by RG Long
They had discussed the possibility of sneaking in to steal the amulet. No plan they had been able to come up with seemed to work better than another. Perhaps it was Silverwolf’s desire to close herself off to Serinde that had stalled them. Ever since they had fled the city of Prommus after watching her father killed by the priest who had brought them into this forsaken continent, Silverwolf had hardly spoken a word.
Serinde wasn’t sure which she liked better. A sarcastic, snarky assassin, or a killer who only communicated with her eyes and deadly silence.
At the moment, she preferred her to be dead, but she also knew she could not survive on her own.
They ran as fast as their feet could carry them. Several guards had given them chase, but a few quick maneuvers with Holve's spear and Ealrin's oddly shaped sword had dispatched them.
Whether or not more were coming was yet to be seen. Neither female had looked back to check, and both of them could hear well enough to tell if a hunting party had come after them.
Not an hour had gone by after Silverwolf’s failed attempt to steal the amulet when a giant blue light appeared in the sky behind them. It came from the center of the Isolian camp and lit up the entire area around it. Serinde could see small shadows of men and their tents. The light of this beacon rivaled the moons.
“Well the old hag is certainly off her throne now,” Silverwolf said. The words took Serinde by surprise. She hadn’t heard Silverwolf's voice in a full week.
“What’s the purpose of that?“ she asked, pointing at the light, though she knew it was quite evident to the assassin.
“Beats me,“ Silverwolf replied. “But I can tell you every army on Ladis is going to be able to see it. And most of them will head straight for it.”
“Do you think Ealrin and the others will see it too?” Serinde asked. She wanted to get back with the group they had departed from. Even though they had plans to meet them at the fishing port just to the east, she hoped not to have to take that journey with only Silverwolf at her side.
Silverwolf shrugged her shoulders.
Serinde nodded. That was probably the end of the assassin’s words for the day. Or the week, more likely.
She was wrong.
"Do you think about your sister much?”
Serinde was not only caught off guard by the question Silverwolf asked, but she was also struck with the sincerity she heard in her voice.
Of course she thought about her sister. She thought about her every single day. How she had been unable to save her. How she had led her out into a battle she did not want to fight. How Erilas had only come because she wanted to protect her sister.
“Yes,” was all Serinde could manage to say in answer. She found that her throat was constricted and that tears were welling in her eyes.
The truth of the matter was that the death of her sister haunted her. The only time she had felt any type of joy or connection with someone else since coming on this trip was with the girl, Olma. Serinde didn’t know why, but she felt something for the little human. She worried about her. She had a terrible feeling that something awful was going to happen to her.
Serinde shook herself. She would not fail Olma. There would not be another name so tied to her in death.
And then a question formed in her mind. Silverwolf had been so sincere when she had voiced her own. She hoped she could communicate the same in her query.
“Your father," she began tentatively. “Do you imagine you’ll think about him?“
The question was odd. Silverwolf had threatened her father. She told him she planned to end his life. Serinde was almost sure that the assassin would have. What was one more dead man to her?
And yet Silverwolf had not acted as quickly as her blade could fly. Serinde held her breath, not thinking that she would receive an answer.
"I’ve thought about that man every single day since I was sold into slavery," Silverwolf replied.
Serinde blinked. She looked over at the assassin and saw a line of tears running down her cheeks.
“I wanted answers,“ she said. Her teeth were clenched, and her fists were balled so tightly Serinde saw her knuckles turn white.
They looked out from the same outcropping they had camped behind earlier that day. The same outcropping Serinde had chased her from. The Isolian camp was in chaos. A bright shining blue beacon of light shot up from the middle of it, illuminating the countryside. If there were any allies of Isol or enemies of them, they would all head for that one point.
“Instead of answers,“ Silverwolf said, her eyes reflecting the brilliant blue light ahead of them. “I have more questions.“
Serinde let the chill of the night air wash over her as she considered the words of a fearless, doubtful assassin.
29: Priestly Ambitions
“What new unholy tricks have the heretics come up with now?“ Jerius asked as he peered over the top of his tent.
The army of the Theocracy had marched out of Prommus victorious. Jerius knew that they had not won the battle based on the strength of their men, but rather on the wisdom of Decolos.
It had been his doing. He had been courageous enough to summon a demon to fight back the speakers. That demon had wreaked havoc on their enemies. Because of this, he was a hero. And he should be treated as such.
Now that the high priest was dead, Jerius was the natural successor. Having no other priests within the city, he had effectively become the high priest without vote or contention. No Voice could oppose him and no priest was near enough in such a time of crisis to run against him. The only thing that stood in the way of him gaining ultimate authority was the king.
King Gravus was a man who could now celebrate the victory of his nation, and question the motives of this new priest. Jerius knew the king would doubt at least some parts of the story that had been told to him. How his brother had been killed by an assassin who fled from his best guards down what was supposed to be the unscalable walls of the temple.
How even though they had chased them through the mountains, the king’s own guards had come up with no tracks or any trace of people at all.
There were witnesses. Guards who swore they had seen the priest die at the hands of a white-haired woman. That last piece was the greatest gift to Jerius. As much as he hated them, the band he had arrested on that island had become infamous in the theocracy. How much he found himself regretting that he had brought them here. A small part of that was knowing that he owed his current status to that unfortunate encounter.
Having obtained something along the lines of a folklore status, they were both an easy target and a convenient alibi.
Still, some questions were yet to be answered.
The Theocracy had come after the armies of Isol for revenge. What they saw now on the shores of the east was a reason for concern.
“Do you see this, my priest?“ Luca said as she appeared next to Jerius.
“Inform the king,“ Jerius commanded.
Luca saluted and began to walk in the direction of the king’s tent. Jerius called her back, looking over at a captain who was also observing the phenomena.
“Inform the king of this,” Jerius commanded the man in a louder, more domineering voice than he had used with Luca.
For a moment, it seemed as if the captain might question the authority Jerius had.
He looked down at the robe Jerius was wearing. The skull with a double line on its forehead, sewn in gold thread told him who he was speaking to:
The High Priest of the Theocracy.
Bowing his head, the captain ran off. Jerius thought he saw a small glance of contempt, but no matter. He sniffed and found that he had already become accustomed to this new power.
This had been the thing he had worked for his entire life. Respect. Honor. Authority. But most importantly, power.
He allowed a smile to cross his lips. As he heard the king returning with his guards at his side, however, he adjusted his expression to one of somber concern.
“My Lord,”
he said inclining his head. “The heretics call us.“
Jerius watched closely as he observed the face of the king. He was as hard as ever, if not even more so at the news of the passing of his brother.
“What is this?“
“Your majesty,” the insignificant captain said. “Perhaps it’s a trap, something the heretics are hoping will draw us in? Perhaps we should send scouts to see what lies ahead?“
Another captain butted into the conversation.
“Scouts are already ahead and reporting, my king,“ he said rather indignantly. “The army of heretics has continued flying east. We’ll trap them between Prommus and Tremus. They have nowhere else to go.“
The king continued to watch the beacon, examining it.
Jerius thought to stoke the controversy.
“Unless it is a sign calling their ships to them,” he said.
More than one pair of eyes turned to him. Jerius allowed himself to feel a moment of pride. It was short lived. He saw that the king remained steadfastly staring forward.
Having spent so much time in the capital, Jerius knew this tactic. The king was not listening to him. Doing so would make him appear weak. The king would only listen to his military officers and advisers, not the head of the church.
Jerius has learned this tactic well and would use it against King Gravus.
“May the king do what he thinks is best,” he said making another bow in Gravus' direction. “The church had reported to me that several Isolian ships were seen departing from the coasts of their island. I suppose it may be to resupply the main lines with food and soldiers. But it may also be to resupply them with men. Suppose that beacon is for them?”
His words had not been mainly for the king to hear. He wanted the captains to know of this possibility. All he needed to do was to sow doubt in their eyes. As one who had led the faithful for most of his life, he knew the power of doubt. Used correctly, it could lead to fear. And those who were afraid would do whatever they were told would bring them peace.
“Send our scouts down through the beaches,” the king commanded. Two captains saluted and moved away quickly.
The king was still looking at the beacon of light.
“Whether they are calling their ships to them or taunting us towards them,’ the king said. “I will know the truth before we move.”
Jerius bowed to the king along with the remaining captains and walked off.
“What does it really mean?” Luca asked Jerius.
He looked over his shoulder at her, sniffing his long nose.
“It means that the church will reign over the Theocracy sooner rather than later,” he said. “You are dismissed.”
Waving his hand at her, Jerius retired to his tent where he had commanded a small desk be placed. He sat down with a sigh and opened the book of Decolos.
There was still much more he needed to learn. If the next demon he planned to summon was going to do what he desired, he needed to know more.
And he was confident he had sown just enough doubt to accomplish the task.
30: Capital City
Prince Dram could see the capital city on the horizon. They had marched for days, and now they were finally within sight of the grand capital. They had come upon no scouts for armies. That made Dram feel at ease and gave him pause.
On the one hand, it meant that their army could proceed forward without any difficulties or obstacles. The weather was becoming colder, but that did not seem to bother Farnus in the least. They continued to march east until they were right within sight of the capital. But knowing that the land was still at war made Prince Dram feel like they should have run into someone along the way. But, for all he could tell, the western part of the empire was quiet.
Farnus had not yet made mention of their fight since it had happened. In fact, he seemed all too pleased with Dram. Farnus had not summoned him to his tent again. He appeared not to mind to allow Dram whatever freedoms he desired, be it inspecting his troops, observing the demons who walked beside them, or riding up ahead of their forces. He moved about the army without impediment. Perhaps prince Farnus really did trust him now.
He knew his magical skill was still needing to be developed. But whatever it was, he knew that Rayg still had the upper hand. There would come a time when they would fight again. Dram knew this. So he studied and practiced as they marched.
That was another benefit of the change that had occurred. Now that Juttis was free of the Theocracy’s rule, Dram did not have to hide in the shadows. Instead, he walked along and didn’t care who saw his magic. The cloth he had always worn he kept wrapped around himself, however. For years it had been his secret. Now it was his badge of honor.
A trumpet sounded and the army came to a halt. Dram pulled his horse to a stop and looked in several directions for Farnus. Surely he would be close by.
As the thought crossed his mind, the prince rode by on his horse, his metal plates still surrounding his body and his enormous sword slung over his back. How both sword and armor did not entirely weigh down Farnus' horse was beyond Dram. He knew there was other magic at work here.
“It’s time to claim the throne brother," Farnus said as he looked out towards the city. “Father has ruled weakly as of late, and it’s time for him to be replaced.“
Dram was all too willing to see his father replaced. He had lived in the shadows for so long that he desired nothing more than to come into the light and rule more than a forgotten kingdom of the north. What Dram had never considered, however, was that his rise to power would involve his half-brother.
“You are most familiar with the city and its defense,“ Dram said to Farnus. He had never been allowed to visit Prommus. “What obstacles stand in our path?“
Farnus only laughed at this statement.
“None that can hinder us,“ he said. He looked over at Dram with a gleam of purple in his eye. “Do you see how the walls have already suffered greatly?“
Dram looked out and saw that the shining walls of Prommus he had always envisioned were not in the greatest repair. They were hundreds of years old, this he knew. But what he saw in front of him seemed to be damage from a terrible siege.
Was the city already taken?
No, he could still see the flag of the theocracy flying from the towers that lined the wall.
Perhaps the city had survived the siege from Isol, but just barely.
“The way has been made for us,” Farnus said. “All we must do now is show the survivors what we are capable of.”
Now it made sense why Farnus had allowed him to rest and recover. There was work to be done.
“I know you have power beyond what you have shown me,” Farnus said. “Reveal to me what you are truly capable of.”
Farnus indicated the far-off city of Prommus. It was still a day's march away at least. They would need to set up ranks and determine the best possible solution to invade the grand city. In order to conquer it with just one of the great empire’s nation, it would take strategy and determination.
Unless Farnus had a different idea.
Dram felt magic coursing through him. He channeled it into his hands as he let go of the reins of his horses and stared at the city gates.
His horse reared as magical energy flowed all around him. As the beast came down to the ground Dram let loose all the power he had stored within him at the center of the gates of Prommus. The blast flew straight and true. A solid blue line of energy soared through the air. When it found its target, an explosion of light assaulted their eyes before they heard the cracking of stone echoing around them.
A cheer rose up from the ranks as Dram breathed deeply, wondering if he had spent too much energy. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead. His muscles ached, but he was ready for more. He looked over at Farnus.
The man only laughed.
“Well done,” he said with a look of appraisal. “Now watch me.”
In one smooth motion, Farnus began to float off of his horse as waves up
on waves of magical energy filled the air around them. Dram could feel the skin under his wrappings tingle as waves of energy overcame him. His horse reared again and threatened to run off with or without him.
Dram did his best to stay the beast. As he did so, he looked up at his half-brother who had his arms stretched out as if inviting the waves of energy to come to him. Five balls of light appeared and encircled him. They grew so bright that Dram struggled to look at the point Farnus now occupied in the air.
And then, with a sudden jerk of his arms, the five magical bolts sped towards the city of Prommus and, as Dram's had done, assaulted the walls of the city. But the amount of his destruction that they caused made his efforts look feeble by comparison.
Another cheer rose up from the ranks of Juttis as Farnus came down to the ground and touched his foot to the earth. His horse had stayed still and obedient the entire time he had worked his magic.
When he looked back at Dram, it was plain that he had not even exerted his full strength. He wasn’t even breathing heavily.
"In the morning," Farnus said, looking out over the plains. “We take the city."
31: Snart and the Underlings
Snart thought the most annoying thing about the Webbed Ones they had come upon was their fear of the light.
He would have led them out of the caves and onto the plains past Prommus a few days ago, had they not been so irritated by the suns.
Though the underground cave city was lit up several Rimstones, each of the new lizards claimed that the burning sky lights were like a fire to their skin. Because of this, they had only gradually made their way into more and more brightly lit portions of the cavern.
It hadn’t taken that long to get up to the ground above their cavernous dwellings. Snart was surprised to find that these lizards had lived so close to the surface without ever venturing out.
