouds now.
What is this—? Laeyit felt herself falling. The clouds disappeared, and she saw the island far below her. She wasted no time and uttered an incantation, mustering pure barsion magic. Blue light gathered in front of her.
Shrill screams pierced the air, coming from a falling Wildman. The fool, grabbed at empty air.
Idiot… She shook her head, finishing her incantation, enclosing herself in a protective sphere. The Wildman’s screams became muffled as the barsion formed.
She wouldn’t have time to cast another incantation. The mountaintops of Dalgilur were speedily approaching.
Soon, Laeyit and the others snatched by the draconic mis’thralim hit the tops of the mountain range. Laeyit left a tiny crater, an effect caused by her barsion absorbing the impact.
She recovered from the otherwise fatal drop and took in her surroundings. The others, however, lay still on the peak—their bodies broken from the fall.
Laeyit squinted, studying a flat structure just to the north. It was a sprawling balcony carved from the peaks.
