by RG Long
He didn’t wait for Scral to recover. He didn’t even wait to gloat or make a claim to his strength. Snart threw his spear hard at the lizard that lay scratching, desperately trying to see. It landed with a satisfying crunch, and Scral let out a wail of a hiss that rolled across the plains.
Snart was the boss.
He walked over to the lizard as he thrashed on the grass around him, trampling it low. Leaning down, he picked up the stone he had used to take one of Scral’s eyes and held it in his hand again. The thrill of battle flowed within him. He felt strong. He felt like energy welled up inside him.
Holding the rock high, he brought it down hard on Scral’s head. A blinding flash of light accompanied the deathblow. Snart let out a hiss of fear, but then it passed. A small crater marred the plain where Scral’s head had been just a breath before. The rest of his body was blown several steps away.
Snart stood up, grasping the now glowing and unharmed magic stone. He was triumphant. And he was strong.
“Sssnart!” he shouted, holding the stone up above his head. He hardly missed his spear, though he thought he may retrieve it in moment. He had plans for it.
“Boss Bosssss!”
The reply came loud and strong as the Veiled Ones lifted up their spears.
“Ssssnart! Boss Bossss!”
7: The Plan Begins
Jerius walked next to the high priest through the corridors that led to the king’s chambers. They had sent word ahead of themselves that they were coming. The first order of business was to announce Arranus’ new High Priest. This was a small thing to do, but customary to let the king know who was in charge of which temple in each of the empire’s ten countries.
But, on the other order of business, there was a more sinister request with a darker purpose. This would not be discussed in front of servants. The king was told that a portion of their meeting would take place in private.
Jerius had only been in the presence of King Gravis for a short time, during the botched execution of Holve. The man seemed every bit as intimidating as his reputation had made him out to be. The priest didn’t fear the king. Not when he was with the high priest, at least.
The pair of them, as well as their attendants, made their way down the hall towards the throne room. Rows and rows of statues met them as they walked. Gods and goddesses of Ladis, as well as military heroes, generals and queens of old, and even statues of the current ruling princes looked down on them as they passed. No fine embroidery was here. Just cold stone and metal.
Jerius kept his eyes forward and attempted to match the pace of the high priest. They were walking quickly, but not like those in a rush. It was the pace of one deliberate and determined. He looked back only once to see if Luca had found them in the catacombs of the imperial palace and the temple.
She had.
The woman looked unsure, but she kept up regardless. The palace was surely overwhelming for her. Jerius made up his mind that he would be unimpressed with the structure after that. What would stones and statutes mean for him if he was intimidated by them? He was a Priest now. A man of power.
And he would be stronger than stone.
They came to the hall of the King and soldiers bowed and let them enter without question. Jerius looked down his nose at them and smirked. He was a respectable Priest now. These men were lowly guards.
Nothing to do with him.
He puffed out his chest a little more as he turned to face the King’s throne. Then he felt himself deflate.
The King’s throne was high upon a plinth several times as high as a man. Surrounding him on all sides were more statues, each looking more dire and sinister than the rest. These were the former kings. The rulers of the Theocracy. And this was their hall.
Jerius steeled himself. He would not wilt under their gaze. He would be strong. The king was being attended to by many people, most of them in the Theocracy’s green and black. When the king saw them enter, he waved away the attendants. They left in a flurry of parchment, maps, books, and chests.
What were they considering, up there on the plinth with the king?
Many of them hurried down the steps and left the hall quickly, though they each stopped and bowed to the high priest. He acknowledged them each with a nod.
Jerius saw and took note. He would be a man others would bow to as well.
A strong man.
“What brings the High Priest from his temple to my hallowed halls?” the king asked, looking down on them, but not rising from his chair. He also did not invite them to come and join him as his attendants had.
The high priest put a hand on his chest and bowed slightly. Jerius mimicked this movement. As he bowed, his robes shifted and he saw that they did not move at all. No breeze stirred the room. No air moved from corner to corner. The hall of the King was completely still. The ceiling reached up much taller than Jerius thought man could build. The faces of kings looked down on him from up on high.
He thought they seemed disapproving. Jerius straightened his shoulders and squared himself against their stares.
“My King,” the high priest said. “I informed you that I would bring to you the new Priest of Arranus. I thought you might wish to instruct him in the ways of your court and tell him of whom you’ve chosen as a new Prince of Arranus.”
The high priest bowed again, hand on his chest. As he dipped down, Jerius thought he saw the smallest hint of a smile.
“My condolences, again, for the loss of your son. My nephew was a strong prince. He would have made a great king one day,” he said. Jerius did not hear a tone of regret or sorrow at all. Perhaps he had little to fear from the high priest knowing of his hand in the prince’s death after all.
The king sniffed from his place, but did not answer immediately. Two breaths passed before Jerius saw him clap his hands above his head and many people moved from the shadows up to him. One brought a container of liquid. They poured this into a goblet and handed it to the king. He took a sip before handing it back and waving off the servant. Another stood beside him with a tray of food.
The king didn’t touch it.
He only stared down at them.
“I would have you save your sympathy,” he finally said after what seemed a very long pause to Jerius. “Instead, grieve for those taken to death’s door too soon by the invading heretics. Should we not concern ourselves with them?”
The king finally stood and began to descend the many stairs that lead down to the floor where Jerius stood with the high priest. Jerius recognized the king had not yet said who would be the Prince of Arranus.
“We do grieve for those who go to guide us before their time,” Regis said. “But perhaps in their wisdom they can show us what we are to do to beat back the heretics invading our land.”
King Gravis scoffed as he examined both the high priest and Jerius. There was no hiding the anger that he had for the man. The high priest managed to keep a look of deference on his face, but he showed no signs of backing down or cowering. When his eyes came to rest on Jerius, the new priest struggled to stand straight under the king’s icy stare.
“You consult the dead,” the king said, finally turning his attention back to the high priest. “I will speak to my generals.”
Jerius took a breath. He was free from the dark blue eyes of the king and he felt a weight lift off of him. The high priest simply smiled.
“I would very much like to discuss the matter of this war we are facing.”
The king raised an eyebrow at him.
“What do you know of battle strategy, Priest?” Gravis nearly spat. “I’ve fought these raiders before. I lost men to their magic and spells and witchcraft. I know the horrors of war that our troops are facing. What advice do you have, oh studier of books?”
Jerius understood now why the high priest did not hold back his critique of the king. The ruling monarch was certainly not being careful with his own words. Having to grow up beside such a man must have been a burden.
“I would li
ke to discuss the enemy general, Holve, who your guards allowed to escape just as he was under the blade of your best executioner,” the high priest said. His face showed no signs of improperness, but his words bit even at Jerius. He felt just as responsible for the failed execution as anyone. He should’ve recognized the strangers in the crowd.
The king sniffed again and turned to walk down towards a small door in the side of the hall. He waved them after him and they followed. When they reached the portal, the king dismissed his guards and servants who had tried to follow them from hidden alcoves. Jerius looked back and nodded at Luca, meaning for her to wait as well. It felt right to direct her. Jerius would soon have many more obeying his commands.
The small room that they entered was three times as large as the study the high priest had presented to Jerius. A table off to the side held exotic fruits and grapes and bread, as well as several bottles of a dark liquid Jerius was unfamiliar with. The king walked slowly towards the table before turning to look at the high priest.
“Speak,” he commanded. The very syllable felt powerful to Jerius. This was a man who knew his authority.
Regis walked over to the table and took a bite of food before obeying the king. A small act of defiance.
“My sources tell me Holve and his cohorts are still in the city. He has not yet found a way to escape,” the high priest said as he took a cork from the bottle and poured himself a glass of the dark liquid. He picked up the glass and tilted it several times before drinking it. “Were you to release some of your soldiers to me, I think we could find him and bring him the death he deserves.”
“What good would killing Holve do?” the king replied angrily.
His eyes were flashing and his breathing was heavy.
Jerius wondered if this was something that King Gravis had thought about. He was old enough to have fought against Holve in the Rift Wars. Did he remember him? Did he know the famous general in question?
“We would only kill him after we had obtained the information you and I both desire,” Regis said. “I do not think it is by incident that he shows up at the precise moment the heretics decide to invade. They have obviously been working together for some time.”
Jerius made his face a mask of blank emotion. This couldn’t be true. He was the one who had found Holve on an island far out at sea. There had been no collusion between him and the magic users. At least none that Jerius had seen firsthand.
Should he tell the high priest this, or should he allow the man to make assumptions in order to pursue his own goals?
Jerius held his tongue.
“I have no guards to spare,” the king said.
Jerius knew this could not be true. The guards of the king were everywhere. Several hundred were in the palace alone. The king had determined to hold back these guards for personal use. Perhaps the king had other uses for them other than his own safety?
What did the high priest know that Jerius did not?
“Perhaps, then,” the high priest said, turning back to the food table and not looking at the king. “You would give my guards permission to search the city unhindered? Recently every group I have sent out has reported they feel flanked by your troops. Like you were having them followed.”
The king’s expression was sour. It was almost as if he hadn’t figured the high priest would have known about this detail. He scowled at him before he set his shoulders and took a long look at the high priest.
“You want me to stop having my guards follow yours?” he asked. He plucked up a grape and tossed it into his mouth. “Then perhaps you would allow the funds to be given to rebuild the wall of Juttis?”
The high priest returned the king’s stare. Jerius felt the two men’s hatred of one another boiling, making the room feel uncomfortable and hot. He resisted the urge he felt to back away from them. He must look strong. He must be strong.
“I will consider this a deal made,” the high priest said. He extended his hand to the king, who looked reluctant but reached out his own, and they shook.
The high priest let go and took a step back, bowing.
“My Priest and I will retire then, to take care of these matters.”
The king waved him off and they walked out of the room. Jerius made a bow, but he was certain the king didn’t pay him any attention. Instead he turned to the table of food and grabbed something else to eat.
Once they had returned to the hallway with their guards and attendants, Jerius felt comfortable enough to ask.
“What do you plan to do, now that your guards can move about freely?”
The high priest didn’t slow his pace. He didn’t even turn to look at Jerius. But the corners of his mouth twitched into a sinister smile.
“I have, so far, only sent out my dogs,” he said. “It’s time to loose the wolves.”
8: Little Lost
Serinde made her way through the crowded streets close to the Green Rose. She hated that little Olma had run out on them while they were meeting. What she hated more was that she was the only one who could blend into the surroundings well enough to not cause a panic. Unlike most of the people of the Theocracy, she was tall and slender, but her blonde hair and face looked more like a native of Ladis than any other of their group.
Save for her elf ears that gave her away. These she hid with a hood, even though it was warm outside. She hoped that no one jostled her enough to make it fall off. Then they’d be in a real mess.
Vendors and stall owners, buyers and merchants filled the area. People shouted out their wares and their prices in the summer heat. Even the tall stone buildings that lined the streets did little to cool the air. If anything else, the stones felt like they gave off the heat they absorbed all day and made things hotter still.
Serinde pushed onward. Olma had to be near. She was only a little child. Ten years old and unaccustomed to a big city. Why would she choose to wander off? Why did she escape the safety of the inn?
Serinde paused a moment and stood by a vender offering her dried lizard or the remnants of some other scaly animal. She politely declined.
“No pretty eats for the pretty lady?” the greasy man said. His hair hung down into his eyes and his fingers kept twitching as he eyed Serinde.
She looked down at the dried foods and things skewered on sticks and shook her head again.
“No, thank you,” she said as politely as she could muster. Her stomach was already sick with worry about Olma. She didn’t need to add any sickness to herself by eating more foreign food. She was looking all around the street as her tension began to grow. What would a little girl like Olma do in such a large city? Where would she go? Where would she want to go?
“Nothing?” said a voice close to her ear. Serinde felt the hand of the greasy haired man wrap around her arm. “Such a pretty lady...”
Before she could think about what she was doing, Serinde whirled around and punched the man in the jaw. Hard. He let out a howl of pain as she adjusted herself and her robe, put her hair behind her ears, and stared down at the man. He was curled over in pain.
“Don’t. Touch. Me,” she intoned as fiercely as she could muster. Her breathing was hard and she was red hot with anger. Or maybe that was the sun on her head?
“Elf!” someone shouted.
“An elf!” another voice rang out.
“Call the King’s Guard! An elf!”
Serinde swore and threw her hood back up over her head. Arms were reaching to grab her, but as nimbly and quickly as she could, she shoved and dodged until she was running down the street. People were still shouting at her, even as she took her second and third turn. She was totally lost now. People were shouting for guards. Then Serinde saw them, running from different directions, to the intersection she was standing at. A group of four men in the green and black of the Theocracy, as well as three women with the brown of the Temple.
She didn’t think to try to blend in, act like she was supposed to be where she was and not an elf in a land of humans. All of tha
t logic failed her. She ran. The guards gave chase and she did her best to outpace them.
Knocking over a cart and a barrel as she hurtled down the street, men and women alike shouted at her as she ran. The guards shouted their own curses in her direction, but she didn’t stop long enough to decipher them. She just ran. Reaching another intersection, she looked behind her to see the guards getting closer. Stepping left, she saw that the way was blocked by more guards coming her way. Choosing the only path available to her, she ran down an alley and through another until she ended up on a street that was a little less crowded.
She could still hear the shouts of the guards behind her. Doing her best to calm her breathing and walk slowly in one direction, she noticed that more guards were just further down the street. She needed to stop running. She needed to hide.
Serinde turned down a very small alley that was flanked by several stories tall buildings. All of a sudden, the atmosphere changed. The sound of the streets was gone. The shouts of guards and merchants alike vanished. It was very sudden and quite unusual. Serinde found herself surrounded by several stone pillars. Incense was wafting in the air. An older couple hobbled past her and into the street, arm in arm, looking mournful as they left.
The little alcove was so peaceful and tranquil that Serinde thought that this must be a decent place to hide. She walked quickly further into the area before sitting down in front of a pillar with a banner hung on it. Several moments of trying to steady her breathing passed before she realized she was not alone.
There was someone next to her, their head bowed in a silent prayer.
Someone very young.
“Olma?” Serinde asked, nearly falling over in her surprise.
The little girl looked up and seemed unimpressed to find Serinde sitting next to her. She didn’t even look scared or lost at all. Serinde found that hard to believe and even felt herself getting heated. This girl was here! Safe and fine! And she had been worried about her.
