“The… Durunim told me that the mages stripped the magic from the Otherworld to do it,” Marshal said.
“Was he telling the truth?”
Marshal shrugged. It looked awkward; his body still wasn’t used to the movement and its meaning.
“Regardless, it is understood that it took all of the mages together to do this,” Nian said. “And that the Conclave has never again reached that height of power.”
“So… to undo it would require at least as much power,” Victor suggested.
“So it would seem.”
Victor held up two fingers and ticked them off with his stick. “We need power and knowledge. We have neither. So what do we do?”
“Talinir,” Marshal said abruptly.
“He’s still in the Otherworld, right?”
“Yes. I think.” Marshal struggled with the right words. “He vowed to help me. But I left him there. We should get him back. He can help.”
“Can you open a portal to the Otherworld?” Nian asked.
Marshal shook his head.
“Then we go back to the Eldanim city! They’ll have to help us now!” Victor insisted.
Marshal frowned. “I’d… like to. But I don’t know how. And it’s so far.”
Victor pointed his stick at his belongings. “I have that stone from your mother. We can try to call them. Maybe there’s another warden around.”
“There are other alternatives,” Nian said.
Both young men looked at him.
Nian gestured broadly. “There are three places where the barrier between the worlds is said to weaken. Where wild magic erupts from time to time. One is in Kuktarma. One is in Ch’olan. And the last one…” He paused.
“Where?” Victor demanded.
“The disputed land between Varioch and Rasna,” Nian said. “Where they’re threatening war.”
“That’s much closer than the Eldanim city. But we’d probably have to get through all the soldiers.” Victor frowned and tossed his stick. It bounced off a tree trunk and spun into the grass.
“If that is where you need to be, Theon will provide a way,” Nian said.
Marshal did not look convinced.
CHAPTER FIVE
DRAVID NEVER FOUND climbing out of a rowboat an easy task. Wearing robes made it even more awkward. Attempting it with only one leg? Ridiculous.
Dravid nearly plunged onto his face, but Ixchel caught him. It wasn’t too embarrassing. He glanced at Seri to see her reaction, but she hadn’t noticed. Instead, she gazed off into the distance, looking at nothing in particular.
Ixchel stepped up beside Seri and looked around. “This is Varioch,” she said. “I am not impressed.”
Dravid didn’t agree. He couldn’t see much from the beach, of course, but what he could looked pleasant enough. From the narrow strip of sand, the ground sloped gently upward into a low hill dotted with evergreen trees. Beyond it, he could see larger and taller hills, also covered in green.
Dravid turned back toward the two women. Not for the first time, he wondered why he had come. And as always, he knew the simple answer: Seri. Back on Zes Sivas, his future had been tied first to Master Simmar, then to Master Hain. Without them, Dravid had no future as a mage. No one else would train him. But Seri. She had a mission. One he might be able to help. And more significantly: she was incredible.
From the moment Dravid had laid eyes on her sitting alone at the table in the dining hall, he had admired her. Seri was beautiful, confident, and powerful, especially as she had developed her unique “star-sight.” She could see magic in a way none of them could.
But she lost it. Seri had effectively sacrificed her special power, and for what? To save him? He wasn’t worth that. A failure as a mage. A failure as a friend.
The sailor who helped them to shore tossed Dravid’s pack to him and bid them farewell. Dravid gave him a half-hearted wave and watched him pull back out into the water. In a sense, he waved farewell to their last connection to other places. The three of them now stood alone in a strange land. None of them had ever visited Varioch before.
“I still can’t see it,” Seri said. She moved her gaze in either direction. “It hasn’t changed.”
Dravid moved up near the girls. “But do you have to?” he asked. Time to make himself useful. Or at least pretend.
Seri looked at him with confusion in her eyes. “I don’t have to, of course, but… it was a part of me,” she said. “And how are we to find the boy, or… or the lost King, if I can’t see the magic?”
“You’ll have to stumble through like the rest of us,” Dravid said. “You can still sense the magic, can’t you? Like a regular mage?”
Seri hesitated. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes, I… I guess I can. It’s very weak here.”
“We’re already a long distance from Zes Sivas. That only makes sense.”
Seri nodded and took a deep breath. “All right. Then what we need to do is see if we can sense any magic sources other than the island.”
“Exactly. Let’s do it together.” Dravid held out his hand.
Seri paused only briefly before taking his hand with her own. It felt cool and soft. He put the feeling out of his mind, noticing Ixchel eyeing him with a strange look. He closed his eyes and tried to reach out with his magical senses. The magic of Antises, based on vibration, created a somewhat tactile sensation. Where did he feel vibrations and how strong were they?
Dravid put everything else aside and focused. When doing this before, cutting out all other input gave him the most success. Eyes shut. Ignore any sounds. Focus.
“South,” Seri said, just as Dravid felt it himself. The vibrations felt distant, but definitely there, and definitely powerful.
“The city of Reman is to our south,” Ixchel said.
“Then it’s Volraag we’re sensing,” Seri said.
“I don’t think we should go anywhere near him, if we can help it,” Dravid said, opening his eyes.
“Agreed.” Seri opened her eyes and frowned. “It must be him. I can feel the Bond toward him in that direction too.”
Dravid tried not to sigh with relief and closed his eyes again. He didn’t want to see Volraag again, in any way whatsoever. He tried to focus on the southern impression a little longer, to see if he could guess at the distance.
“West,” Seri said abruptly. “Maybe a little northwest?”
Dravid changed his focus, but just as he did, he thought the southern impression split into two. Odd. But then he noticed the western impression.
“What is that?” It felt different, strange. The vibrations were there, yet they seemed… discordant, somehow. Normally, the vibrations felt completely natural, an integral part of the world around him. Not like this.
He opened his eyes to find Seri looking at him. “You felt it, right?” she asked.
“I don’t understand. It’s different.”
“What is happening?” Ixchel asked. “Are we going west?”
“No,” Dravid said, as Seri said, “Yes.” They looked at each other with raised eyebrows.
“That felt wrong,” Dravid said. “Something was… it was just wrong.”
“But powerful,” Seri said.
“Yes…”
“We have to investigate. It could be the young man that I saw. I never did get a good look at his power. Maybe this is it.” She paused. “Maybe it’s the King himself and he’s returned to our world!”
“But you felt his power, right? Did it feel like this?”
Seri frowned. “No, I… I don’t think so. But I’m not really sure. Everything happened so fast that day.”
“Then are we going west or not?” Ixchel asked again.
Dravid frowned, but Seri gave a slow nod. “Yes. We’re going west.”
CHAPTER SIX
VOLRAAG LOOKED OUT over Reman’s coliseum. The granite structure seemed ready to explode with the enormity of the crowd packed within it. Many, the nobles especially, had come out of obligation. Others
had come to see their new Lord. Still others had come to satisfy themselves that Varion was truly dead. But they all shared one thing in common: none of them knew what to expect.
Varion’s casket lay on a pedestal in front of the stage. Volraag had already heard some gripes about it being closed. Again, some wanted proof of Varion’s death. Idiots. Volraag’s power displays should be enough proof for anyone. But he would satisfy them all, if the morning went as planned.
The high priest droned on, delivering a eulogy that skirted the edge of praising Varion, without ever quite getting there. Volraag tried not to smile. The priest considered it inappropriate to condemn the dead Lord, but everyone knew he wanted to.
He glanced at the others on stage. Otioch and two other Remavian Guards stood behind him. Cyra sat to his right. To his left, the three Consuls who held most of Varioch’s economic power sat stone-faced and impassive. Behind them all sat another half-dozen officials whose names even Volraag struggled to remember, yet somehow they were important enough to be here.
The high priest finished and returned to his seat. Volraag stood, but did not move forward. He waited until murmurs began to sweep through the coliseum. When the volume reached a sufficient level, he bent and pretended to whisper something to Cyra. This only served to increase the murmuring.
With their attention now fully engaged, Volraag stepped up to the front of the stage. The crowd quieted. His moment waited. All of the politicking over the last week had won most of the nobility to his side. Today, he would win the hearts of the common people. Then Varioch would truly be his, and follow wherever he led.
“My father is dead!” he announced, gesturing toward the casket. His voice echoed across the coliseum. The crowd remained quiet. Most of them probably didn’t know how to react, or rather, if they would be allowed to react the way they desired.
Volraag stepped to the edge of the stage and looked down at the casket. “I do not come to praise him.” He paused and let the impact of those words sink in. “He was not worthy of my praise. Nor yours, either!” A quiet murmur swept through the crowd. They had not been expecting something like this.
“Varion was a monster! Most of you know this. Many of you feared him.” The murmur grew a little louder.
“What you do not know is how much I knew this. How much I feared him.” Volraag moved around the stage as he spoke, peppering his speech with broad gestures.
“Do you know how many brothers and sisters I have? I don’t know, exactly. But because of Varion’s appetites, there are many… and because of his sins, most of them are cursed!” Volraag held both hands pointing toward his chest. “I lived in daily fear—daily!—that a curse would fall on me because of my father. Do you know what that is like? To strive to live your life under the Law, but knowing that your life depends not on your own actions, but on the actions of a tyrant?
“You do know it!” Volraag pointed at the crowd. “You felt the same way! Perhaps not with the daily fear that I lived under, but with fear nonetheless. When Varion passed through your neighborhoods, did you hide your daughters? Did you conceal your wealth? Your food? I don’t blame you!”
The crowd was with him now. He could tell. They knew he spoke the truth.
“This is not right! This is not how a people should be led! This is not how a Lord should behave! A Lord should serve his people, not prey on them! I tell you, here and now, that I am not my father!” Volraag shouted the next sentence one word at a time. “I. Will. Never. Be. My. Father!”
The crowd roared. Volraag held out both arms and let their adulation wash over him. The magic seemed to respond and vibrations swept over his skin. After a few moments, he raised his arms and waited for them to quiet.
“Varion was unworthy of the title of Lord in life, and he is unworthy of it in death!” He pointed at the casket and unleashed a burst of magic. The wood of the casket shattered and splintered, spilling his father’s corpse onto the ground. “Do not bury him in the tombs of the Lords! Take his body to an unmarked grave outside the city walls!” Loud gasps were followed by a brief moment of absolute silence, and then the crowd roared again.
This time, Volraag let them cheer on and on. They believed what he said, regardless of truth. Of course he wasn’t going to throw his father’s body in an unmarked grave. But only close family members and a few loyal guards would ever know that.
This was the crucial moment. He had the crowd. But now he needed to turn them, to focus them where he desired.
He fell to his knees and looked down at his father’s body. The cheers faded away. The crowd didn’t understand his actions, as he intended.
“My father is dead!” he cried out again, but this time his voice swelled with grief. He got up on one knee, but didn’t stand. “Yes, he was a monster. But… he was still… my father.”
On cue, Otioch stepped forward to offer help to the new Lord. Volraag waved him away and stood on his own. He made a show of taking a deep breath.
“He was a monster. And he deserved to die. But… you do not know how he died!” The sound of the crowd grew. Many rumors circulated through the city over the past week, some started by Volraag himself, but no one really knew.
“Varion was right about one thing.” Volraag held up a single finger. “One thing! And being right about that one thing is what led to his death. No! It is what led to his murder!”
The crowd erupted. Again, Volraag raised his hands for silence. Then he gestured back at his Remavian Guard. “Bring him.”
Rathri and another Guard dragged Tezan out from behind the stage and threw him down next to Volraag. He had been beaten, and his hands were tied. Volraag stared down at him and waited for the crowd to quiet.
“This man. This man killed my father on Zes Sivas. How, you must wonder? How could he infiltrate the gathering of Mages and Lords and succeed in such a deed? How?” Volraag pointed at him. “He played on all our hopes! He pretended to be the lost King of Antises!”
Shouts of outrage filled the coliseum. Volraag gestured down at his father’s body. “He deceived us and then killed my father. And why? Because my father was right! About one thing!”
Volraag grabbed Tezan by the back of his collar and yanked him upright. “Tell these people, false king! Tell them! Who persuaded you to pretend? Who made you act like you were our king?”
Tezan glared at Volraag, but his lips began to move, seemingly against his will. “Lord… Tyrr.”
The crowd exploded. Cries of “Death to Lord Tyrr!” and “Death to Rasna!” poured out from hundreds of voices.
Volraag swept his sword out of its scabbard and held it high. The crowd grew silent. Volraag shoved Tezan down and pointed the sword at his neck. He lifted it high again. “Kill him! Death to the Rasnian! Death to the murderer!” screamed the crowd.
Volraag aimed and lifted the sword again. The cries escalated. But then he turned away from Tezan and sheathed the sword. Shouts of outrage followed him as he strode several feet away before turning back. He lifted his hands and waited for the quiet again.
“The murderer will pay!” he promised. “But first we will learn all we can from him. Because what we need now is information. Information that will help us in what is to come. I said my father was right about one thing. That one thing? Rasna! He knew Rasna was preparing for war against us! They want our land!”
“No!” cried the crowd.
“Lord Tyrr sent this man to pretend to be king, so that he could kill my father and pave the way for his invasion!”
The crowd roared louder. Volraag raised his voice to be heard above them.
“I say he does not know our land! He does not know our people!”
Volraag pointed to his father’s corpse. “We will not trade one tyrant for another!” he screamed.
This time, he waited a full minute while the crowd vented their rage. He lifted his hands and they grew quiet. One last time. Once he spoke the next words, everything would change.
“I, Volraag, Lord of Varioch…”
he began.
The crowd, realizing what he was doing, screamed their approval. Volraag began again.
“I, Volraag, Lord of Varioch, do hereby declare…”
Louder and louder the crowd grew. In a brief moment where the roars faded slightly, Volraag shouted into it.
“I, Volraag, Lord of Varioch, do hereby declare WAR on the land of Rasna and their Lord!”
The coliseum shook with the screams of the crowd.
The words had been spoken, words that superseded even the Laws of Cursings and Bindings. For the first time in generations, Antises was at war.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TALINIR BLINKED AND looked around. How long had he stood there, staring at the stars? His legs felt weak and his stomach empty. He faced a huge problem being in the Starlit Realm in this form. A glance at the sky could turn into hours of star-gazing.
Fortunately, no tunaldi wandered by during his reverie. That would have been the end of Talinir, warden of the Eldanim. And all because of a pledged vow to a human, who dragged him here at the end of their association.
That wasn’t fair. Marshal hadn’t known what he was doing. And for all Talinir knew, Marshal might be dead now. Or taken by the Durunim.
Time to focus. He needed to find a way back to the primary world. He could probably get to Intal Eldanir, his home, but one of the high places might be closer. It would be southwest from here. He looked up to get his bearings.
“You won’t get out that way.”
The voice snapped Talinir out of his star-gazing again. His legs collapsed and he fell like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Dust erupted in all directions as the speaker hastened down a crater’s wall to reach him. Talinir shook his head and tried to take control of his own thoughts. His consciousness swam.
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