by Ben Hale
The Forge of
Light
By Ben Hale
Text Copyright © 2014 Ben Hale
All Rights Reserved
To my family and friends,
who believed
And to my wife,
who is perfect
The Chronicles of Lumineia
By Ben Hale
—The White Mage Saga—
Assassin's Blade (Short story prequel)
The Last Oracle
The Sword of Elseerian
Descent Unto Dark
Impact of the Fallen
The Forge of Light
—The Second Draeken War—
Elseerian
The Gathering
Seven Days
The List Unseen
—The Warsworn—
The Flesh of War
The Age of War
The Heart of War (Dec 2015)
Table of Contents
Prologue: A Voice from the Dark
Part 1
Chapter 1: Visions of the Past
Chapter 2: Visions of the Future
Chapter 3: The Architect
Chapter 4: Commander
Chapter 5: The Coalition
Chapter 6: A Sniper's Mind
Chapter 7: The Stacks
Chapter 8: Killers in the Night
Chapter 9: A Secret Task
Chapter 10: Unto Dawn
Part 2
Chapter 11: Facing the Dark
Chapter 12: The Halo of Dawn
Chapter 13: The Hope of Nations
Chapter 14: Incursion
Chapter 15: Mage or Man
Chapter 16: Hunting the Master
Chapter 17: The Master of Flesh
Chapter 18: The Patriarch
Chapter 19: Vault of the Thief
Chapter 20: Hawk's Gift
Chapter 21: Dead in the Water
Chapter 22: Beachhead
Chapter 23: From the Deep
Chapter 24: Last Resort
Chapter 25: A Daughter Grown
Part 3
Chapter 26: Flight
Chapter 27: The Master's Lair
Chapter 28: Entity of Luck
Chapter 29: The Third Talisman
Chapter 30: Immortalian
Chapter 31: The Location
Chapter 32: Envoy
Chapter 33: Fallen
Chapter 34: Severed
Part 4
Chapter 35: Wrath of Oracles
Chapter 36: All-Seeing Iris
Chapter 37: Heart of Stone
Chapter 38: Depths of the Dark
Chapter 39: The Black Reaver
Chapter 40: A General's Might
Chapter 41: Plummet
Chapter 42: A New Target
Chapter 43: The Aspect of Justice
Chapter 44: Into the Dark
Chapter 45: An Oracle's Will
Chapter 46: Dying
Chapter 47: The Forge of Light
Chapter 48: Daybreak
Epilogue: Remembering
The Chronicles of Lumineia
Author Bio
Prologue: A Voice from the Dark
Leashed by threads of darkness, the Twisted strained to advance the cloud that had absorbed much of the Earth. A hundred feet from the human defensive line they came to an abrupt halt. Snarling their hatred, the black creatures retreated out of sight. Then another figure appeared.
Well off the ground, Alice glided out of the Dark. Wisps of shadow cascaded off her form as she became visible. Then she waited for the army on the beach to notice her. As cameras located her form, she began to speak.
You are the survivors of this world . . .
Millions of rasping whispers combined into a single voice as the Dark spoke—but the words came from her. Sinister and rending, they pierced the minds of every man, woman, and child gathered across North and South America. From the coast of Washington D.C., she addressed the gathering.
Your defiance is admirable . . . but it is futile . . .
The words echoed and re-echoed through the army that lined the continent in a seamless barricade. Soldiers from a hundred nations filled the ranks. Militias, gun clubs, and even gangs had joined. All fought for a dying freedom. Huddled behind makeshift barricades and hastily constructed bunkers, they represented a desperate defense. Terror seeped through them like poison, causing hearts and hands to tremble.
I do not seek your end . . . only your obedience . . .
Across the center of the United States the refugees halted where they stood. Endless stacks of steel shipping containers were placed in neat rows, temporary housing for the displaced. Mothers huddled inside the metal boxes, clenching their eyes shut against the oppressive voice. Small children clung to them, whimpering in fear.
To kneel is to live . . . to fight is to die . . .
The Dark reached to the heavens in a forbidding wall, its limitless hunger fed by light, heat, and every known energy. The whole of the Earth had been devoured except for the American continents, where the remnant of free peoples had gathered.
I would have brought you peace . . .
Over six billion of mankind had been Twisted, but they were a mere fraction of Alice's army. Bears, wolves, and other beasts had become brutes. Robbed of their minds, their bodies were leashed to the Dark's will and augmented for combat. Their forms prowled the black threshold, waiting for her order to invade.
But you have chosen war!
Her surge of anger caused soldier and civilian alike to flinch. The heat could be felt even through the harsh whispers. Many cried out in fear. Others sank to their knees in silence. Alice reined in her emotions with difficulty and then spoke in a deathly calm.
At dawn my army comes . . . and by dusk it will be finished . . .
Her ultimatum given, Alice fell silent. The sun finally set, plunging the gathered races into their last night of freedom. Alice withdrew from the threshold, fighting to suppress her budding rage.
The mages had defied her will and joined her daughter in uniting the former nations. Alice's lips curled into a sneer as she thought of Tess. The girl had destroyed her plans time and again, and deserved the same fate as the aurens.
She glided through the Dark until she reached her eastern general. At twenty feet in height, the Aspect of Justice resembled an angel. Its shimmering white wings hung still and its massive sword touched point down. Lashing its will to hers had been one of the greatest challenges she had ever endured. The endless Twisted awaited its order, and it awaited hers.
She clenched her fists. The Aspect's position had been intended for Tess. Now her daughter stood on the opposite side of this conflict. She threw the sentient being a glance and decided that perhaps it was for the best. As powerful as Tess was she was not suited for the role of general. The Aspect had been crafted by the oracle of Atlantis for a unique purpose, and had been given a name.
War ender.
Part 1
Chapter 1: Visions of the Past
Auroraq
Two Days Until Dawn
Tess gasped and fell to her knees. Siarra was at her side in an instant. "What did you see?"
"More than I wanted to," Tess replied. Accepting Siarra’s hand, she rose to her feet but closed her eyes until the images settled.
Siarra flashed a sympathetic look. "Fear of our fate blocks our farsight. You must push past your fears."
Her vision now focused, Tess met the gaze of her ancient ancestor. Siarra Elseerian, ancient oracle of Lumineia, had shifted from statue to flesh an hour ago. Ento
mbed in the guardian spell for over nine thousand years, Siarra had waited until now to reveal her presence. Siarra had wasted no time in guiding Tess to use her farsight. Still in the World Room of Tryton's Academy of Magic, Siarra had helped her achieve a glimpse of the immediate future.
Siarra’s forehead creased and she repeated, "What did you see?"
"In two days the Dark will reach the eastern and western coastlines of the United States and Brazil," Tess said, and told her about Alice's ultimatum. The image of the Dark closing like monumental jaws onto the American continents flashed across her mind, and she could not suppress a shudder.
"Excellent," Siarra said, her eyebrows pulling together in thought. "Now that we know what is coming, we can take steps to change it."
"How?" Tess asked in surprise. "How do we stop this?"
She was still struggling with the idea of Siarra being alive. Having an ancestor step out of history was not what she'd expected when following Hawk's dying request. She had never dreamed that one of the most powerful ancient oracles had been sitting at Tryton's for millennia. To have Siarra standing in front of her was both surreal and intimidating.
"You make a choice," Siarra replied. "Every choice we make impacts the future. When you know what is coming, you have the ability to choose a different path. Even the smallest choices have a ripple effect . . . and can alter even the result of war.
"You don't defeat the Dark in the moment of conflict," Siarra continued, her voice intensifying. "You destroy the Dark here, when you see what is coming and change it. You know better than I that the situation is dire. In my time all life stood on the brink of extinction. Today, freedom of will is what will die. It's imperative that you see this battle before it occurs."
"Even Hawk did not know how to stop the Dark," Tess said. "How can I figure it out in two days?"
"Because my mother already did," Siarra said, and then quoted Ianna's prophecy. "Four talismans she will require. The Crest of the Oracle is the first, the thief will steal the second, and the troll king will bear the third. The fourth she will have to find on her own, for I know not its location."
Siarra motioned to the pendent around Tess's neck. "You have only the first, Tess."
Tess felt a spark of irritation at the implication. She'd been fighting Alice's Harbingers even before coming to Tryton's. The lack of sleep and the mountain of worry caused her temper to rise.
"Why didn't you come out before?" Tess asked. She didn't try to keep her anger from her voice. "If you had shown up at the beginning you could have stopped all this, or helped me find the talismans. Use your farsight."
"I cannot," Siarra said, and for the first time appeared weary. "The guardian spell I endured had a price. The curse magnifies the innate power of the receiver—but will eventually consume them. The more power you possess . . . the quicker the enchantment destroys your mind. Because of this farsight is no longer within my ability."
Tess's anger disintegrated as she heard the truth in Siarra's voice. I'll live a few days, no more.
"Did you know the consequences before you cast it?"
"I did," Siarra replied, "but perhaps it is best if you see for yourself. May I show you?"
Tess nodded, and Siarra closed the gap between them. She touched her temple and withdrew a shining thread. Then she reached out and touched Tess's mind, and her thoughts faded into Siarra's memory . . .
***
Siarra Elseerian stared into the empty reservoir at her feet. Unused for millennia it still bore the marks of the ones forced to endure it. Beast and man had gouged grooves into the black, anti-magic material as the agony of the enchantment ravaged their bodies.
Few had survived.
Those that did saw their inherent power magnified tenfold. Bears became massive beasts capable of shredding an entire company of horsemen. Panthers grew to gigantic proportions, capable of protecting cities. The two guardians of the city where she stood were such an example. For thousands of years they had killed intruders and guarded the decaying citadel.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Newhawk spoke at her side.
She threw him a glance. "My mother said the Last Oracle would need help from us."
"I'm still not convinced she had this in mind."
Siarra didn't answer and turned back to the reservoir below her. It had taken her years to find this secret chamber inside Verisith, and many more to learn the nature of the enchantment.
"What about your son and granddaughter?" Hawk asked.
"They live their lives well," she replied. "And they will guide the school with wisdom in my absence."
They would be the hardest to leave, but Siarra had already said her goodbyes the best she could without revealing her intentions. Her family knew her love for them, and that was all she could ask for.
"What about your students?" Newhawk asked.
"You know they will be well taught in my absence. Tryton's Academy of Magic has surpassed even Braon's expectations, and looks to stand for many years to come."
Her tone was confident, but it was truly what she would miss the most, aside from her family. The student's zeal and desire for knowledge rivaled hers in her youth, and she laughed inwardly at their impatience—a trait she too had exhibited early in life.
The halls, lectures, and secrets of the school were as dear to her as her own soul. For a long moment she closed her eyes and recalled the rush of footfalls as students moved about their schedules, and the whisper of parchment being unrolled followed by the crackle of magic. Most would say that her role in the Second Draeken War was her greatest achievement, but to her the establishment of the school ranked far greater.
A frown creased her features as she recalled the war. The invasion of Draeken's fiends had devastated their world, and every soul had felt the heartache of loss. Following the war the kingdoms had struggled to rebuild. The magic guilds, autonomous throughout history, could not continue divided. Tryton's had signified more than just building a school. It had been a symbol of unity for the mages of Lumineia.
"Siarra," Newhawk said, interrupting her memories. "You are one of the last survivors of the War. Once you are gone they will begin to forget."
She turned to face him. "You're as capable as I am at guarding the peace."
Their conversation had the ring of repetition, causing her to smile. There was nothing new he could say that would change her mind.
"Are you sure you can survive at your—"
"Age?" Her voice had an edge to it now. "I'm not so old as to forget my responsibility."
"I don't believe—"
"Hawk," she said. "I am committed to this course, and you have committed to my aid. As you said, I am getting old, and my grave beckons. Would you have me pass away in silence when there is someone in need?"
"Their generation must fend for itself," Newhawk said. "Your responsibility is now. Unrest is growing in the kingdoms even as they expand, and there is talk of a conflict brewing in the north. You know the treaties are losing support. You are needed at this time."
She stabbed a finger at him. "Why are you not with Archeantial?"
He flinched at the shift in topic. "Because Reiquen and I have accepted our place."
"You want a family," she pressed. "And so does she. If I don't do this, your nest will be threatened just as much as my descendent. I am as committed as you."
He glared at her, and then issued a bark of laughter. "When you get angry it's like seeing you during the War." He released a sigh. "Have you said goodbye to Jack?"
Her throat tightened as she recalled her long dead husband. "If I don't survive you will place me in his tomb. If I do, I will have the chance to visit later."
He released a grunt. "You said you would have to stay in solid form. How will you visit his grave?"
She sidestepped the question. "Every time I change to flesh and blood I risk the madness of the enchantment. It is imperative that I remain a statue until my descendent is truly in need."
"Siar
ra—"
Her gaze flicked to his, and he fell silent. Then he sighed, and said, "Perhaps I do not want to see a dear friend die."
Emotion welled within her. "You have been my family for a long time," she said, and embraced him. "That is why you are here."
"To kill you." There was bitterness in his voice now.
"Hopefully not," she replied, and flashed a smile.
She nodded to him and then stepped into the reservoir. Before her courage could fail her she strode to the bottom. Although it was unnecessary, she took her time. Everything was in place. The stone in the large cauldron above had been simmering for the requisite time, and the magic had infused it properly. Even though the forbidden guardian spell had not been performed in a sentenium, she believed she had cast it correctly.
The seconds stretched as she steeled herself for what was to come, but her fear remained. She reached down and clipped the shackles around her feet, ashamed that her hands trembled. For months she had dismissed all thought of what the magic would do to her, and focused instead on the preparation. Now as she stood in the reservoir she had no other distractions. Her swallow sounded loud in the stillness. Then she turned and faced Newhawk. Afraid that her voice would betray her, she forced a nod.
His features twisted with worry, he shook his head. Then he touched the lever that would pour the cauldron into the reservoir. Seconds ticked away, and still he did not turn it. His hand quivered, and a tear glistened on his cheek.
"I never thought I would see a phoenix feel fear." She said it with a smile, but he jerked his head.
"A phoenix feels fear for the ones he loves."
Her throat tightened. "I will not blame you if I die," she said quietly.
He jerked his head. "But I will blame myself."
"Please," she said, and the pleading in her voice was evident. "I lack the courage to do it myself."
He closed his eyes, and nodded. Clenching his fist he began to turn the lever. The ancient machinery clanked as the gears rotated the cauldron, pouring the boiling liquid into the reservoir. She held her breath as it touched the curving channels that wrapped around the pit.
