by Robert Day
“Valdieron, you are wounded.”
“Yes, master. It is not a bad wound.”
“Then why have you not tended to it?”
“I have. It will heal over time, and there is no infection.”
There had to be a reason behind the Master's strange introduction, for seldom did the master offer anything that wasn't important. “I have not the power to heal myself, as I have seen others do.”
“There you are wrong, Valdieron. You have the power, but not the knowledge. Would you like to learn?”
“Of course, master, but there is little time. I need to continue my other magical studies.”
“This will not take long. Just do as I say, and I will show you.”
Valdieron nodded. “All right, show me.”
The master floated forward until he was right in front of Valdieron, and his presence was once again imposing from so close, though Valdieron knew he had no physical form here on Kel'Valor.
“Close your hand around the injury, and concentrate your mind on the wound. You need to be in contact with the wound, whether it is on your own body or somebody else, so you can focus the magic. Now, build in your mind the image of the wound in every detail, and then picture the wound slowly closing, slowly healing, slowly coming together. Picture the blood returning to flow through you, picture a scar as it slowly fades away to clear skin. Picture the pain fading and your arm returning to normal.”
Valdieron did as he was told, concentrating his mind on the job at hand. He closed his eyes to form the picture clearer in his mind, working slowly and meticulously through what the master told him. He felt nothing as he did, apart from a twinge of the skin beneath his hand as he concentrated, but when he finished after what seemed an hour of concentration, he opened his eyes and pulled his hand from his arm to find there was no trace of the wound, save for a smear of blood on the palm of his hand. He gave a start and looked up, but where the master had been only moments before, there was nothing.
“Remember Valdieron, magic is both the most ancient and most basic element in the universe. There is nothing that can not be accomplished with it, should you have the desire and the power.”
Feeling like he had just overcome a major hurdle in his learning, Valdieron turned and walked to the Hall of Magic, the faintest of smiles on his face showing for the first time in many days, as he felt like he was truly getting somewhere.
Chapter 33
Walking beside Andrak, Valdieron watched the gathered crowd around him and looked for any signs of trouble, as the three made their way slowly towards the entrance to the great Stadium of Gladius. Overhead, the afternoon sky was overcast and threatening, and once again he offered a silent prayer to Phaeron to keep the rain away, at least until they were safely inside the stadium.
Looking over at Andrak, he was reminded how a simple change of weather could threaten their entire plan. Dressed in a fine set of clothing, as both Valdieron and Janantar were, Andrak was also wearing a dark sheen of powder over his exposed portions of skin, so he appeared more like a Dak'marian to all but the most skilled observer. His hair, naturally sandy, was dyed also, for there were few sandy haired Dak'marians. He had the tall litheness of the southerners, plus his dark brown eyes were not uncommon.
Valdieron had to admit he did look the part of a Dak'marian lord or nobleman; he just hoped the rain did not come early and ruin their plan.
“Are you sure this is going to work?”
Andrak threw him a reassuring smile, though there was tightness around his eyes that showed even he was not as sure as he appeared. “Don't worry. With Janantar wearing the mask of Kitara's, and us both with invitations, there will be no trouble getting inside. Just worry about getting out.”
“Well, I wish you had remembered that mask earlier, so we could have planned things a little better.”
Somehow the Prince managed an abashed look, though he had already apologized many times for forgetting that the magical mask Kitara had owned had been secreted in the bottom of his pack.
Janantar, looking like a Dak'marian nobleman they had seen that morning, turned sharply to give them a silencing stare, but the youths knew the Elf was simply angry at having to wear the mask rather than from any threat of them being overheard. Around them, the milling crowd winding slowly towards the entrance was buzzing with anticipation and excitement, so there was little chance of being heard from more than a few feet away.
Clutching the invitation the Elf had only that morning returned with, Valdieron nervously kept his eyes downcast as they drew closer to the guards who flanked the entry. Several officials were collecting invitations and ushering the noblemen forward, and although there were many murmurs of anger at having to wait, few spoke loud enough to be heard, at least none who were near the Kiroba guards.
Luckily for Andrak, the officials were more concerned with keeping the line of people moving, so there was only a cursory glance at the invitations to see if they were authentic, before they were ushered through into the sloping passage that led into the stadium.
The passageway leading to the stadium proper was how Valdieron remembered it, though it was more decorated this day, with many tapestries and ornamental carvings and statues situated every few paces, as were the dark and silent Kiroba whose presence forced the steady line of people down the center of the passage. It was also well lit with lanterns set in ornate niches ten feet off the floor, while suspended lanterns of gold hung from the twenty foot ceiling every ten paces. All doors or gates they passed seemed locked, and the armed Kiroba who stood at each made sure they remained so.
“At least we were allowed to keep our weapons,” whispered Andrak as they walked, the buzzing line of eager spectators sweeping them along.
Valdieron knew the reasoning behind that. Besides the difficulty that would have arisen trying to disarm a few thousand noblemen and high-ranking merchants, what possible harm was there by allowing the crowd to be armed? There were enough Kiroba present to stop any small skirmish that might erupt between rival nobles or merchants, even if they were instructed to intervene, while if a larger riot erupted, then weapons or no weapons, the results would be disastrous. These people were warrior-born, despite their ranking and social position.
There was already a sizeable crowd gathered when they emerged into the stadium, with many already pushing for the front seats. Valdieron had already planned in his mind where the most advantageous position would be, and guided Janantar and Andrak to the other side of the stadium, opposite the area where the nobles had been seated in the last combat, and on the second tier of seats. It meant that any Kiroba lining the stadium would take time to reach their position if they were found out in any way, plus it gave them a good view of the arena floor below.
“All right, Janantar, you go to the opposite side of the stadium and wait there. You know what to do if things work out?”
Janantar nodded and clasped each by the shoulder before turning and moving off to his position on the other side of the arena. His role was vital in anything that might happen, for with the mask he was to disguise himself as a Kiroba and look for the Princess once the Combat was under way. His other tasks included finding an escape route, plus acting as an assassin if he had the chance to get close to this man, Zhak Lomar, or any of his magicians if things turned nasty. Valdieron had a bad feeling in his stomach, which was not a good sign, though he hoped it was just nervous anxiety rather than a portent of doom.
The crowd quickly filed into the stadium, bringing with them the buzzing anticipation of the beginning of the Combat. All of the lower tier seats were soon filled, while half of the second and third tiers were occupied. Soon there was a feverish air to the crowd, who seemed to thirst for the bloodshed to begin.
First came the welcoming introduction from the Stadium owner, Zhak Lomar. Not knowing the mysterious figure by sight, Valdieron quickly assumed it was him as soon as he spotted him coming from the lower arena doors, flanked by dark armored Kiroba. With his keen sig
ht, Valdieron could clearly see the tall man striding confidently across the sandy floor, wearing a jewel bedecked robe of crimson. His skin was the normal dark tan of the Dak'marians, and his raven dark hair was straight and hung past his shoulders. He had a trimmed, manicured beard, while gem studded jewelry adorned his fingers and ears. The moment Valdieron saw the man, the feeling of ill in his stomach grew, as did another feeling, but this came from his chest.
“Andrak, this is very bad.”
If the Prince heard over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, he did not respond as Zhak Lomar moved to the center of the arena. The applause slowly died away as he raised his arms, and Valdieron noted that although he appeared middle aged, his body was lithe and athletic, though he did not carry a sword, rather a long staff in his right hand, but it was definitely not to assist his walking.
“Lords and Ladies, distinguished guests and-,” he gave a dramatic pause here and a slight bow to show his mocking tone, “not so distinguished guests.” The crowd laughed as a whole at this, though Valdieron wondered if there were other connotations in the man's words.
“Welcome to Gladius!” A thundering cheer erupted that seemed to shake the very stadium, as feet stamped and hands pounded on wooden seats, but it died quickly as Zhak Lomar waited to speak. “Today marks a great day in the tradition of not only this remarkable city, but for our people. Today is unique, and I am sure that before proceedings are ended this night, all will agree this City and its people will never be the same, such will be the magnitude of what we will witness tonight.”
The words rang like a warning to Valdieron, who could feel about this man Zhak Lomar a force unlike any he had felt before. He was not sure, for his abilities in telling were only new, but he sensed this man was a magician himself, and for him to be picking up the aura from such a distance, he wondered just how powerful he might be. That he was Ashar’an had been all but confirmed by the Bloodguard in Altaire. He had not really thought on those words until now, thinking them to have been used more as a taunt to unsettle him as they fought, but now he was having some very grave thoughts about what was unfolding before him.
He missed some of what Zhak Lomar said next, but caught his final words.
“ for your safety. Please do not touch the barrier, for it will cause substantial injury, though its presence is necessary to prevent any unfortunate incidents that might befall our brave combatants.”
He watched, bemused, as a rippling field of energy suddenly sprang up at the edge of the arena, rising before the first row of seats, twenty feet into the air. Valdieron's skin tingled with the familiar sensation, but it did not take that to realize the field was some sort of barrier. It coruscated faintly and pulsed with a shimmering of colors, proving only a slight visual barrier to what was going on in the arena. Even those in the highest tier would not have been able to see over it. Valdieron wondered if it was truly for the sake of keeping out any assassin's work, or for keeping out other things. He was feeling more ill at ease with every passing moment, wondering at the enormity of what lay before him.
The combats began, even more macabre and bloody than Valdieron had seen previously, and Valdieron could not watch as fight after fight ended in more tragedy and loss. At his side, though caught up in the bizarre spectacle, Andrak let Valdieron know each time Javin fought and won, though with each fight, he dreaded the update from Andrak that would signal the Darishi’s defeat.
“Relax, Valdieron.”
The voice came to him like that of the master in the combat ambit, not spoken aloud but echoing in his mind. He spun, startled by it. Suspecting the work of Zhak Lomar or one of his magicians, his sword was part way out in anticipation of a fight, but he could see that nobody approached him, and even the person nearest to him, a few seats away, was too busy cheering and applauding the exit of Zhak Lomar.
“Who are you?” He whispered this softly; more to help his mind speak it, knowing whoever had spoken to him must have been using a magical ability, and as such, would have been able to pick up his own thoughts.
“It is I, Ka'Varal.”
Ka'Varal! From what Andrak had told him, the old man should have been-
“Dead? No, I am very much alive Valdieron, and I am here for much the same reason as you. Listen to me, for we do not have much time.”
Valdieron relaxed himself with a calming breath and took a seat, holding his head in his hands to feign a headache should somebody notice him, but everybody seemed intent on the arena floor, even Andrak.
“Zhak Lomar is as you suspect. He is an Ashar'an, but he is also more than that. He is as I am, one of the last remaining of his people. Truebloods.”
“You are Kay'taari!”
“Yes, Valdieron, I am as you are, but where you have the blood of the other races in you, I am born from the Trueblood of the Kay'taari. I was born in the times just before the last great battle between our people and the Ashar'an. My parents, who feared my death at the hands of the Ashar’an and demon hordes, hid me. When they were killed, my location was unknown to any, so that as I grew to age, I found my people long since departed this world. I became as some few also became, a guardian of the Portals against the future return of the Demon Hosts. I had a dream, sent by the gods, which told me of my destiny, and it is today the extent of my destiny will be fulfilled. As will yours.”
“What must I do?” Feeling suddenly more confident by the presence of Ka'Varal, Valdieron had renewed hope. Still, there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind that things were far beyond his control, and nothing he could do would have any impact on what was going to happen.
“Wait for my signal. You will know it. It is important you do not lose control of your emotions, for what is going to happen is fated to happen. What you must do is take control of what is hanging in the balance, and make it part of your own destiny. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” responded Valdieron. “But how will I know which is fated and which is mine to shape?”
“You must decide that for yourself, but remember, think before you act, because your beliefs and emotions will be tested before the day is out. You are no stranger to loss, and you must brace yourself for further loss, because we are but a few against many who would stand against us. We must be strong, and fight for what is right, and for what is good for the future of this world.”
“My friends do not deserve to die because of me. Can they not leave?” Valdieron knew what Ka'Varal had meant with his words, and sudden images of Llewellyn and Kaz flashed through his mind.
“Your friends are playing their part in history, Valdieron. It is up to them to carve their own places. Some will die, you can be assured of that, despite any effort on your behalf, but you must not let that deter you from our main goal: killing Zhak Lomar.”
“But how will we do that?”
“Leave that to me, Valdieron. You will know what you must do when it happens. I just ask you do something for me.”
“Sure, anything you want. What is it?” Valdieron wondered what the old Kay'taari would want of him that he couldn't do himself.
“My daughter is a captive of Zhak Lomar. She is the female who guards him, and she wears one of those Torcs, controlling her every thought and action. I want you to free her, as you were going to free your friend Javin, and I want you to take care of her if things do not work out for me.”
“Your daughter? I think I have seen her before.”
“Seen her? Where?”
Distant memories came back to Valdieron. “I met her when I drank from the Fountain in the Glade of Truths. She said she was waiting for you. I had thought it but an illusion created by Kel'Valor, up until now.”
“Yes, that would be her, Valdieron. She was taken from me years ago. I love her so much that I banished myself from the realms or she would have been killed. I love her more than anything, even my own life. Please free her and take care of her. If I can't, then you tell her I am sorry for not doing this earlier. Everything has happened for the ful
fillment of your destiny, Valdieron, and although she might not understand that, she must know I love her, and will always love her.”
“I will do that, Ka'Varal,” vowed Valdieron solemnly.
“Thank you, Valdieron, and whatever happens, remember that you are Kay'taari. It is almost time.”
The sudden hush in the crowd made Valdieron rise, and he was surprised to find that below, the figure of Zhak Lomar was once again escorted onto the arena floor by his guards. Valdieron's eyes searched each, and he saw the dark haired woman named Talisa who he had met in the Glade of Truths. A moment's anger caught him, and he resisted the urge to lash out somehow at the Ashar'an, though he knew there was nothing he could do from this distance.
He gave a start also when he recognized a second guard. Hagar! It did not surprise Valdieron the warrior was a Kiroba, though he was shocked to see one of Zhak Lomar's torcs around his neck. Perhaps the warrior wasn't a guard but a slave also, as was Talisa?
Eight figures were also led through the arched stone gates, and Valdieron realized they must have been the eight surviving warriors from the previous combats, and he wondered how much time had passed in commune with Ka'Varal. He was relieved to see Javin was among them, bearing his dual sabers and wearing the magical torc, as were all of them.
“Lords and ladies, you have born witness to an afternoon of spectacular combat in the arena of Gladius, but as you know, it is far from over. Today, I unveil a new test for these warriors before me. As you know, there is a new prize for today's victor, a prize worth more than money in some men's eyes, and more than life itself for some others. Would you like to see it?”
The crowd roared its answer, hanging on every amplified word of the Ashar'an.
“Behold, then, a new arena for the final combat, and its prize.”
The Ashar'an raised his arms then, both hands gripping the dark staff over his head as the crowd hushed, sensing the man was waiting for something to happen. It did happen, very slowly, as Valdieron's skin tingled with the presence of magic. A low rumbling began in the stadium, slowly building until many in the crowd began to wonder if there was an earthquake, but it soon became obvious it was part of the show as the floor of the arena began to sink into the ground. Deeper and deeper it sank, and the first thing that Valdieron noticed was a dark smear against the stone wall beneath the area where the upper class nobles sat. As the sandy floor lowered, the smooth darkness revealed itself as a doorway, the like of which he had seen in the chamber beneath the Sentinel where he had first met Astan-Valar. This Portal, however, was twice the size of that, fully forty feet high and thirty feet wide. A tiny indent in the stone beside it housed the small seal, for which Valdieron was relieved, as he had expected Demons to come pouring out of the Portal.
