Frustrated, Legone closed his eyes, recalling the vision Crinte had given him. He walked forward, passing shelves until he reached one towards the back of the room. He opened his eyes and brushed aside a pile of scrolls. They scattered at his touch, rolling out of the way, some dropping into the floor like a gentle rebuke. Legone reached for the neutral, ceramic pot he found behind them. At first he was tempted to look inside, but realized if it was something Crinte wanted he probably had no interest in it. Their desires did not often align. He held it for a moment then reached around and slid it into his quiver. If anything did happen it was likely the last place anyone would look. Quickly replacing the fallen scrolls, Legone decided it was time to return to freedom with the others. He was just replacing the last scroll when he heard voices on the other side of the door.
“How dare he return without coming to me first. Does he seek to undermine my authority in this place?”
“He asked to be left alone in his forge,” a calmer male voice replied. “But we can interrupt his solitude if you prefer.”
“I’m supposing Crinte and his band of rebels did not return?” Legone now realized the voice had to be Ackhor’s and the second one belonged to Elam the Gatekeeper. He glanced around for a place to hide.
“If they did they are with Tincire.”
There was a pause as the handle jiggled, then, “I will speak with Tincire first.” The footsteps began to retreat. “Find me a locksmith. I want a lock put on my door immediately.”
Legone remained frozen for a few moments longer before opening the door and peering out. A glance both ways told him the halls were deserted once again. He quickly closed the door behind him and fled. The front entrance of the fortress was heavily guarded. All that remained was for him to sneak out to the training grounds and loop back around to the road that led towards Cromomany. Even as he rushed through the Fighting Camp he could tell the celebration had dispersed and the warriors were returning to their daily training routines. Acting as one of them, he stood tall and joined a group of warriors as they walked to the training grounds. From there he left them and ran east, his feet barely touching the ground.
Ackhor stood firmly in front of his younger brother, his arms crossed and face set. “Explain yourself!” he demanded as Tincire looked up from the flames.
Tincire lightly tapped a piece of metal with a hammer and sat it down, ushering Ackhor out of earshot of his workers. “What is your beef with Crinte?” he asked gruffly.
Ackhor tapped his foot impatiently against the warm stones. “Crinte’s actions are the problem. He has his mind set on crossing the Sea to antagonize a monster. Does he not realize retaliation will be swift and strong, and destroy us all? We are only rebels; the armies of Mizine are not united. If war comes to the countries of Mizine we will be thrown into irreversible chaos. Yet he turns a blind eye to this and persists with his own plans. If the leaders of the Fighting Camp cannot be united what hope do we have to save Mizine?”
Tincire crossed his arms and stared into the fire, his brow furrowed. After a moment of thought he looked back up at his brother. “Ackhor, you know I am always with you. But, what if Crinte and his small band of spies succeed in sneaking into Slutan and provide valuable information on how to end this once and for all? Once we have that information we can use it as leverage to unite the armies of Mizine and attack Slutan and Asspraineya before they have time to attack us.”
Ackhor balled up his fists in frustration. “That is a risky plan we cannot put much faith in. Armies alone cannot stand before the transformed ones. Our army of rebels can only do so much to protect the countries of Mizine, and even in that we risk a death by treason. King Arden of Norc may be on our side, and he will join. But how will you convince King Dain of the Afrd Mounts? Who will go to Cromomany and risk a beheading to bring King Merek over to our side? The leaderless peoples of the Algrema Forest hide from us and the Trazames of Trazamy City will never join our cause. We need to more than just unite all Rulers of Mizine. We need power…” His words trailed off as his thoughts began to take form.
“Then, you will not send a troop to return Crinte and his warriors?” Tincire questioned.
Ackhor shook his head impatiently. “No, let him choose his own death. Now tell me, what new weapons have you crafted of late?”
Tincire’s face beamed as he led Ackhor to the wall and began to explain.
It was midafternoon when Legone finally saw the four ahead of him, and despite his cold heart realized he was returning to where he belonged. He paused for a moment to lift the object out of his quiver then settled for a walk, his long strides quickly bringing him alongside the others. Crinte, out in front, turned his head. “Welcome,” he called. His eyes met Legone’s for a moment and the two nodded knowingly.
Marklus, in step with Crinte, turned as well. “I was wondering where you got off to. It’s not the same without you.”
Legone fell in step with Alaireia and Starman. “Actually, we were talking about you,” Starman began. He stood a little taller and a determined light sparked in his eyes, his mopey demeanor had all but disappeared. “I’ve decided to call Alaireia Lightfoot since I can never hear her approach and she does that shadowy thing. I’m called Starman, for no fault of my own, and I’m going to call you Swift, because you’re like a streak of lightning.”
Legone grimaced for a moment. “They do call me Legone the Swift,” he replied formally.
“Swift it is, and now for Crinte and Marklus, they are hard. Marklus, would it be strange to call you Healer?” Starman called.
“Yes,” Marklus instantly replied, shaking his head in disapproval.
“Lightfoot,” Legone murmured, passing her the ceramic pot.
Alaireia looked at him, confused. “What is this?”
“I don’t know. Crinte asked me to retrieve it and give it to you."
Alaireia twisted off the top with some difficulty and looked inside. She gave a small cry of shock as she pulled out the object and dropped the pot on the ground where it shattered into pieces. Crinte stopped and turned at her cry. The other three followed his lead, curiously surrounding Alaireia as she held up the object for them to see. “The Clyear,” she breathed.
It looked like a winged horse carved out of the finest crystal, yet as the five stared at it a radiant light began to stream from its wings. Catching the sunlight it turned into a prism and shot out a rainbow of light from every angle, bathing their faces in color. Even as they breathed in they could feel some unknown ability stirring and awakening within them. The crystal winged horse stretched its legs, tucked its wings behind its back and bowed to them. Then, spreading its clear wings once more, flew to Alaireia’s shoulder and there it disappeared. Yet the light remained a few seconds longer as the five gazed upwards until at last the sharp reds, vibrant blues, electric greens and deep purples faded into their skin. There was an intense moment of silence as they attempted to process what had just happened.
“What was that?” Starman whispered, gazing wide-eyed from Crinte to Alaireia.
“The Clyear of Power,” Alaireia replied. “I have never seen it do that before.”
“I can still feel it,” Crinte added, “almost as if it blessed us. Don’t you feel the power surging within you?”
Starman still looked just as confused and lost. “What is a Clyear?” he asked.
“It is an ancient power,” Legone began, his voice low. “There are six of them and each possesses a trait the holder of it can use if they know how. There is also the Clyear of Power, the seventh, which holds all of the traits of the six. The one who wields its power must be strong and wise lest it be the destruction of us all.”
Alaireia felt the sting of Legone’s last words as he cautiously warned her. “Where did you find it?” she asked him instead, steering the conversation away from the dangerous topic.
“In Ackhor’s chambers,” Legone replied, missing the look in Crinte’s eye as he shook his head.
“Oh.” Alaireia
said flatly. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I used Crinte’s vision.” Legone nodded.
“Oh.” Alaireia’s voice sounded tiny as she looked from Legone to Crinte, her face transforming from surprise into guilt. In one bold move she lit off down the path.
THE CLYEAR
Too stunned to react at first, Legone, Marklus, and Starman stared after her as she disappeared into the trees. Crinte, realizing something was indeed amiss, immediately leaped after her shouting, “Alaireia! Stop!”
“What just happened?” Starman asked in confusion, looking to Marklus and Legone for answers.
Marklus shrugged. “Let’s find out.” He moved forward off the road in the direction Crinte and Alaireia had gone.
When the bewildered trio finally caught up, Alaireia was standing in a clearing, looking defensive. Crinte stood in front of her, his arms crossed with a frown upon his normally calm face. “Alaireia, what’s going on?”
“Crinte.” Alaireia reached out a hand as if to appease him. “I never wanted to tell you this but…” She paused, looking for an out.
Crinte just stared at her, his face set.
“Okay, Crinte.” Alaireia took a breath. “Technically, the Clyear belongs to Ackhor.” She took a step away from him and waited.
“Alaireia.” Crinte’s voice rang with disapproval. “You mean I sent Legone to steal something which belonged to Ackhor the whole time!”
“I know you’re upset,” Alaireia said, “but I can explain.”
Crinte ran his fingers through his blond hair in frustration. “You can explain? Alaireia, we need Ackhor on our side! I sent him a slightly threatening message with a clear indication of what kind of power we have the ability to use should he choose to ignore our needs, and now I steal the Clyear back from him? He likely needed it as insurance against us and now he has nothing. What do you think will happen?”
Alaireia sighed and looked over at Marklus, Starman, and Legone who all stood at the edge of the clearing a distance from the two. She waved them over impatiently. “If you hear my tale, you will understand. But we should put as much distance as possible between the Fighting Camp and us. I will tell you all when we rest for the night.”
Begrudgingly, Crinte walked past her, his face a mask of thoughts. “We should hurry then,” he said tersely.
An aura of silence surrounded the warriors and even the willowy trees seemed to frown down upon them as they continued deeper into the forest. The hum of impending rain and the buzz of hidden creatures captured their senses. It was not until the mysterious lightning bugs of the forest began winking in and out of view like a watch in the night that Crinte called for them to halt. The fading sunlight shot prisms through the broad green leaves of the wood, as Alaireia sat, cross-legged, on the grassy knoll.
Crinte was quiet as he sat down across from her, his silence bringing an air of oppression to the gathering. Marklus sat down beside him, but Starman placed himself a safe distance away. Legone stood to the side, watching the forest, his bow in hand.
Alaireia stared off into the trees. “I was born in Srinka in the Forests of the Ezinck, a country called Quaziner.” She spoke quickly, barely letting one word drop away before she uttered the next. “My people dwelt in the southwestern corner of the forests within reach of Oceantic. For those of you who don’t know,” she glanced briefly at Starman, “Ezincks are people of the land, friends with the plants, beasts, and sacred grounds of the beautiful forests. The Healers lived in caves near sparkling waterfalls, and almost every day I walked the botanical gardens to learn from them how best to cultivate and thank the land for the bounty it brought us. I learned to care for the weak and help them stand tall, and fight to defend my lands, although peace was, at that time, the one ruler of Quaziner. I learned to face my fears, to hunt the beasts of the air and of the land, and to build my home. I never expected to leave those woods. Even my father told me, there is nothing good outside of the forest. The countries that belong to Crons and Tiders are always full of strife. The conquest of power and constant bickering between the free countries of Mizine is not a political war any should desire to be part of. I was content, nay, satisfied to live out my days chasing the beauty of the forests of Srinka.
“One fateful day, while hunting with my cousin, Alegore, we chanced to stay out much later than intended. I will never forget that night. The stars burned through the heavens as evening dropped and a chill descended on the forest. Fearing a storm, Alegore suggested we seek shelter in a nearby cave. When we entered we saw a wondrous silver light pulsing from within the subterranean tunnels. Curious, we began to follow the path that led towards the light, marking a trail for our return. As we progressed a sense of foreboding overcame us and we realized we treaded where we were not wanted. We looked at each other, asking the unspoken question, should we safely retreat or continue into the malevolent domain? Heat began to rise as we drew further. While it was preferable to the chill outside, we could tell it was an unnatural heat. At one point we stopped to draw our daggers and crept forward until the cave widened. The path came to a stop and dropped off, opening up to the great floor of a cavern which lay below us. Around the edges shone the silver light, but its source we could not determine for a great beast lay slumbering in the belly of the cavern.
“The vision of that beast made me want to gaze on its strength and power yet run at the same time. There was something hypnotic about the way it slept in its own heat, curls of white smoke gently filtering out of its large nostrils. Such a creature could be nothing more than a demon of the dark world. It had two great legs, each one about ten feet long that curled around its immense body. At the end of those legs were wicked claws, outstretched as if ready to defend the creature, even in sleep. The silver light highlighted the tips of the creature’s scaly back for it was covered in a tough hide that glimmered in the lighter shadows. Great wings lay folded on its back and short horns grew out of its head and its long body stretched away into darkness. A moment was all it took for us to realize we looked on a Wyvern, a horror from tales of old, known to have disappeared from these lands. What brought it back, I do not know, but in its lair by Oceanic lay hidden the Clyear of Power.” Alaireia looked at the expectant faces listening to her tale. Again she felt the anguish of that time well up within her and threaten to choke her voice with pain. She lifted her chin and thought of the task at hand.
“By the time Alegore and I reached the end of the cave, the storm had started to rage. Rain pelted the underbrush of the forest as we ran to warn our people before the beast awoke. Only we were too slow and too late. We had barely run a mile when slices of lightning began electrifying the forest, and above our heads we saw the winged beast glide by, aroused by the storm, keen to hunt. There has always been one detail I have been unable to decipher. How did the Wyvern appear in our midst unknown? Ezincks know the forest like a child knows their mother and father. It was as if the creature materialized out of nowhere and slept until the storm came. Everything that happened after that seemed intentional, as if a greater force was ordering events.”
Legone, who had been watching the darkening forest while Alaireia told her story, now turned. His eyes bored into her as she spoke those last words. His expression, ever watchful, began to change as he took in the new information. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it as she continued.
“That night, the storm and beast were one, ravaging the forest, searing the delicate leaves of plants, felling trees, destroying homes, and terrorizing the animals of that land. Even as Alegore and I fought through the tempest, the spirit of the forest broke and wilted before the onslaught. We could feel it limping and mourning for what was lost, and when at last the brutal night ended, the forest was not one we recognized. I cannot explain what it was like to come home to find it a smoking ruin. Many were crushed while they slept, and those who survived stood wailing in the destruction. We felt death take that land, and Alegore and I promised we would kill the beast.
; “It took us a couple of days to find the resources we needed, but it was one morning as we watched that Ackhor and his Crons entered the forests of Srinka. Crinte, I have told you this before, they were searching for a treasure that brought them to the edge of the world. They were lost at that time, and I, worried they would obstruct our plan to kill the Wyvern, went down to warn them. Ackhor was surprisingly sympathetic; he had entered the forest the night of the storm, but did not know the damage that had been done. He agreed to join us in destroying the beast, partly, I believe, because he is a Cron, and Crons do not back down from a challenge, but also because he knew the Wyvern would interfere in his treasure hunt. He brought supplies and better weapons he shared with us, promising to help us rebuild as soon as our enemy was vanquished. I must say, Ackhor surprised me. He was the first Cron I’d met, but he actually kept his word, which made me begin to wonder, for the very first time, of venturing into the world outside the forests of Srinka.
“Wyverns fancy water holes and darkness. Using that knowledge to our advantage, we strategized a plan to end its domain in Quaziner. It was near nightfall when Alegore and I took to the coast, bows in hand. We lit fires up and down the shore in part so that we could see and also to replicate the fires from the storm as much as possible. Ackhor and his Crons set up a perimeter around the Wyvern’s lair to prevent it from coming back home and to provoke it to hunt by Oceantic.
The Five Warriors (The Four Worlds Series Book 1) Page 10
