by T P Sheehan
With the threat gone, one of the Quagman bounded at Lucas. Lucas refocused. He was back in his shadow. The black mist was quick to reform and morph into the sickly black matter. It leapt at the Quagmen, wrapping his limbs and torso, entering his mouth and nostrils, blackening over his eyes. The Quagman fell in a convulsive heap. Lucas felt every morsel of the warrior’s pain until the Quagmen took his last breath. The second Quagman backed away and Lucas dropped to a knee, exhausted in a way unfamiliar to him. The caged wyverns began to howl. Lucas shut his eyes and drew on their dark thoughts, using them to replenish his strength. With the Quagman dead, the pain subsided. Lucas could not understand what had just happened but was glad the terrifying ordeal was over.
Delvion growled—“You will kill her and prove loyalty to me. You are no longer dependant on her.” He marched to the centre of the cave floor. “Bring her in!”
Lucas reeled. NO!
Through a broad tunnel on the far side of the cave, six Quagmen entered pulling chains. The chains were connected to a broad wooden cart that slowly rolled into view. Atop the cart was a huge, hulking, black mass of a creature, chained fast to the cart.
“NO!” Lucas screamed in the shadow of his mind. A single tear fell across his right cheek. The black creature tensed her thick, leathery muscles and tried to flex her barbed wings. She opened her big yellow eyes—her crescent-shaped irises pulsed when she recognised Lucas. Her thoughts groaned through Lucas’s mind. She was half terrified, half furious. The wyvern queen was quick to find Lucas’s shadow and bath him with her maternal affections.
She understands…
Delvion approached the queen and examined her. “The queens can never be tamed,” he said. “Ever the shame. They are the most powerful wyverns and would make great steeds in the final battle for Allumbreve.” Delvion stepped away from the wyvern.
Lucas came to her, placing a hand on her thick brow. Her eyes remained fixed on him. He knew if she begged for her release he would see it done, but the queen does not beg. The queen protects her children, removing them from harm at her own expense. The wyvern swam through Lucas’s mind. She knew it was over for her. She knew this was the last chance she had to protect the adopted child she saved from certain death in the Corville Mountains.
Lucas closed his eyes and let the queen examine his thoughts. She found something—something that was not there before. Lucas saw what she saw. There was something locked onto Lucas’s mind, manipulating his will. The queen’s mind darkened over—how dare something warp the mind she had nurtured? Her body heaved, straining the chains to their limits. The Quagmen worked to reinforce them.
“Kill her!”
Lucas felt Delvion’s darkness weighing on him. The queen continued her feverish mental assault, searching through Lucas’s mind, desperate to find answers. She was like a mother searching for a missing egg, scrounging and foraging through undergrowth, a race against time before a predator found it first. Suddenly, there it was…
“A CURSE!”
The wyvern tugged and pulled at Lucas’s mind, trying to free it of the curse’s mental manipulations, but it was hopeless. The curse was of words far beyond her comprehension. Furthermore, the curse bound Lucas’s fate to another. Whom he was bound to was cloaked from sight as part of the curse. The wyvern was relentless. She was not able to lift the curse but she was fixed on revealing its maker. At least with that, Lucas could seek his revenge.
Then she found it.
The curse wielder’s identity was cloaked by no more than a memory lapse, fastened with the after-effect of a Tenebris spell. This was something the wyvern queen could overthrow.
“Kill her now! Prove your loyalty to me!”
Delvion’s darkness was suffocating. Lucas needed to find his shadow. He needed to retreat to the one spot only he and the wyvern queen knew about. However, the queen was still feverishly at work in his mind, untangling the effects of the Tenebris spell, making his retreat impossible.
All of sudden, the queen was done. The cloak was lifted. Lucas’s memory returned. He saw her face as clear as if she was there with him now—the face of the one who cursed him—the face of the one he was bound to against his will.
“Mother!”
The wyvern queen rested. Her foraging and mayhem had left Lucas’s mind raw and dishevelled, torn and tattered. He needed a moment to himself. Just a moment… It was all he needed to collect his thoughts and grasp what had just happened. But his hidden shadow was gone. She had torn it to ribbons in order to rip the Tenebris spell clear of his mind. It was worth it though—to know whom to avenge. From now on, there would be no more shadow for Lucas to bottle resentments and dark thoughts. From now on, Lucas would have to declare himself.
Delvion was upon Lucas like the darkness of death itself. Lucas could hear his breathing and felt the weight of his stare on the back of his neck. The wyvern’s yellow eyes moved from Lucas to Delvion and back again. Her muscular shoulders began to roll forward rhythmically, pushing on the chains.
She will try to escape. It is now or never…
Lucas glanced over his shoulder to assess exactly where Delvion was standing then squeezed the thick pommel of the domblaus blade in his left hand. In one swift move he lifted it and stabbed it deep into the wyvern queen’s skull. He held fast to the blade, soaking in her fading death scream, letting her pain wash through his body and mind. He was not alone—every caged wyvern in the armoury cave screamed in unison, sharing their fury and sorrow for the death of the queen.
Farewell, mother…
When the collective screams of pain and sorrow finally subsided and all was silent again, Lucas released the blade and collapsed to the floor, convulsing and sweating from the excruciating ordeal. His throat was parched and sore and he realised that he had been screaming with the wyverns. Lucas turned to Delvion, but looked to the ground.
Delvion lifted his chin so that they stared into one another’s eyes. The Quag King spoke slowly—“Very good. You have proven your loyalty. Now then, you can hear the story of my people and understand why we must rule Allumbreve. You will learn of the people of ‘Dephaer’ and the seven clans who became One—‘Quag’.”
TRAINING AND FAREWELLS
In the morning, Catanya rose earlier than even Trax. She retrieved her bow and quiver of arrows from the end of her bed. It was the one part of her Ferustir attire she had not taken with her when she fled the Romghold a month ago to find Magnus.
She stood on the cobblestones of the common and cast her eyes toward the High Priest’s prison cell. Brue stood to attention beside the cell’s door. There’s no way Brue will let him escape. The priest came to the door and stared at Catanya. She drew an arrow, loaded it into her bow and aimed it straight for the High Priest’s head. The priest continued to stare at Catanya, as did Brue. She drew a deep breath, pulling back harder on the arrow, feeling the strain in her shoulder muscles—particularly the right shoulder where the other High Priest had stabbed her. Just two fingertips held the arrow from spearing toward the priest’s forehead. She knew the priest would block the arrow somehow but did not care. The vision she had formed of the arrow flying toward the High Priest was more than satisfying enough.
Catanya released her breath and eased the arrow, sheathing it back in its quiver. She averted her gaze and walked toward the training field. Removing her boots, she strode barefooted across the perfect lawn. The sun was yet to rise and burn the morning dew from the grass stems and so the crisp, cool feeling soothed her feet and seemed to soak through her body and into her mind. Catanya had not dared step barefoot on the field since her ‘cleansing’ when she was forced to run around the field’s perimeter, without footwear, for days until exhaustion—and the distinguished verity light—ended the cruel ritual. She had been through so much since then. Memories of it were less bothersome now.
“Catanya.”
Catanya peered over her shoulder. It was Austagia. “Good morning,” Catanya smiled.
Austagia stopped
in front of her. A gentle smile came to his face. “Good morning to you.”
Catanya was curious. Austagia seemed relaxed—perhaps even content—in her company. He had changed a lot from the estranged uncle who dragged her to the Romghold virtually kicking and screaming all those months ago. As always though, she had to remind herself that it was just as likely she had changed a lot too.
“Magnus will train with Simeon again today.”
“Aye.” Catanya knew this was Austagia’s plan. After the High Priest told Magnus about Delvion’s hidden army and the Rhydermere overthrowing the Authoritarium, they shared the news with Austagia and decided to remain in the Romghold another day. She was a little uneasy about Magnus learning from the Irucantî, but if it would serve to protect him later on, then she was all for it. ‘Just don’t go swearing fealty to them,’ Catanya warned Magnus. Magnus assured her he would never and was keen to leave and help find Hannah as soon as he could. In the meantime, the issue of Delvion left something Austagia needed to clear up for her. “Austagia, the High Priests knew of Delvion’s army amassing in the Caves of Cuvee. You only discovered it for yourself recently. Didn’t they tell you this?”
“Apparently, we were not privy to such information.”
“He told Magnus this is why it wasn’t safe to defend the Fire Realm. Why then, did you think we should not defend our people?”
“It was not for us to dispute the decisions of the High Priests. That sounds ludicrous and I see now that it was. For my part, I made sure you were safe.”
“Why me? Why not Hannah as well? Who was supposed to protect her?”
“The order would never have approved bringing someone so young into the Romghold. I did all I could do to bring you. If I thought as I do now, I would do many things differently.”
It was a silly question—Catanya knew that. She had been drafted into the priesthood in a non-draft year and learned later it was her mother who asked Austagia to pull strings to organise it. Leaving Magnus was painful. Leaving Hannah was painful too but now she had Magnus back, Catanya needed to make sure Hannah was safe. She also needed to know if seeing Hannah in the temple chamber was real.
“Austagia, I need to get to Hannah. I need to make sure she’s safe.”
“I can see that.” Austagia walked to the cliff edge of the field and gazed out over Froughton Forest. “The Quag may be monitoring movement through the skies to the south. We can fly at night.” He pointed to the north. “To the Traas River then westward, above the clouds.” Austagia moved his arm in an arc. “We will approach the Uydferlands from the quarry and enter Nuyan that way.”
“You will come with me?”
“Aye. I need to assess the war myself and… speak with your father.”
Catanya tried to hide the excitement bubbling inside of her. ‘When? When can we leave?”
“All things squared away, this evening.”
Catanya skipped her first steps back across the training field. She could not wait to tell Magnus they were heading home—if only for a short while. Austagia grabbed Catanya by the elbow, drawing her back.
“Catanya, Magnus needs to stay. He needs to train with the Irucantî, learn more of our ways if they are to invest in him. We need that for the protection of our people.”
A shudder passed through Catanya at the thought of leaving Magnus again and even more so for leaving him in the Romghold. Catanya glanced back to the High Priest’s prison cell. “Will he be safe?”
“I’ve just been thinking about that. Rubea will take us. Brue will remain, as will Liné. I will ask Färgd to stay until we return. Eamon is here and I will also ask Jael to remain. Simeon I trust to protect Magnus as well.”
Catanya was satisfied there was a strong contingency supporting Magnus. “I guess then, we should leave it up to Magnus.”
“Our new enemy…” the High Priest had said.
Even if I am to trust the High Priest’s story about my mother, Magnus reasoned, it doesn’t make her an enemy to the rest of Allumbreve. Magnus paced about the training field, twirling Lucas’s sword in his hand. Besides, I am sure the truth of the tale has become embellished… or the High Priest is deceiving me. Not at all sure of the matter, Magnus did not mention his mother to Austagia when he relayed the High Priest’s revelation about the Rhydermere destroying the Authoritarium.
Forgetting the High Priest’s other revelations, Magnus went through a series of stretches Catanya showed him the previous day. He wished he were as flexible as her. Then again, she had been doing them daily for six months or more.
“I’ve been thinking, Semsdër.” It was Simeon, walking onto the training field. “In relation to what Trax said over supper last night, you need to train not as an Irucantî would train, but as the Electus.” He spread him arms wide for emphasis.
“How do you suppose we do that?”
“You need to use all your powers. Push the limits of what you know and work to evolve them. You are the greatest among us. You should use your skills.”
Magnus liked Simeon. There was no nonsense to him. Magnus knew he was about twenty-five years old because he remembered when he was drafted into the order eight years ago. He was from farmlands north of the Uydferlands and was the middle of three brothers. His elder brother worked on the farmlands and the younger worked in the quarries. The younger brother was the same age as Magnus. They had sparred during the Authoritarium’s Knighthood trials. Magnus had won, but Simeon’s brother—Vinson—was a good swordsman.
“That all sounds good, Simeon, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
“That’s my point, Semsdër. Yesterday you were trying to beat me at my game. You need to fight at yours.”
“Please, can you call me ‘Magnus’? These formalities give me the creeps.” Magnus felt it was time to say something—at least to Simeon.
Simeon smiled. “Very well, Magnus. And no, I do not wish to be hurt. I think you should spar with the High Priest.”
Magnus smiled at Simeon’s jest, but the priest was not smiling back. “Are you serious?”
“Aye. Are you okay with this? We will all be here.” Simeon came closer to Magnus and spoke quietly. “Austagia told me about Balgur’s prophecy—that you will learn from the High Priest. I think now is the time. Never will you have such a secure environment in which to do it.”
As Simeon spoke, other priests moved about the training field and took up positions at its perimeter. Dragons followed, positioning themselves between every second priest. They were organised like the hours of a clock, with a dragon at three, six, nine and twelve o’clock positions and Ferustirs at the other hours, giving a total of four dragons and eight priests. Simeon was flanking Magnus at the centre. Magnus turned about, looking at each of the priests and dragons in turn. He knew it was true—there was never going to be a more secure environment. It was also the first time the Irucantî had come together as one to support Magnus. Unless they plan to support the High Priest… Magnus shook the dark thought from his head.
“You won’t let the High Priest kill me?”
“Certainly not. But if he does…” Simeon leant toward Magnus, now with a grin on his face. ‘Rest assured we’ll hang him by his entrails.”
The High Priest walked to the centre of the training field with shackles about his wrists and legs. Pointless… He could break free of those at any time. Magnus watched as the disgraced head of the Irucantî order took the time to look at every priest and each dragon present, just as he had done. Magnus knew he was sizing them up, assessing his position, maybe even devising a plan of attack. The dragons shuffled about, making Magnus think the High Priest had closed his mind to their interrogations.
It was Trax who led the High Priest and so Trax released him of his shackles. The High Priest pulled his black robe from his body, revealing his Ferustir attire. It was similar to Eamon’s armour that Marsala reshaped for Magnus, but as with all Ferustir armour, it was unique. Magnus looked over the familiar blend of fire-bronze and woven black arm
our, looking for weaknesses in the manufacture. He saw none, but noticed the vambraces had ominous looking spikes that revealed themselves when the priest bent his elbows. Trax handed the High Priest his Ferustir’s lance, which he sheathed behind his back. This is insanity… Magnus released a nervous breath. But it’s what Balgur wanted… Then he remembered his promise to Brue—he was not to trust the High Priest without Brue’s consent. Magnus scanned the training field looking for the dragon. As if on queue, the clock-circle of priests and dragons formed a gap, allowing Brue to approach Magnus.
“I’ll be by your side. Nothing will happen to you,” Brue said.
“Thank you.” Magnus chuckled at the irony that the very dragon he feared days ago now gave him the greatest peace of mind. In only served to make this training event even more bizarre than it was. He looked at the High Priest and imagined him hanging by his entrails as Simeon suggested.
“The entrails are the only part of him I will not eat,” Brue said.
Brue is in my head… probably a good thing, Magnus thought. He walked toward the High Priest.
The High Priest came at Magnus. He moved so swiftly it was like a dream until Magnus felt the strike of an extended palm to his chest knock him off his feet. Magnus rolled back and sprung upright again. Heat seared momentarily through his chest, healing a cracked rib and bruised muscles. Several of the Ferustir’s drew lances. Magnus raised a hand to suggest he was okay and took a deep breath.
My turn…
He squeezed his hands into fists and in a moment they ignited into flame. The High Priest whispered a spell, extending both hands at Magnus. A shimmering wall like a shield appeared midway between them. Magnus extended his hands. The flames danced about his forearms and thrust forward at the priest. The shield absorbed the flames entirely. A moment’s silence passed. The flames shot out of the shield, back at Magnus. Magnus whispered a gypsy chant and his body displaced itself slightly to his right. The flames licked across his left shoulder. The pain passed momentarily and there was no trace of a burn.
