“You’re beautiful, my dear. All this time, all my life without sight—I never wanted it, never needed it. And now, looking at you standing before me, I lament my time in the darkness.” She quickly took in the sights around her. “That witching stone gave me a gift here in our dreams, and I selfishly do not want it to end. But…I fear you are here with dire news.” Her smile faded, her bright eyes grew concerned. “Tell me what troubles you.”
“We were right.” Kaia’s voice was hushed, her eyes laden with sadness. “About Roann, about Lyrax. They’ve slaughtered the people of Keld in what can only be a show of force—or insanity.”
“It can be both.” Phia took her hand and led her to a fallen log. She sat with a tired grunt, encouraging the young woman to do the same. The withered wood sagged underneath her substantial weight. “Mania manifests itself in many ways. Killing the citizens may have been premeditated or spur-of-the-moment, for Lyrax is definitely a madman. Let’s pray to Oleana the residents never knew what hit them—although I fear they were wholly terrified long before their demise.”
“The war has begun, hasn’t it?”
“The war started the moment Lyrax took possession of Roann.” Phia furrowed her brows in thought. “You must hurry at once. Working with Jaric and Ealsig is the only way to raise the army you so desperately need.”
“Phia…” Kaia sighed sadly. “…Ealsig is dead.”
Phia’s expression sobered. “What happened?”
“Senseless tragedy, I’ll spare you the details. We…freed her from her misery. She’s at peace now.”
“You did right by her. I know it must have been difficult.”
“I feel as if I’ve lost a sister.”
“But you’ve gained a companion, haven’t you?”
Kaia’s thoughts turned to Ryris, and what he would surely face going forward. She was a warrior, Jaric was a warrior—and Ryris, he was a simple alchemist. He would see terrible things in the coming times: bloody deaths, citizens fighting for their lives, and villages razed. Months ago, he knew nothing of conflict. He had lived a happily ignorant life in his town, trained in his craft from birth, only spreading his wings to the big city after a long tenure at his father’s side.
“He’s not ready.”
Phia nodded in agreement. “Perhaps. But he hasn’t a choice in the matter any longer. There comes a time in a man’s life where he must face fears, and learn to take hold of his destiny.”
“What if he gets killed? I’ve been taught all my life to keep my emotions off of the battlefield and now…”
“Sometimes emotion is what keeps you grounded when all seems lost.”
“I’m afraid that my attachment to him will hinder me—hinder us.”
“Love is a powerful thing, Kaia. Don’t fight it.”
Kaia waved her hands dismissively in front of her body. “I don’t know if I’d go so far as—“
“I may be old and alone now, but I once loved deeply. He was taken from me too soon, before I was able to admit to both of us that my heart belonged to him.”
Kaia sat dumbfounded. Up until this point she thought she had done a decent job at keeping her emotions at bay. She barely had enough time in the day to keep the party alive, much less cater to the will of the butterflies in her stomach every time she caught Ryris stealing a glance in her direction.
Ryris.
Kaia sighed deeply as it hit her. She was truly smitten—and she didn’t understand why. He was goofy, plain-looking, and had courage that came in inconsistent spurts. He most certainly wasn’t the type of man she had been attracted to so long ago. But there was something about him that made her cheeks flush—even when she was annoyed by his slow pace or unwillingness to charge into the unknown.
He comforted her when she needed it.
He made her laugh.
He paid attention to her for her mind—not her prowess with a bow or ample bosom.
She shook her head in disbelief. “Is it that obvious?”
Phia chuckled. “To me, yes. To men? To Ryris? More than likely not. But I can tell you this—he shares your feelings. I can hear it in his voice, sense his body language when he’s around you. But he is nervous and very unwilling to admit his emotions—even more so than you. To him, you’re a mystery. A woman unlike any he has ever encountered. I’m sure he’s equal parts enthralled and terrified.”
“I don’t have time for love—if that’s what this truly is. People get killed when warriors think with their hearts.”
“You have to be the one to decide what’s best for you. But allow me to give a piece of wisdom and be done with my ‘motherly nagging.’” Phia’s eyes wrinkled at the sides as she smiled gently. “Don’t wait. War is terrible, and you never know what’s around the next bend. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you deny your feelings.”
“Thank you, Phia. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“That’s all I ask.”
They sat quietly in the humid, dank marsh. The giantess wrapped a comforting arm around the soldier, Kaia leaning her head on her massive shoulder. Her mind raced, images of battles, blood, and magic infiltrating her thoughts. In all the conflicts she had fought, with all the horrific things she had witnessed the last time around, she had never been as frightened as she was right now. She began to doubt her ability as a soldier, as a general. Would she be able to keep her team safe? Could they really band the people together and fight for their lives? Panic began to bubble in her chest, and she needed release.
“I’m scared, Phia.” Kaia’s tone was desperate as she blurted out into the swamp.
Phia tightened her embrace around the young woman. “To be afraid is to be alive. Fear is what motivates us: fear of the unknown, fear of not being in control, fear of death. The only way to quell those feelings is to face them head on.”
Kaia sighed and patted her companion’s giant arm before standing, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared out into the swamp. “What do I do now?”
“Finding the remaining shards of your sword is of the utmost importance. They may be your only hope in defeating Lyrax and Roann. You must keep them hidden, and ensure they stay safe, along with the hilt.” Phia stood and joined the young lady, leaning her gargantuan hands on the pommel of her walking stick.
“We’ve been counting on blind luck to find the pieces we already possess. Roann and Lyrax could be doing the same thing.”
“You assume they know about them, child. I believe you have an advantage. It’s true that Lyrax was in the blast path of the sword and survived, but did he really know what hit him? Did he know where the energy came from?”
“It’s possible…”
“If there is even a shred of possibility, then you need to make it your mission to find them first. If they come to possess even one shard…”
“And the army? Ryris is beginning to sound more right every day. How can we possibly raise garrisons of common folk?” Kaia’s voice was laden with uncertainty.
“People will follow. They’ll see salvation in you. I’d entrust my life to you in a heartbeat.”
Kaia chuckled. “But you know me…”
“And soon the people will as well. Your father sealed you away to serve a very important legacy—and your time has come. Do him proud.” Her tone turned very serious. “This is a task at which you cannot fail, dear. It’s a huge responsibility to bear, but one that I know you can tackle.”
“Promise me you’ll stay safe.”
“No one visits me, not even malicious hordes. I’ll be fine. I may be blind, but I’m no pushover.” She turned to face the young woman. “I’m forever grateful that you’ve returned to me, to the world. This is what you were destined to do, Kaia.” Phia brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek with a calloused fingertip. “I’ll never forget the day I was able to see you with my own eyes—even if it was for just a few moments.”
“I should go…”
Phia nodded. “In a little while. Stay and keep an old wom
an company for a bit longer? After all, you need your sleep.”
The pair walked back to sit on the the mossy log and watched the swamp together.
~~~
Kaia awoke feeling no better than she had when she fell asleep. Yes, she had been able to talk with Phia, and admit her feelings and fears, but in the end, she was still left with nagging doubt and unfulfilled emotions. Unfortunately, Phia’s encouraging words had done little to bolster her confidence. Taking a few calming breaths as she sat up and allowed her brain to focus on the new day, she vowed to herself to not falter. The team needed her, the world needed her. She had proven herself time and time again on the field of battle, in the world of tactics and strategy. This war would be no different, right down to the fact that a man named Ryris was fighting alongside her.
Except that it was different.
Past Ryris had been groomed for a life of magical service, trained to be a battlemage. He had labored for decades to ensure his skills would be up to par should the need for them arise. Sacrificing his own safety, he charged onto the battlefields and assisted his fellow countrymen until every last enemy had been purged.
Kaia shivered in the chilled room, instinctively looking to the door she knew the current Ryris was sleeping behind.
This new Ryris wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t a battlemage. He wasn’t even a wizard from a training standpoint. His powers were mostly untested; he didn’t yet possess the skill set that his predecessor wielded. She feared for him, for what he was surely to face.
And Phia was right.
She did love him.
And that made everything much more complicated.
Kaia sighed in the dark room, the sun’s rays just barely coloring the morning sky a beautiful lavender. Ice crystals flecked the glass panes, refracting the pale light. She glanced over to her crystal bow, leaned in the corner. It glittered, even in the low light. Seeing the weapon made a wave of pride wash over her, a sense of duty.
Throwing the covers aside, she bounded from her bed, jumping as her bare feet touched the cold stone floor. Today was the beginning of a new era. War was on the horizon. Standing in her thin nightclothes in the middle of her small room at the quaint little inn in the middle of nowhere, she vowed to protect the people, her friends—and her heart.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Born upper-class, Lyrax had all the means to succeed. And succeed he did—just not in the way his parents had hoped.
--Excerpt from journal of Eldrick Baynel, High Scribe of the Crystal Guard, date unknown.
Roann walked the empty streets of Keld.
Storefronts remained closed, the street lights unlit. The sun was setting, casting an eerie red glow on the buildings. Soon the city would be bathed in the low light of the moon, appearing as a razor-thin crescent in the night sky. The wind blew, scattering dried leaves within whirling vortices along the buildings, and causing unlocked shutters to bang against vacant windows.
Fruit in a hand cart rotted without its farmer to attend to it, perfuming the street with a sour-sweet fermented aroma. A few of the softened pieces of produce had fallen to the cobblestones, two tiny skellins munching on the juicy remains. Roann inhaled deeply, relishing in the scent of decay—and not only from the fruit.
He walked a few more blocks until he came to a grand junction of streets, turning his attention toward the palace square. The bodies on the promenade still lay where they fell, some incinerated beyond recognition, some bloating in the southern winter sun. Swarms of flies hovered just above the macabre mass, their buzzing the only sound audible in the silent city, save for the heels of Roann’s boots clicking on the paving stones. Taking a moment to savor the result of Lyrax’ ultimate power, he eventually moved on, continuing his parade.
A lone dog snuck out from an alleyway, taking a hesitant look at the only human he had seen in over a week. After a cautious moment, it jubilantly ran at Roann, tail wagging feverishly, only to be stopped dead in its tracks—incinerated with a flick of the emperor’s wrist. The ashes billowed into the breeze. Roann scowled as some of the debris collected on his velvet doublet. Brushing the offending substance away with a grumble, he walked again, avoiding the smoldering pile of remains. He didn’t want to sully his pristine leather boots.
Striding down a quaint street in the once-bustling business district, the emperor happened upon a shop he recognized. An expertly-made sign swung from simple iron hooks, the bolts creaking within the heavy wood. A small placard was nailed into the door, indicating the shop keep was out of town and that some select wares could be purchased down the street from another merchant. The windows were cluttered; bottles and vials having collected what looked to be over a season’s worth of dust.
Now, looking at the intricately-carved sign in the window, curiosity got the better of him, despite remembering how he felt the last time he visited this particular place. He decided to snoop in the shop belonging to Ryris Bren. Reaching a hand out to try the door, he was met with a jolt up his arm the moment his fingertips touched the heavy metal handle. Seconds later, Roann’s world went black.
He saw crystal.
Magic.
A massive, smiling man.
Two warriors—one male, one female. Both battle hardened and brave.
A young man with stained fingers and a warm, inviting smile.
A velvet parcel, containing…
Roann awoke with a start, slumped up against the outside wall of the alchemy shop. Taking a moment to shake the faeries from his brain, he jumped up and immediately knew he had to report back to his master. He disappeared in a hail of sparks, no longer interested in his leisurely stroll around the dead city.
~~~
“Master?” Roann squinted as rays of light shone through the windows, Lyrax having thrown the regal blue drapes wide open. The square lay below, the open-air graveyard resting in the setting sun. Slowly approaching his former throne, he felt a twinge of jealousy when the necromancer appeared, donning the royal robes of the Vrelin Empire.
“Those are mine,” Roann thought.
“Ah, my young protégé.” Lyrax smirked, fanning his arms out to billow the heavy fabric around himself. “How do you like my outfit?”
Roann was determined to remain respectful, even though he wanted nothing more than to rip the robes—his robes—from Lyrax’ body. Yes, the man was his master and power-giver, but those vestments were his, inherited upon his father’s death. They belonged to the heir to the empire, not the new conqueror. Lyrax may be using the country as a base of operations, but the empire still very much belonged to Roann. Choosing not to respond to the previous query, the young emperor instead eagerly told his master what he had experienced.
“Master Lyrax, I’ve had a vision.”
The necromancer stopped his parade, and shrugged the robes from his shoulders with a disrespectful huff. They fell to the floor, crumpled and undignified. “A vision? Of what?”
“I’m not sure. Crystal, magic, a group of companions? I…recognized one as the new alchemist from the city.”
“Crystal?” Lyrax flew at the young man, grabbing him forcefully by the shoulders.
“M-master?”
“Have you forgotten everything I taught you?” Lyrax zoomed across the room, feet never touching the ground, and slammed Roann into one of the grand pillars supporting the ceiling. “The alchemist? Why do you think he appeared in your mind?”
Roann hesitated, instantly regretting never telling Lyrax about the incident in the shop months prior. At the time, he brushed it off as coincidence, even though his gut told him there was something off about the young man. And now, with Lyrax’ thin fingertips digging into the flesh of his shoulders, he realized he was in for a world of hurt.
“I’ve…had a run-in with him before.” The emperor instinctively winced, awaiting the blow he knew was surely coming. When Lyrax said nothing, he hesitantly continued. “I had a reaction to him in his shop the day we met. A handshake—and I was overcome.”
&nb
sp; Lyrax’ lips tightened, the grayish flesh turning white with the pressure of his anger. He slammed Roann again, the emperor’s head cracking against the carved stone.
“I didn’t think it had any relev—“
The necromancer threw Roann aside like a doll, his body skidding to a halt on the ornate rug in front of the thrones. Unable to move fast enough to dodge out of the way, the young man was instantly tossed into the air by an unseen force, only to be slammed down again seconds later. Blood began to trickle from his ear from the force of the impact. The wind was knocked out of his lungs. Laying on the ground in a stupor, Roann tried to bring himself to his knees. Lyrax moved beside him, kicked him over, and placed a boot on his heaving chest. Roann struggled to catch his breath.
“Next time you feel something isn’t relevant—ignore that sensation!” His voice was low and growling as he pressed his foot against Roann’s body.
Staring up into Lyrax’ black eyes, Roann realized that he had been spared. The necromancer could have easily killed him for his insubordination. He brought his hands up submissively, pleading for leniency. “Master…forgive me. I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
Lyrax stared at him for a long moment, his eyes seething. Finally releasing the pressure of his foot from Roann’s chest, he moved back and allowed the young man to get up. “Watch yourself.”
The emperor swayed slightly as he slowly rose, the dizziness from the blow to his head impact slow to subside.
The necromancer stomped off and up the small set of stairs leading to the thrones. He sank down into the chair once belonging to Roann and stared at him. “Now, tell me of this alchemist.”
Roann approached, staying out of Lyrax’ striking range. He stood strong, hoping his sudden pounding headache wouldn’t interfere. “His name is Bren, a transplant from Blackthorne. I made a cordial visit to welcome him to the city, and was overcome with sickness—a flash of energy that I can’t describe—the moment I made contact with him.”
The Alchemist: Dawn of Destiny Page 43
