Children of Prophecy

by Glynn Stewart

  A second later, Tal was smashed to the side as the drake hit him with its front paw. The scythe-like claws failed to penetrate his shields, but he went flying nonetheless. The immense beast snuffled, then advanced towards Tal.

  Tal rose to one knee, meeting and holding the creature’s eyes. He reached out to it, touching its mind. He found its rage, its anger at its very existence – and the intelligence behind its eyes – an intelligence that hated being enslaved with a passion that was quite literally inhuman.

  He touched it, grabbed a mental hold over the bonds that forced it to serve, and ripped them out. The beast stopped centimeters away from attacking him again. Its eyes held his, and the drake bowed its head slightly.

  It spun with a shocking speed and grace, to lunge at Mau’reek. The Chaos Mage lashed out with a mental force, to do what Tal didn’t know. He felt the force, and stopped it with his shields.

  Mau’reek snarled, and raised a hand. Before Tal could react, she Channeled. Pure chaos flashed through her body and out her hand. It swirled out and hit the drake like the hammer of a god. The beast stopped, the surface of its body rippling with that inexplicable energy, and exploded, spattering gore all over the clearing.

  The chaos blazed towards Tal, utterly destroying everything it touched. Tal faced it calmly, raised his own hand and said, “Stop.”

  The malignant purple wavefront seemed to freeze. It writhed as though challenging the power of order that bound it. “End,” he told it firmly. At the single word, the chaos vanished.

  Then another attack slammed into his shields. A chaos lance of incredible power hit him, cutting through his shields. Tal threw himself to the side, barely evading the beam.

  Another beam lashed out, and he managed to deflect it. He heard Mau’reek’s footsteps as she approached. “Not so cocky now, are we?” she asked mockingly.

  “Actually, no,” Tal replied, forcing his voice to evenness, “I’m just as cocky.”

  Her next chaos lance came slashing in, and he deflected it straight back at her. In the moment it took her to stop the reflected attack, he moved.

  He sent a searing flash of blue lightning in on the heels of the chaos lance. Mau’reek’s shields managed to hold, but weakened. Tal sent a lance of Death – the ultimate order – after the lightning.

  Tal felt Mau’reek’s shields fail. The lance struck her in the lower chest, sending her tumbling backwards.

  He walked over to where she’d fallen and knelt over her. He watched as blood bubbled from her mouth as she tried desperately to breathe.

  “You’ve only won this round,” she gasped out. “I’ll be back…”

  He felt it happen. The body died, and something else – the shek, which the Riders had learned to implant into another body – separated.

  Tal reached out with his hands, layering death and order upon them, and grabbed the thing. A scream sounded in his mind, hammering into his mental ears. It went on and on, but he held to the shek.

  The scream cut off with a shocking suddenness, and the shek was gone. Forever.

  Stret dismounted from behind Hul’pij, the youngest (if the handful of years mattered against the thousand and more all Four had lived) of the Four. His eyes were riveted on the structure before him. Twisting columns of purple marble both drew and repulsed his eyes. They gathered together into four spires, reaching for the heavens.

  Around each spire was a dome of stone of a deep, shifting purple. The domes did not touch each other, but there was little space between them, not enough for a man to walk.

  Lo’kae dismounted. “Follow me, Stret,” he commanded. “There is only one way in for you.”

  Stret followed the immortal Mage around the structure, to the gap between the two domes facing west. Through the gap, Stret glimpsed a low structure that seemed to be built of purple crystal.

  Lo gestured through the gap. “Come,” he ordered, but Stret stopped. Lo turned back. “What is it?” he demanded.

  “I think I should go on alone,” Stret replied.

  “What?” Lo’kae demanded, seeming to jar back slightly.

  Stret kept his face still by dint of great effort. “If I understand you correctly,” he said calmly, “I will either leave this place as the Drake Lord, who even you will bow to, or I will not leave at all. I do not think it is appropriate for you to lead, or even follow, me into this place.”

  “I fear I disagree, Stret’sar,” Lo’kae replied, his voice cold.

  Stret lowered the temperature of his own voice to a similar level. “I’m afraid I must insist, Lord Lo’kae,” he said firmly. “If I am to be Drake Lord, I will not bow to you. I will be Drake Lord. Leave me.” The last was spoken in a tone of command. Stret was testing.

  Lo’kae said nothing for a moment, but finally inclined his head. “As you have said, you will return as my master, or not at all,” he said finally. A strange expression crossed the old Mage’s face. “Good luck.” He seemed tempted to say more, but backed away.

  Stret faced the gap between the domes. He took a deep breath and stepped forwards into the shek’maji’hil.

  Tal turned away from the shattered body of Mau’reek, who had stood second among the Four. Something tugged at his mind, drawing him towards the saddlebags.

  He was confused. His locating spell was disabled, yet something drew him to those bags. Leaving the scrying spell inactive, he crossed to the bags. Kneeling by them, he let the tug guide his hand. It came to rest on a single bag. He touched the bag. It felt cold with the autumn chill.

  He shook himself. What did he expect? The warmth of something alive? He opened the bag and reached inside. Whatever it was seemed to grab his hand.

  He took it in his hands and lifted the Hawk Amulet out. The golden links ran over his fingers with a cool smoothness, broken only by the perfect spheres of the blood crystals. His mind counted them unconsciously as his fingers ran over them, one by one.

  There were twenty-six crystals. His fingers stopped on the last one – Car’s crystal. The tugging was strong now.

  Twenty-six. That makes the next twenty-seven. A three of threes of threes. Three three times over. A powerful number.

  Without even realizing what he was doing, he looped the chain over his hands and raised it up to his head. He stopped himself before he put on. What was he doing?

  The Amulet wasn’t for him. Car hadn’t known who it was for, but he’d said Tal wasn’t recognized in the way the Amulet recognized the next Hawk.

  So what was the tugging? Tal ran the Amulet through his fingers again, and touched the first crystal, the largest crystal… the crystal holding the soul of Shar’tell, the Hawk Lord.

  Who are you? a voice demanded in his head.

  Tal froze for a moment. Then he answered aloud. “I am the Hawk Adept Tal’raen.”

  No. Who are you? the voice demanded again.

  This time Tal responded mentally. I do not know what you are asking of me, he told it.

  Who are you? What are you? the voice continued to demand.

  I don’t know what you want! Tal nearly screamed mentally.

  Do you know who you are? it asked.

  Tal hesitated. I’m not sure anymore, he admitted. I knew… but Car is dead, and I no longer have his certainty.

  Do you want to know? the voice asked.

  Yes! he replied, certain now that, whatever this was, he needed to know what it asked of him.

  Then take up my amulet, Child of my Blood, the voice instructed.

  Without thinking, Tal lowered the amulet around his neck. It clicked close, and everything came swirling in, and he began to scream as something entered his mind.

  Stret entered the crystal bunker. It was unadorned, simple. There were no altars, no pillars, but just a smooth crystal room. In its center floated an object. From the object, rippling lines of rainbow-colored light reached out to the wall. No two lines were alike.

  Stret stepped closer, seeing that the object was a scepter… its head in the shape of a dragon.
It turned to face him, and a voice seemed to come from the dragon.

  Who enters? it asked.

  “The Drake Mage Stret’sar,” Stret replied.

  Who are you, Drake Mage Stret’sar? the voice demanded.

  “I am a Child of the Prophecy,” he replied firmly.

  Do you know what that means?

  Stret hesitated. “Not truly,” he admitted.

  Do you wish to understand? the voice asked. To know? To be what you can truly be?

  “Yes,” Stret answered, without hesitation this time.

  Then take me, the voice of the scepter instructed. If you are worthy, I will show you the path.

  Stret paused for only a moment before he laid his hand on the scepter.

  Good, good… and now!

  Power slammed into Stret’s head, claiming and adjusting and making him its and it his. He stumbled, but he slammed the scepter to the ground to hold him up.

  It only lasted a moment, but when it was over he realized his throat was raw from screaming. He hadn’t even realized he’d opened his mouth.

  Who are you? the voice asked.

  “I am Stret’sar,” Stret replied. “I am the Drake Lord Reborn. I am the Wielder of the Void, the Master of the Swarm. I am not the Master of Chaos… I am Chaos.”

  And now… now you understand.

  Tal slowly pulled himself to his feet as the pain faded. Who are you? he demanded.

  In reality? the voice replied. No-one. In essence? I am every Hawk that ever lived. In the main, I am Shar’tell… and I am also Car’raen. I’m here, son. Still alive. Somehow merged with Shar’tell. We have waited a millennium for this time, a thousand years for you. The time has come. The Children of Prophecy walk the world, and all that is and all that may yet be could yet fall to chaos.

  So I ask you once again, son of my blood and son of my son. Who are you?

  Tal faced the setting and spoke aloud. “I am Tal’raen,” he told the midnight air wonderingly. “I am the Black Lord. I am the Hawk Lord Reborn. I am Death.”

  And you will be the world’s Judge.

  The Swarm

  Stret’sar left the shek’maji’hil carrying the Scepter of the Dragon. He found the three Riders standing in a triangle with their heads bowed, releasing a keening sound that seemed somehow more than human.

  He stopped, lowering the Scepter to the ground, waiting. For several minutes they continued to keen, and as they did, he noticed that they were facing one of the four pillars. A closer examination of the pillar showed that massive cracks now marred the once perfect surface.

  Before Stret could begin to consider what that could mean, the three ancient Magi suddenly ceased to keen simultaneously.

  There was a moment of silence, and Lo’kae turned to face Stret. The Mage’s eyes lowered to the Scepter. “So it was as I believed,” he said quietly. “The time is upon us, and the Children among us.”

  “What happened?” Stret demanded.

  “Mau’reek is dead,” the leader of the Four said flatly. “Her shek destroyed by Death. I fear that the Black Lord has taken up his amulet and will face you.”

  Stret’s fingers rubbed the purple-gemmed eyes of the dragon. “Then when the time comes, I will face him, and I will destroy him,” he said quietly.

  “We will have our vengeance upon him,” Lo’kae hissed with his head bowed. “For now, we must prepare.”

  “Indeed,” Stret replied. “Summon the Swarmmasters and Warriors. I must assert my authority now, before rumor begins to spread. Then we must begin preparations. As you said, the time is upon us, and soon we will descend upon the Vishni, and teach them the true nature of this world.”

  Three days later, the vast majority of the Swarmmasters and War Magi had gathered. They and their human or near-human bodyguards covered the area around the shej’maji’jil with an immense tent city. Beyond its boundaries seethed the writhing mass of their inhuman minions.

  They gathered around the temple, hundreds strong. Stret watched them file in from where he was hidden by the shadows. None of them knew why they’d been summoned, and many of them resented the Riders doing so. He would have to bend them to his will, and it would not be easy.

  He did not intend to fail. A nod to Lo’kae started him and the other two Riders moving. They slowly rode their drakes out into the middle of the crowd. Stret watched, tucking his left hand into the sleeve of his constantly shifting purple robe and holding the Scepter in his right.

  The Three formed a triangle, with Lo’kae at its apex. Lo’kae raised his hand, but the assembled Chaos Magi continued to murmur. A moment later, thunder crashed and purple lightning flashed down from the ever-present overcast to Lo’s hand.

  “Fellow Magi!” the old, old Mage said into the sudden silence. “I am thankful that you have come.”

  “Well, we aren’t!” one of the Magi shouted. “By what authority do you summon us here?”

  “I summoned you by the authority of the Riders,” Lo’kae responded.

  “What authority? You become more irrelevant every day!” the heckler shouted.

  Thunder crashed again. “I did not call you here to bicker with you,” Lo’kae said coldly.

  “Then what are we here for?” the heckler demanded. “Some grand speech of yours?”

  “You are not here to listen to me at all,” Lo responded. “You are here to listen to another.”

  “Who?” demanded the heckler.

  “To your Lord and Master,” the leader of the Four told the assembled Chaos Magi flatly.

  That was Stret’s cue. Thunder crashed, and two bolts of lightning flashed down. They touched the ground and froze, with brilliant shades of purple flickering up and down the pillars of electricity they formed. Stret stood between them, letting the purple light shine over him.

  Then he began to move. A quick flick of chaos lifted him slightly off the ground, and he began to glide forward. His pillars of lightning came with him as he passed between the rearward Riders, into the center of the triangle.

  Lo’kae turned back to face him, and bowed. A rustle broke the silence of the crowded Magi. Lo retired, his drake sliding past the lightning pillars.

  Stret drifted forwards, until he stood at the point of a triangle formed of himself and the Three. The lightning pillars flickered besides him as he rose entirely off the ground. When he was at the height from which Lo’kae had spoken to them, he stopped, floating in the air.

  When he spoke, his voice was calm and quiet – though projected to all the listeners – in sharp contrast to the fury of his entrance. “I am the Chaos Master,” he told them. “I am the Drake Lord Reborn. I am the Lord of the Swarm. I am Stret’sar, and I am your master.”

  Someone below, the same heckler as before, managed to recover his senses. “A fancy entrance doesn’t make you Lord of the Swarm!” he shouted.

  “Does this?” Stret said softly, his voice perfectly calm as he raised the Scepter of the Dragon into the air, letting it shine in the light of the pillars.

  A shock rustled through the Magi. They recognized the Scepter.

  “How do we know you’re not a fake, propped up by the Riders to regain their fading power?” the heckler demanded.

  Stret’s eyes were cold. “You ask for proof?” he told the heckler. “Very well. You will have it.”

  He ran his fingers over the head of the dragon on the Scepter. A moment later, purple light shot from its eyes, catching the heckling Chaos Mage in the chest. The Mage screamed as the power of the scepter took him. A moment later, he was silent as he slumped to the ground in death.

  Stret took a deep breath as an incredible rush of power surged through him – the Mage’s life, drained from him and now delivered to Stret. It was heady… this was power.

  “Does anyone else need proof of who I am?” Stret demanded, his voice unchanged from before.

  There were no more hecklers.

  As the group began to disperse, Stret gestured for Lo’kae to join him. The Rider nudged his
drake over to where Stret floated.

  “My lord?” he asked.

  “We must begin to prepare,” Stret told him. “Arrange a meeting tent, and summon the other Drake Magi. I will meet with them in two hours. See it done.”

  Lo’kae bowed in the saddle. “Your will, Lord of the Swarm.”

  Stret stood facing the back of the tent, listening to the others file in. Every Drake Mage alive, twelve of them, not counting the Three and himself, had been summoned. After the general assembly, he doubted any of them would refuse to come.

  He didn’t move from his position, waiting. As each one came in, a roving construct he’d sent out to watch the entrance saw them, and he placed a mental check mark next to their name. Eventually, all of them were present but one. Just one.

  “I presume the Drake Mage Joh’per has reasons to not be here?” he said flatly, without ever turning to face the Magi. “Good reasons?”

  He watched through the roving eye as all of the Magi shifted uncomfortably. One of them finally bowed his head. “Lord, I fear he may plan rebellion against you,” he admitted. “The man you struck down was his son.”

  “Damn,” Stret said softly, making quite sure the tone of his voice didn’t change. He turned to face the tent. “We must be unified to face the strength of Vishni. Divided we will be crushed.” The last sentence was accompanied by a crushing gesture that riveted the Magi’s attention.

  Stret turned to meet the gaze of the Mage who’d spoken. “Drake Mage Tel’kit,” he identified the man aloud. “Is Joh’per still within the camp?”

  The red-haired Mage shook his head. “He left with his followers within the hour of the assembly,” he told his Master softly.

  “Very well,” Stret said firmly. “He has chosen his own fate.” With a gesture, a map unrolled down one wall. “That raises our immediate objectives to two. Firstly“ – he created a small bobbing spark of light to mark his place on the map – “we must seize one of these small passes. Not more than one and certainly not a large pass, but we must seize a pass. I want to send raiding parties through. Harass their trade, harass their non-Magi, but do not provide them with enough of a threat for them to muster for war. It isn’t time for that, yet.” His finger flicked out. “Tel’kit, I am placing you in charge of seizing the pass and sending at least six Swarmmasters and their ‘beasts through it.”