by Ben Hale
“Sorry,” she grumbled as Red furiously sought to warm the frost on her tunic. “She doesn’t like being woken early.”
“It’s nightfall,” Red exclaimed. “It’s hardly early.”
“It’s always early,” Marrow said, and then yawned. “What’s happened?”
“We’re invading the village,” Raiden said.
Marrow’s eyes sparkled with delight. “When?”
“As soon as Winter returns,” he replied.
Red was forced to distract the bouncing Marrow to prevent her charging into the village by herself. As the sun sank below the horizon a whisper of movement heralded the arrival of the Verinai.
“Are we going in?” Winter asked.
“Tonight,” Raiden said.
“About time,” Lorth said. “I’m tired of listening to the children asking their mothers why they can’t go outside.”
Jester gestured to the street below. “They outnumber us by four to one, and have weapons enchanted by Elsin to guard against just such an incursion.”
“We have Marrow,” Red said, causing her to giggle.
“Do we know who they are?” Winter asked.
Raiden shook his head. “No.”
“Yes,” Red said. All looked to her in surprise and she said, “This afternoon I saw the tavern owner step outside. It was just for a moment but a glimpse was enough to recognize him. He’s the bandit known as the Red Hand.”
Winter raised an eyebrow. “I thought he was captured by the Runeguard before the war. He was supposed to be executed.”
“It appears Elsin turned the bandits into her own mercenaries,” Raiden said. Although it came as a surprise, it wasn’t overly unexpected. Elsin and Teriah wouldn’t have wanted to hire a regular mercenary band for risk of talk. Creating a new group ensured anonymity.
“The man is arrogant and cruel,” Red said. “Not to mention devious.”
“Can she please punish him?” Marrow asked. “We don’t like bullies.”
Raiden hesitated, and then gestured in invitation. “If you want to face the bandit leader, you are welcome to it—but I’ll go with you. Remember, we need him alive.” He turned to the others. “Marrow and I will go into the tavern and act as bait. When they come to us, Winter will attack the streets. Jester and Red will eliminate the sentries and free the villagers.”
“If we’re late you’ll be overwhelmed and crushed,” Winter warned.
“So don’t be late,” Raiden said.
She nodded and they gathered their gear. Raiden waited while Jester and Red infiltrated the village, taking their positions closest to the blacksmith and the warehouse. Then Raiden and Marrow entered the village.
They trudged down the street like weary travelers, calling out a greeting to the men playing dice on a porch. The sentries smiled and nodded, but one got up and left to spread the word.
“Keep your pace even,” Raiden murmured. “We need to get inside the tavern before they get suspicious.”
“She knows how to be cautious,” Marrow said.
“You’re bouncing up and down.”
“Sorry,” she said, but didn’t stop. “Sorry,” she repeated with a grin. “I won’t let you down, captain.”
“The last time we fought, you nearly turned me into a horse,” he said.
“I’d forgotten about that,” Marrow said with a giggle. “It was fun, though.”
Raiden rubbed his forehead and then ascended the steps to the tavern. Upon entry, he scanned the room, marking the dozen soldiers dressed as fishermen and villagers. The man at the bar looked up at their approach and smiled, his eyes sliding off Raiden to look at Marrow.
“Travelers,” he said. “It may be troubling times but we’re happy to see you . . .”
His eyes flicked back to Raiden and went wide in recognition. Then he went rigid and opened his mouth to shout a warning. Before he could, Raiden raised a finger and pointed to the Red Hand.
“Marrow, you are unleashed.”
Releasing a maniacal laugh, Marrow morphed into a rock troll.
Her clothes swelled to contain her suddenly massive form, the stitching impossibly holding as she rose to ten feet in height. Muscles rippled across her arms as she discarded her cloak and flexed her hands. Only her head remained the same—now tiny atop a massive body. Such magic was unheard of, causing the entire tavern to freeze in shock and sudden fear. In the ensuing stillness she giggled—and charged.
She slammed into the bar, tearing through the wood as if it were parchment. Catching the Red Hand about the throat, she charged right through the wall, carrying him outside and throwing him bodily against the neighboring building. Then she caught his foot and hurled him across the street like he was a sack of potatoes. Her roar of delight was terrifying.
The sudden conflict drew the mercenaries from throughout the village, and they flooded toward the tavern. Ten became twenty, and then scores appeared, each brandishing enchanted weapons. Distantly Raiden heard Winter charge as they reached the street, but his whole attention was on the men in the tavern.
The nearest drew a blade and it glowed to life, the steel burning like an ember. With a wild yell he leapt to Raiden, his sword coming down on Raiden’s cloak. Raiden rotated and struck him in the back of the skull, knocking him to the floor. Then Raiden surged into motion.
The bandits sought to surround and crush him while several leapt outside to help the Red Hand. One came bursting through the wall and crashed through tables and chairs on his way to a stop. Through the opening Raiden watched Marrow backhand a bandit and then kick another before catching the arm of a third. Lifting him above her head, she launched him over a building into the sea. His shriek faded until he splashed into the water.
Raiden ducked and twisted, spinning his sword to keep the bandits at bay. Sprinting to the broken bar, he darted through the opening and then twisted, plunging his sword into the gap to catch the man attempting to follow. Then he leapt to the surviving section of the bar and flipped over two more bandits.
Coming down behind them, he swept this sword across their backs before retreating for the wall. A man leapt for his flank, his searing sword cutting a burning line across a table as he lunged. But Raiden leaned back, bringing his knee up into the man’s face as he tumbled past. He cried out as he crashed through a table, his searing sword clattering to the floor as he grasped his broken nose.
The others moved with more caution and attempted to surround him. Raiden stepped to a table and leapt to a light orb hanging from the rafters. Grabbing the chain, he swung himself over the flashing blades and leapt through the open door, sprinting into a maelstrom of combat in the street.
Bandits lay dead in the road, and one of the Verinai among them. Winter had conjured earth entities, the golems taking the blows from the enchanted weapons so Lorth could strike from the side. With agility active he streaked among the bandits, cutting them down.
Sounds of battle came from within the salt warehouse and the blacksmith, followed by the doors bursting open at the blacksmith shop and a body tumbling into the street. The man managed to grab his sword and rise—into Marrow’s hand.
She palmed his skull and tossed him through a window above, where he crashed out of view. Cackling, Marrow charged about the battle, striking the mercenaries with abandon. A trio leapt in behind her and fired enchanted bows, the arrows plunging into her back. She went rigid and rotated to face them, the amusement in her eyes replaced with anger. The trio of archers stumbled back at her scowl.
“She dislikes your lack of honor.”
From thirty paces away they sought to flee, but Marrow brought her hands up. The earth rose up to either side of the fleeing archers, the stone shaping into hands. They cried out in fear as Marrow brought her hands together and the hands closed in a crushing clap.
Although they had the numbers, the bandits began to flee, sprinting away from the mad rock troll with the tiny head. The retreat quickly turned into a rout as they fled, leaving their dead and
wounded.
Raiden deflected a final strike and kicked the woman in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs and sending her to the street. Then he placed his sword on her throat and she reluctantly tossed her sword away.
“Winter,” he called. “Round them up and take their weapons.”
She nodded, and the Verinai began disarming the remaining soldiers, whereupon one began to heal the wounded. Oblivious to the end of the combat, Marrow playfully chased the remaining soldiers into the woods, returning a moment later as her normal self.
Raiden stepped to the broken form of the Red Hand. He clenched his numerous wounds, his face twisted in agony. But despite what Marrow had done, it seemed she’d cushioned her blows, preventing his body from shattering.
Villagers stepped into view from the warehouse, blacksmith shop, and tavern, their eyes lifting to the night sky as they cried out in delight. The Red Hand scowled and glared at Raiden as if he’d committed a crime.
“You will help me,” Raiden said, and gestured to Marrow. “Or I’ll leave you to her mercy.”
The man swallowed. “What do you want?”
“Master Skerl,” he said. “Is he beneath the village?”
“We’re just the gate,” he said. He jerked his head toward the sea. “What you’re looking for is out there.”
Chapter 29: The Birth of Magic
Toron had been in prison before, but never with a pirate rock troll. Galathon and his band prowled about like caged beasts, the tension rising by the moment. Toron spent much of his time in one of the rooms adjacent to the main prison, alone.
Conflicts erupted and each time Galathon ended them with a barked command. Food was provided through a channel at the back of the main hall, but the mind reaver refused to eat this close to its prey. Severon stalked the edge of the prison wall, its growls reverberating back to the tense pirates.
Four days after their imprisonment Toron was sleeping in his chosen cell when the door abruptly slammed shut, as did the other doors of the prison. Rising, he stepped to the door and peered through the small window. A handful of the pirates had chosen cells like his and they pounded on their doors, shouting in anger. Galathon had chosen the entire main hall as his bedchamber and slumbered on the floor, oblivious to the din. Severon raised its head and then rose to its feet, releasing a snarl in Toron’s direction.
A whisper of machinery heralded the opening of a second door at the rear of Toron’s cell. He whirled, drawing on the shadows of the room to craft a pair of blades. But a burst of blinding light shredded his weapons and caused him to shield his eyes.
He’d expected a person, but instead the opening revealed an empty corridor. Curious, he stepped to it and peered down the hall. To his surprise it ran the length of the prison and connected to the other cells. None of the other cells were open. A blinking light invited him to approach the end of the corridor but he hesitated, wondering if he should refuse the obvious invitation.
Frowning, he stepped out of his cell and followed the hallway to the end of the corridor. The walls were pristine and white and emitted a bright glow. Smooth to the touch, the material was not steel or stone, yet just as formidable. He tried fire on the walls but could not damage the barrier.
The corridor did not bend or fork, and went straight to its destination, a small room a short distance from the prison. He came to a halt at the transparent door and frowned. In the room beyond, an X shaped table sat on a raised section of the floor, the surface containing restraints and shackles. Strange machinery extended from the vaulted ceiling and pointed to the table. Toron’s flesh crawled as he recognized it as a place of experimentation.
The experimentation chamber sat in a larger chamber, one obviously intended for observation. Elsin, Mal, and a third figure appeared from another corridor and walked up to the clear walls. Then Toron recognized her. Meressa, second Empress Oracle of the Empire stood with Elsin.
He’d thought Elsin was acting against the council. But if that was true, why was Meressa present? Her appearance left Toron feeling uncertain, and he looked between the two, trying to glean the truth from their expressions.
“Only the disturbed would like such a refuge,” Toron said.
Elsin smiled and swept her hand at the room. “You do not like it? This room is the birthplace of magic.”
“This?” he snorted in disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”
She shrugged and pointed to the ceiling. “This entire island served a single purpose, to test and measure the race of man.”
“Only man?” he asked.
She released a mocking laugh. “There is so much lost to the ravages of time—much lost on purpose. The little that remained of ancient secrets was hidden in this city. To even set foot on this island would have invited your death. And trust me when I say, you do not wish to meet the city guardians.”
“How did one so weak as yourself find a way inside?” he asked.
Red blossomed in her cheeks but she controlled her anger. “With this.”
She held aloft a small pyramid. Purple and glowing, it seemed to pulse with life and absorb the light of the room. It fit into her hand yet exuded power, and he recognized it as the object Mal had stolen from the ancient tower.
She smirked as he retreated a step. “Such fear of the unknown,” she chided. “This once controlled the ancient vessel where you found Marrow, but it had been taken and placed in their outpost on the coast. Mal retrieved it and brought it here. The machines on the island recognized us as one of their own, and so we were permitted passage.”
“Marrow helped you get here,” he guessed.
Elsin swept her hands at the city. “Much of what I know about the ancients came from Marrow. Her abilities may be chaotic, but asking the right questions eventually led me to this city. I can only imagine if I had more time with her, what secrets I would learn.”
“She doesn’t know anything about the ancient race,” he said.
“She knows what she wants to know,” Elsin replied, her eyes glittering with excitement. “Can you imagine? Simply wanting truth and it comes?”
“Marrow will do much for our cause,” Meressa said. “When we have her again, Elsin can continue her work.”
“I’m not letting you have my sister,” Toron growled.
“You have no choice.” Meressa’s features tightened with regret. “The mage war has killed two of my oracle sisters,” she said. “With Marrow’s aid, Guildmaster Elsin has discovered the means to replace them.”
“You cannot bring them back from the dead,” Toron said.
“Of course not,” Meressa said. “But now we can now create a new oracle.”
He scowled. “You think you can trust Elsin?”
“The balance must be kept,” Meressa said. “Elsin has always sought the ancient secrets, and now her passion will save the oracle’s council.”
“And you think this machine will turn her into an oracle?” Toron asked, stabbing a finger at the ominous table.
“I know it,” Elsin said. “So be grateful I am permitting you to watch.”
She reached to a panel at her side and touched a symbol, and the door on the opposite side of the room swished open, rising into the ceiling. Toron put a hand against the door that separated him from the experimentation chamber, but it was as solid as the prison wall. Elsin and Meressa entered and Elsin produced a vial of blood.
“The ancients used this machine to test what mages could do,” she said. “They never suspected how powerful we would become. The other chambers were destroyed in the Dawn of Magic, and this is the only one that remains intact.”
“Meressa,” Toron said. “She will betray you, just as she betrayed me.”
“Her plan is sound,” the oracle said. “With her on the council we can rebuild what Alydian has destroyed.”
“And Teriah?” he demanded. “She condones this action?”
Meressa’s expression tightened. “My sister has lost herself to the war, and seeks only to destroy
Elenyr and Alydian. She does not perceive the cost.”
“You cannot trust Elsin,” he repeated. “You do not understand.”
Meressa shook her head and turned away, and helped Elsin slot the vial into the machine. “Ciana died at Alydian’s hand,” she said quietly. “And I was forced to extract this sample from her corpse. It is the only way to continue her bloodline.”
Mal entered the chamber with a pair of bracers, which Elsin placed on her arms. Both were socketed with clear runestones bearing the symbol of magic. When she was ready she reclined on the bed and nodded to Mal.
“Son,” Toron pleaded. “Please don’t do this.”
“Mother knows truth,” he intoned.
Meressa stepped back as the machine glowed to life, the two arms extending to touch her wrists, directly over the clear spheres. Light blossomed in the room, causing Toron to shield his eyes from the glare.
He expected a shout, a burst of noise, but the silence was even more disturbing. As the light faded he lowered his hand to see both spheres glowing like miniature suns. Her face flushed with excitement, Elsin rose and raised her hands. When she spoke her voice was low and tense.
“The ancients used flaws in our blood to give us magic,” she said, her eyes bright with triumph as she examined the blinding spheres. “This machine measured Ciana’s blood and evaluated its potential. With Meressa’s aid I cast these spheres to mimic flesh. One amplious to empower my magic, and one ocleon to possess all the magics of an oracle.”
“Are you going to explain it or test them?” Meressa asked, her voice becoming impatient.
Elsin raised her left hand and summoned a spark of lightning. She laughed in delight and then spun the ambient air into a miniature storm. Although she possessed nine talents, both lightning and air were not among them.
Until now.
“We did it,” Meressa breathed. “An oracle’s magic has been replicated.”
“We did,” Elsin said, staring in wonder at the storm in her hands.
