Alliances

by B. T. Robertson

  After the sun broke free from the clouds’ grasp near noontime, the group agreed it made travel worse. Shining a light in the midst of fog did nothing but blind them further. Only pure fire, which they didn't have, might disperse such a fog's gloom. So, struggling onward, they fought the new barrier and shaded their eyes. By Aeligon's estimate, they were nearly halfway there. How he knew, none of them could figure, but they assumed that, having made the journey thousands of times, he was more accurate in his assessment than they could ever be. They trudged on.

  Surprisingly, only once during the trek across Salanthanon were they alarmed by possible trouble. A loud screech was heard overhead, followed by a rush of wind and a large shadow passing over them. They all had hit the ground, but it was gone before they had to draw their weapons. “Looks as if there was a conflict of interests as to what would slow our progress more,” Aeligon said. “One wanted fog, the other a beast. Lucky for us the former won the debate. I sure do hope Wesnoc's all right up there.” Their pace quickened thereafter, and it wasn't long before they broke the fog's hold.

  An invisible wall seemed to separate the fog from the borders of the wizard city. The party stepped out from the mist, and the fog was gone, almost as if it had never been there.

  "Illusion,” Aeligon said, shaking his head and scratching his chin with his hand. “Whatever is at work here is unnatural indeed. No matter, we have reached our destination."

  The others looked up and gasped at the sight before them. Rising up from the land was a cylindrical mountain, smooth on all sides, like the rock had been carved by the gods and polished to a fine slate-colored sheen. Near the top, the rocks broke and split to form sharp talons piercing the sky, like fingers outstretched, reaching. Between these, they could see parts of the wizard city gleaming: white pillars and tall watchtowers blended with the surrounding edges seamlessly. No standards waving in the wind, no turrets or murder holes, no feature of the castles of men graced Lunathar. The architecture was unique, beautiful, and flowing. At the base, carved deep into the rock, was the only passageway into the city, which looked broken and torn, like something had ravaged it at some point in time. Near the entrance, off to the left, was a deep recess bludgeoned into the side of the mountain. They all asked Aeligon what caused it.

  "An Orus Dragon penetrated there long ago when the city was being rebuilt. I'll tell you that story another time. Let's get into the city before whatever soared over our heads earlier comes back. We don't want to investigate it from this vantage point."

  The party could see clearly now and all but sprinted the distance between the illusion of fog and the entrance passage. The features of the cylindrical mountain became more defined and crisp, and the polished rock reflected the sun's rays into beautiful patterns across the landscape. It was the most gorgeous display of the wizard culture in Vaaluna, and Aerinas felt at ease finally seeing it. All of them did, even Farrin, who never took a liking to fancy displays like those. “Now there's a sight ta’ see, make no mistake,” he said a few times.

  They finally reached the dusty passage on the south face of the base. It looked as if no one had used it in ages.

  "No one has come in or out,” Lynais noted, stooping to inspect the threshold.

  "Strange indeed.” Aeligon moved to the head of the group. “I need my new robe before I enter. If not recognized, we may be attacked.” Aeligon motioned for Farrin, who stepped forward and handed the wizard his robe. Farrin carried all of Aeligon's belongings during the trip to relieve the burden. Aeligon changed just inside the entrance passage. When he stepped out, the blue jewel on his waist belt shone brightly in the sunlight. His travel robe was folded and put back into his pack. “Now I'm ready. Let's go. Be careful. The way to the top is treacherous. Once we get through this crack, there's a staircase winding all the way to the gate. Elfin archers used to flank each side of it using holes in the walls, but I'm certain that's changed. However, we can't be too complacent."

  Aeligon stepped inside with Pux; Tristandor followed, then Ithyllna, Foran, Lynais, Aerinas, and Farrin. Once again, Farrin found himself in a snug situation, but fortunately the passage was just wide enough for him to turn sideways and shuffle through. “Bah, I'm filin’ a complaint with the wizard council, if there exists such a thing,” he grumbled.

  It was a tight squeeze through the passage; the rocks to either side seemed to close in around them, threatening to swallow them whole. Parts were shrouded in darkness, but they kept moving through the damp tunnel. Wind howled through, compressed, at horrid speeds. Half the time they had to shield their eyes from the onslaught of stinging dust particles. After a time, the crack emptied into a wider section in the rocks. On the far side, a staircase began to wind its way up and around the perimeter of the cylindrical mountain on the inner side.

  "Ugh, that's not too comfortin’ of a sight, curse the gods,” Farrin complained.

  Lynais slapped the giant on his lower back, “No problem. At least you will have room to walk normally, instead of sideways.” He laughed, but Farrin sneered.

  Aeligon held Pux forward and began the climb. The others followed, but not out of willingness to do so. Elves weren't afraid of heights—evident by their treetop homes—but climbing a broken slate staircase around the inside of a mountain wasn't their idea of smart thinking. If they were attacked, they'd be vulnerable and all but incapable of making a good defensive stance—the strategic design was brilliant.

  They crept on, navigating the broken stairs one at a time. Farrin had to be extra careful because of his increased body weight. He went last. If a section broke away under his weight, even if they managed to save him from the fall, they would be unable to get any further without expending magic.

  Aeligon was stepping carefully ahead, feeling each stone with Pux first. Suddenly, he heard something crack behind him. When he spun, he saw Lynais falling; the staircase beneath him broke and dropped away. It all happened so fast he hardly had time to react to it. Lynais clawed at the surrounding rock, but found no hold and fell, screaming. Aeligon held out Pux and shouted, “Freeze!” Lynais, arms flailing, obeyed. The others gasped when his body froze in mid-flight. Gently, Aeligon raised his arms. The elf rose as well and came to rest next to the wizard.

  Panting, Lynais held his chest with one hand and clasped Aeligon's robe with the other. “Thank you, Aeligon,” was all he could muster to say. The fall had frightened him so badly they thought he would faint, but he shook it off, rose, and moved below Aeligon on the stairs.

  "Now what do we do?” Farrin asked, looking at the gaping hole in the staircase separating him and Aerinas from the rest.

  "I can't move the both of you over,” Aeligon said. “I can move one of you across, but I don't have enough ingredients and energy to do both at the same time. Moving someone as large as you, Farrin, would require a couple of wizards.” Again, Farrin grumbled under his breath.

  "Move him,” Aerinas said suddenly. “I'll get across myself."

  "And how do you plan on doing so?” Aeligon asked. Tristandor eyed his son with his usual hard face, judging with every glance.

  "A trick the Vrunyn Guard taught me years ago.” He winked to Ithyllna, who stared at him with a puzzled look.

  "The Vrunyn Guard?” Tristandor asked angrily. “And what were you doing with them? You were forbidden to mingle with the elite."

  "As you've always reminded me, Father,” Aerinas sarcastically answered, smiling. “I assumed traveling to Merchindale would require some better skills than I possessed naturally, so I went to see them to learn a thing or two. You should be glad. I used my brain—the thing you've always thought I was missing.” He spoke in the most disrespectful manner he knew, his speech improper by Krayn terms. Tristandor crossed his arms, his anger rising. He chewed on his upper lip and glared at his son.

  Aeligon, sensing the tension rising, put a gentle hand on the Elf-Lord's shoulder. “Let's move up the stairs to give him some room. I'll get Farrin.” He turned to Farrin, tossed a gold
en eagle feather into the air, drew a circle around it with his index finger, and pointed at the giant. A red glow emanated from the tip of his finger and around Farrin's body. He started to rise, moved across the gap, and came to rest on the unbroken stairs. The giant exhaled when he came to a stop. Sweat poured from his face, and he went pale.

  Now it was Aerinas’ turn. After the others moved up the stairs a bit more, he prepared to jump across. He started running up the steps toward the gap, but he didn't jump. Instead, he took a running leap up the wall, stabilized himself with his right arm, and ran across the wall to the other side. Foran and the others clapped when Aerinas landed.

  "We should call you ‘Aerinas Stickyfeet',” Foran joked.

  "And I should make sure you never disobey me again!” Tristandor shouted, stepping forward and grabbing his son's arm hard.

  Aerinas struggled against his grasp and finally wrenched himself free. Hate spewed from his eyes, and he began to shake with fury.

  "Tristandor!” Aeligon snapped. “It was a harmless and ingenious display of skill to get across without expending more of our magical resources. Let him go. Our fight is out there.” He motioned up the stairs. “We may face a dozen more of these instances, and if Aerinas has to show us a dozen more tricks he's learned from your elite guard, then so be it. Enough of your useless shouting."

  Tristandor was taken aback at Aeligon's defense of his son. “My wizard friend,” he began, “my son acted selfishly by showing off when there were other ways to get across. Blatant disobedience is not something I am willing to tolerate in such a volatile situation as this.” He pushed past Aeligon and the others and started up the stairs alone.

  "Tristandor!” Ithyllna shouted.

  "Leave him be,” Aeligon said. He turned to Aerinas. “Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine,” Aerinas huffed. “His hate for me grows with every step we take, Aeligon. I wish I knew why."

  Aeligon swore he saw a tear in Aerinas’ eye, but silence was the best medicine at the moment. “Perhaps the answer lies ahead, Aerinas. Do not hate him in return for it. He has a recently-attacked city to worry about, a wife he's left there, and secrets buried in his mind he'd rather forget. Don't give in to your impulse to strike him. Though impulsive, your father is very powerful, and I don't want anything to happen which will surely jeopardize your importance in this mission. Do you understand?"

  Aeligon's piercing blue eyes and blowing hair gave him a youthful demeanor belying his true age. Aerinas admired the wizard more than he could ever tell him, thought of him more as his father than Tristandor. But why? As Aerinas fumbled with his answer, he felt like he'd known Aeligon for ages, but couldn't explain how or why. “Yes, I understand. Thank you, Aeligon."

  Aeligon nodded and turned to face the rest of the daunting stairs. Tristandor was already moving up farther ahead than the rest, but no one was going to slow him down.

  "I'm worried about ‘im, Aeligon,” Farrin said matter-of-factly. “He may fall just like Lynais did, but no one'll be around ta’ catch ‘im this time."

  "Elves have light feet, my large friend,” Aeligon mused, trying to dismiss the situation. “Pray he doesn't have your pressure on these stairs."

  "Always pickin’ on the giant. It's goin’ ta’ come back ten fold on ya', I swears it.” He winked at the wizard and plucked Pux with his finger before he started up.

  "Ow!” Pux yelped. “Everyone forgets about the guy in the staff. Why?"

  "Oh hush up, Pux,” Aeligon scolded. “As my apprentice, you take the brunt of my beatings."

  "Figures,” he retorted.

  Quietly, the party ascended the rest of the stairs without incident. Tristandor was waiting for them on the landing at the top of the stairs. The others joined him. Aeligon moved to the blank stone wall barring their entrance into the city, moved a few stones from it, and pulled a lever. Nothing happened at first, but when he tapped the ground three times with his staff and uttered a few words in a cryptic language, a split formed in the rock from top to bottom. The doors swung open, and Lunathar sighed before them.

  Lunathar's stone gate emptied the group onto the Garden Terrace at the apex of the city. But, the area wasn't worth being called a garden anymore. Broken slate had replaced the smooth walkways through the grassy sections. The water had stopped running over the falls, in streambeds, and through fountains. Burn marks adorned the inner wall encircling the entire pinnacle. But that wasn't what troubled them the most, or what caused Aeligon to fall to his knees in anguish.

  The Shrin'Gala, otherwise known as the Temple of Arunir, had been destroyed, the Light extinguished. No longer did the pillar of light from the Elfstone fragment pulsate throughout the city, and they could tell. Aeligon's face was wet with streaming tears. The rotting corpses of wizards, mages, healers, conjurers—all Aeligon's friends and colleagues—were scattered about the former garden where beauty and life once reigned.

  Aeligon struggled to his feet, quaking. Aerinas and Foran steadied him, one on each side. “Never would I have thought I'd live to see Lunathar's fall; only in nightmares did such things happen. This devastation whispers of a familiar presence. Those burn marks...” His voice trailed off, pointing with his bent finger to the scars on the wall near where the Temple once stood.

  "This attack was not recent,” Tristandor noted, rubbing his foot on the charcoal burns near a smashed section of walkway. “The wind and rain have washed away most of the evidence."

  "What if the bastards are still ‘ere?” Farrin shouted, stomping his foot on the ground.

  "They're not,” Aerinas ventured. He pointed, “Look, the burns are only on the exterior of the walls and the garden grounds. The gateway into the city was still intact, suggesting an aerial assault.” They all looked up at the sky through the broken rock formations of the mountain refuge.

  "Ah!” Ithyllna jumped back. Lynais fell backwards, landing on his hands. There, impaled on one of the jagged rock towers, was the body of a roc. Dried blood glistened on the wall, covering nearly the entire top half. Feathers and other pieces were stuck in the dried stream of crimson.

  "A roc?” Tristandor said, surprised. “What would a roc be doing here, much less becoming impaled up there? Wesnoc is not going to like this at all."

  Aeligon wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed. “The clans in Caran use rocs to travel, not to provoke an attack. Wesnoc would never allow it. Perhaps someone wanted us to think one of these tribes is responsible for the attack on the city. Sleight of hand—an old wise man's trick. Well, it's not going to fool this wizard. Tristandor and Aerinas, come with me. We're going down into the city's depths.” He motioned to the rest. “You try to get the carcass down from there."

  "But, Aeligon, how are we supposed ta’ get it down from there when it's up so blasted high?” protested Farrin, waving his fist and pointing to the dead roc.

  "I said ‘try', Farrin, not ‘succeed'. Use your brain instead of brawn; you may find the solution is not so hard to conjure.” A look of concern swept across his face when he turned to the Shrin'Gala. They left Farrin standing there, agape, scratching his head in confusion.

  Snow began to blanket the plains of Salanthanon. The sun fell quickly behind the jagged mountain line to the west. While the party was preoccupied with what was going on inside Lunathar, the wall of fog outside moved closer to the base of the smooth border of the cylinder mountain, shielding them even more from what may have been happening on the ground below. Haarath looked through his own mirror fragment, much like Aeligon did in the catacombs, but with more success. The Healer lacked enough evil, so essential to making the mirror work to its fullest capacity.

  "The Drothghights will move silently through the wall of fog I have created,” he gleefully mused. “Let them meddle about in the wizard city, looking for inconsequential clues. By the time they figure it out, my assault on Trunith will have begun, and the third fragment found. Then, the secrets of the Planes will be mine!"

  The last vision the mirror s
howed to Haarath was Aeligon's weary body trudging toward the broken Temple with Tristandor and Aerinas trailing. Then, it went black.

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  Chapter 5—Intuition

  From the moment her son left the city, Nimoni could barely contain her sadness. But, despite the sorrowful feeling of forfeiting both her husband and her son to the quest at hand, she tried to remain strong. Life in Mynandrias, though bleak in recent times, went on—had to go on. Watches were kept round the clock, nightly patrols within the city walls were conducted, and the gates were reinforced and barred shut, prohibiting entrance wholly unless approved by the interim holder of the High Throne of Lythardia. Nimoni remembered when times were different, when safety was a commodity taken for granted. It wasn't so long ago, she recalled.

  She kept the ivory globe with her at all times—on her nightstand when she slept and in her pocket when she walked during the day. It was the other half of the whistle she gave to Ithyllna on the fateful night of the group's departure from the Grand Terrace. The polished bone was buffed to a glossy sheen from the hours spent holding it, encapsulated energy waiting to report the warning from the other end. It consumed her, gave her a sense of security even the Vrunyn Guard could not provide. It was her link to her son, but he would never know about it.

  Deep down inside, Nimoni knew there was something different about Aerinas. His upbringing, after all, was a strange one at best. She closed her eyes and thought of the deception she, herself, was entangled in. The carefully woven lies, the slow manipulation, the subtle removal of his individuality—all were so perfectly executed. Yet, through it all, the long lives of the elves left much room for change. Bonds began to form and feelings started to seep through the cracks of boundaries thought fortified through sheer devotion to her husband's wishes.