by RG Long
“What are you planning, Farnus?” Dram asked, looking down at the map.
“To test your strength,” he replied.
Dram looked up quickly. He was just in time to see Farnus grab the sword from behind his back and bring it flying over the table in a wide sweeping arc. Reacting instinctively, Dram threw up both of his hands, and a burst of blue light came up in front of him, stopping the sword just inches from his face.
Farnus smiled.
“Good,” he said. “Now, give me more!”
He pulled back his sword and swung again. This time, Dram jumped back towards the tent entrance. He heard the crash of the table from behind him and the laughter of Farnus. It filled his ears, but he tried to remain focused.
The first bit of magic had been a reaction. Turning to look back at the damage Farnus had done, Dram let the power he had come to learn flow through him freely. If his brother wanted a fight, he would give him one.
Blue light began to fill his vision as he felt the rimstones in his bracers grow hot. He had always worn his magical rocks there, on his forearms and covered in cloth. They were close and yet concealed. He had always felt prepared for any attack, no matter where it came from.
The girl in Juttis had been a surprise. Just like his half-brother’s assault.
But he was no weakling.
His hands grew hot as swirls of magic flowed through him. He knew Farnus was testing his strength. He would not hold back.
Jumping backward, he allowed the two blasts of energy to escape his hands. The tent crackled with magic and fire. Dram could no longer see Graxxin. Where she had gone bothered him, but not as much as the direct threat of Farnus. The sword came slicing towards him again from overhead. He opened his palms and let another blast of energy repel the sword.
“Ha!” he heard Farnus yell. “Is that all you’ve got, brother?”
Dram felt hot with growing fury. He had waited years for his rise to power. The ability to see it to its fruition was close at hand. He would be king of Prommus and rule over Ladis. There would be no reason to hold back.
The blade swung again, and Dram did not bat it away with the force of his magic. He grabbed it. Dust and smoke swirled around him, and Farnus came into full view. A whirlwind of power was emanating from the pair.
An expression of hunger lit up Farnus’ face. Dram met it with a look of fury.
“You’ve not seen all that I am capable of, brother!” he shouted.
Twisting the blade with a magical blast from his hands, Dram threw his elbow at Farnus’ face. A surge of blue came from behind his blow. The force of his energy took him forward. In a flash, Dram found that his elbow slid through the air. Farnus had dodged the blast and was rolling away from Dram, even as he felt his balance lost in the momentum.
He wasn’t about to let that stop him, however.
Turning on the spot, Dram sent another blast of magic behind him. The force propelled him forward and gave him back his balance. With the force behind him, Dram broke into a run, trying to catch Farnus, who had exited the tent.
As soon as he was past the flap, he saw his brother, sword at his side and hand outstretched. The same wicked smile was on his face. Dram could feel the energy in the air as it gathered right in front of Farnus. He ignited his own magic, drawing out everything the stones in his bracers could offer him.
For years he had practiced in secret. Only a select few knew of his heretical sorcery and the devotion he gave to the craft. He knew how rimstone drained a person. How the magic could bring him to the point of starvation and unconsciousness. He knew his limits and what he had to do to control the magic flowing through him.
The blade flew through the air. Reacting more than anything, Dram threw his forearms out in front of him and formed a magical shield. The force of the blade still hit him hard enough to push him backwards a few paces. Hovering in midair, the blade continued its unrelenting approach.
Dram heard a laugh coming from in front of him. Farnus stood with his hand outstretched, a look of triumph on his face. Dram could feel the sword continuing to try to force itself through his shield of magic.
He refused to allow it to happen. The rimstones in his bracers glowed fiercely as blue magic continued to flow from him. The shield out in front of him took shape into a large, man-sized shield of Juttis. Dram could feel sweat beginning to pour down his brow. It was taking too much energy to maintain the shield.
Farnus’ hand shook with what Dram hoped was the same amount of effort it was taking him to keep the blade at bay.
“You’re strong, half-brother!” he said through gritted teeth. “The deity is pleased!”
Dropping to the ground and sinking several hands into the dirt, the sword disappeared from view. He wanted so bad to fall to his knees, but Dram summoned up every bit of strength he had left to continue to stand in place.
“D...deity?” Dram asked, steadying his breath with great effort.
Farnus took deep breaths as well. That brought Dram a bit of comfort.
“There is at work something much greater than the both of us,” he said. “Something that goes back to the very foundations of the Theocracy and beyond. I have seen visions of Decolos himself.”
Dram tilted his head. Did he hear Farnus correctly? Had something indeed been revealed to him that was over a thousand years old? The Theocracy was the seat of humanity on Gilia. It was where all men had sailed from and settled the other continents. It was the throne of old. The very place where living memory ended.
Had his brother really seen the ancient god of the Theocracy?
He looked into the eyes that shone purple and hoped his confusion did not betray him. Farnus smirked at him in response to his stare.
“I shall inform you what I know. But only if it pleases Rayg. All must be done to please him. I am his servant, a vessel of the living god of demons.”
27: Scouts
Ragged, weary, and exhausted, the Isolian army came to a halt just beyond the rocky cliffs of the Theocracy, not far from Tremus, the easternmost city in the empire. But certainly not near enough to it to cause alarm.
Octus set down his pack as the rest of the soldiers around him groaned with the effort of carrying their supplies a week’s journey east of Isol. He wasn’t sure why they had to march so far to the east. The supply ships should have been able to gather them right at the mouth of the Rift.
Something must have delayed them.
Serving at the beck and call of Her Holiness should have given him all the information he needed, but even during times like these, when he was just a few short paces away from her, he still didn’t know all of the information that was kept in that wooden palanquin.
The reality was that the army of Isol was tired. No man who was a part of the invading force was feeling ready to fight again. They had conquered city after city when they had first arrived, giving them so much momentum. Now that the demons had intervened in the battles, they were weary.
Octus could see it in the faces of the soldiers and speakers who surrounded him. They were strong, but they were tired.
“Slave,” said a voice from Octus’ right. Being the only man with no shirt or shoes within calling distance, Octus knew he was the one being called.
Still, he chose to pretend, just for a minute, that he did not hear the command.
The voice rang out much louder in his ear as a tall, muscular woman came over and shouted at him again.
“Slave! Pick up this pack! You’re coming with me!”
The short-haired woman barely looked him in the eye when she gave the command. That was what bothered Octus the most about this whole situation. Granted, he was a servant of the enemy and separated from the one girl he had sworn to his brother he would protect if needed, but the fact that no one ever looked him in the eye grated him.
He was a servant, yes, but he was still human.
Getting his bag on his back was no small feat. Having felt the relief of taking it off, he had relished the poss
ibility of respite. It was not to be. The back of the female soldier was already disappearing into the crowd when Octus began to walk in her direction. He was a servant to Yada, but he was also a servant to any who was in her army.
He didn’t know what would face him as he obeyed the orders of Captain Oberon.
“Get these two set up with their tent!” she yelled, pointing a finger at two men whom Octus had seen before. They were the same ones who had ventured into Yada’s tent when there had been a group of thieves who stole a few jewels and some weapons.
Yada had been terribly furious with them. Octus had seen her personally put one to death.
Now, these two soldiers needed help with their tent. Octus couldn’t find the strength to be belligerent at the moment, so he decided he may as well help with the shelter and then return to find his own lodging for the night.
The evening sky was turning from bright orange to a pale purple. Night time was coming.
A stack of sticks and rope hit Octus in the chest. He caught the pile and furrowed his brow at the soldier who had thrown it. He could be no more than seventeen or eighteen.
“Who are you?” Octus asked as he threw the fabric and poles on the ground. He was familiar with how they set up their tents. Having been a part of her holiness' personal guard, however, he had not yet been set this particular task.
"Cas and Rallet,” the young man said. His friend next to him was older. Not quite Octus’ age, but certainly no new recruit.
The trio began to set up the tent as the rest of the army from Isol did the same. The suns were starting to set past the horizon, giving them just enough light to see by. Fires would go up soon, and the generals from the army would meet with Yada to form a plan.
Octus wanted to be a part of that. He knew that in the chaos of the retreat, he could have gotten lost or pretended to be dead and fled. Something held him back, however. Whether it was a desire to bring the killing blow to her holiness or, though he hated to think it, the growing fear that Olma had not survived the siege that had separated them, he didn’t know.
The tent went up without much hassle. The other two soldiers didn’t say another word to him during the process. Octus had expected that. Everyone felt tired. Besides, in a war, what was the need for introductions?
The people he was meeting might well be dead tomorrow.
Driving the last stake into the ground and tying a rope around it to secure the tent, Octus prepared to leave and report back to Yada’s palanquin. He stood up to bid farewell to the two soldiers but found them staring at a fixed spot. Neither of them was moving.
“It’s a little too early for ghosts,” Octus said, turning his head to try to see what they were looking at. He found himself in awe as well. The familiar flash of white hair ran past a tent and up towards where the generals were gathering.
“Well, I’ll be," Octus said under his breath. He had seen that flash of hair before. No one he had ever met had such starkly white hair and could sprint like that.
The two soldiers had grabbed their spears and were already heading in that direction before Octus could make a move. He remembered that they knew her as well as he did.
“Careful boys,“ he said as he began walking with them. “This is not a woman you want to cross idly.”
Soldiers instinct made Octus reach for a knife that he didn’t have. He knew he was a slave, but in the war, he certainly wished they would give him something to defend himself when needed. Oh well. He had gone into other situations weaponless before. This would just be another time for him to improvise. The three of them crept through the tents, not wanting to make too much noise, lest they scare her away. Octus knew that she had traveled with a group before. This time he only saw her. That gave him enough pause to realize they should be looking for more than one.
“Rallet,” he said looking at the younger boy. “You’ve seen her before. You know she doesn’t work alone. Keep an eye out.“
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a dagger soared past his nose and landed squarely in the neck of the older soldier. A gargled gasp escaped his lips before he fell to the ground, dead.
“Cas!” the younger called, going to his friend.
Octus took the spear out of the dying man’s hand and turned to face the direction the knife had come from. Wearing a dark cloak, one of the white-haired woman’s companions came flying at them a sword in one hand, and an ax in the other. Octus made a quick stab with his spear, narrowly missing the elf’s head. She was quick.
A shout and a trumpet call rang up from the tent of Yada. The elf did not bat an eye before she dodged another stab from Octus, slicing down on his spear with her blade. The weapon lodged itself into the wood of his spear shaft and, before he could respond, she ripped it from his hands. Then, she turned and fled away.
Octus saw a blast of magic scatter dirt and rock from a short distance away. A cry of anger let him know that Yada had missed.
If he had thought there was going to be any rest tonight, he knew now he was wrong.
YADA AND HER GENERALS were furious. Whatever scouts had been placed in the area where the two assassins had infiltrated the camp were executed publicly. The entire army was forced to watch. Octus was still not used to the amount of magic the old woman could produce from the stones woven into her hair.
Everyone near Yada’s tent was placed on guard duty. He had been instructed not to sleep upon pain of death. He also knew everyone was in a tense enough mood to see those orders carried out.
Whenever he had seen Her Holiness, she had been caressing a green jewel that she had not let out of her sight. It hung it on a leather band around her neck and was held by a crude metal claw. He knew the group that had invaded her campsite before had tried to steal it. He just didn’t know why.
“Speakers and their rocks," he said under his breath as he patrolled the south side of the royal palanquin. Half of the army had been instructed to patrol while the other half slept. Yada was now braiding her generals from inside her wooden throne.
Octus could hear most every word.
“How dare you allow them to get so close to me!” she was yelling.
With a small bit of satisfaction, Octus imagined the worried looks on her generals’ faces.
“Forgive us, your holiness,” Octus heard one of the generals begging. “Our forces are far too spread out. The demons who attacked us were too strong, and our army is scattered over the beaches of the Theocracy. Perhaps if we were able to regroup, we would be able to protect you better and return to our domination of our homeland.”
Octus heard a very satisfying slap. The general managed to contain his grunt of pain. Yada may be old, but Octus knew it was foolish to question her strength when she was angry.
“Should I perform even the simplest of tasks for you!?” Yada yelled. "Why have you been unable to gather your own soldiers from the four corners of the Theocracy? Is that not the job that I had given you!?“
As much as Octus hated Yada, he could not fault her. She was right.
From his own days of leading men, he knew whose responsibility it was to keep track of them. Her generals were nervous in her presence, but they were potentially terrified of the demons they had encountered. Instead of trying to find the best way to react to the new threat, they had run. Perhaps their campaign had been too easy up to this point. They had taken over cities without much of a fight.
Had they really thought it would be so easy?
Their magical cannons had been most effective against the demons. Last time, Isol had used them with great results. However, during the recent demon attack, they had come upon them too quickly. There wasn’t the time they needed to employ their powerful weapons. The armies of Isol were scattered. Octus took that to heart. If they stayed scattered, perhaps the Theocracy would be able to take them out piece by piece. It was much easier to dispatch an army in small groups.
Octus heard Yada muttering under her breath before a cry echoed outside her shelter. He knew too
well the words were a speaker’s magic spell.
Instinctively, he readied himself for a blast. Small magical bursts of energy had long been the favored weapon of the speakers he had fought before.
Instead of a blast of magic, however, Octus saw a giant pillar of light erupt from Yada’s palanquin and pierce the dark night sky. A blue column of flame that never flickered reached up to the stars. It pulsed brightly every few moments, sending a shimmering circle of light that went up alongside it. Octus looked around and knew that no other light from a city or campfire could extinguish such a light. He heard Yada cackle with glee inside.
“If you say my armies are scattered and I need to bring them to me, then let this beacon bring them to me.”
For a moment there was only stunned silence from the generals Yada had assembled. Octus wondered if they could see the entirety of the light from within her throne. Perhaps Yada had disintegrated its roof with her magic.
Then Octus heard the voice of Captain Oberon speak out. He had never known her to be timid or shy. He wondered if she understood the full implications of questioning a divine plan of Yada’s.
“Your holiness,” she said. Octus could see her bowing in his mind’s eye. “All of your armies will indeed see this beacon and know that it is you who is calling them.“
There was a pause. Octus wondered if Oberon was going to say the thing he was thinking. She might lose her tongue for it if she did.
"Your enemies,“ she said, her voice faltering ever so slightly. “Will see this beacon as well. They will come for us. Perhaps even the demons will follow it.“
To Octus' surprise, he did not hear another slap, nor a blast of magic ending the faithful captain’s life. Instead, he heard another more dangerous laugh than the cackle that had echoed when she had first cast the spell.
It turned his blood cold.
“Let them come,“ Yada said.
28: Failure
Serinde was cursing herself. She had known better than to allow Silverwolf a moment’s peace. Before she could stop her, the assassin had abandoned their camp outside a small rock formation and ventured off into the Isolian ranks.
