Children of Prophecy

by Glynn Stewart

  From the Fire and Air of Tal’s magic came the blade’s fury, its strength, a supernatural keenness and the focus of his power. From the Earth and Water of Brea’s magic came its calm, its protectiveness, its incredible durability and an ability to guard Tal.

  The magic swirled around the two of them and the sword-staff. It surged through the entire smithy, making the steel glow not white but pure black.

  Then it stopped. Magic faded slowly from the room as Tal and Brea let the magic go simultaneously. Tal looked towards By, to see him slowly raising the sword from the barrel of water he’d just quenched it in.

  “It’s finished,” the smith said, unnecessarily.

  “So soon?” Tal heard Brea say. He turned to see her, noticing that her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright as they met his.

  “‘So soon’?” the smith asked, sounding incredulous. “I’ve been forging it for nearly three hours. The thing’s been glowing black for half of that time. I presume that was the magic?”

  Tal nodded, looking at the pure black blade the smith was holding. “Yes, it was,” he said quietly. “There’s one last stage left to be done, tonight. It needs the light of a full moon.” He glanced over at Brea.

  Find another Life Mage for the last stage, the amulet’s voice warned. She’s dangerous. She will weaken you.

  I can’t, Tal replied. It requires the same Mage.

  “If you would care to join me at the Manse, milady Brea, we can complete this tonight,” he said.

  “Of course, Tal,” she agreed, and he winced at the tone of her voice.

  Finally, Tal turned back to By. “Thank you, Master Smith,” he told the man. “You have more than lived up to your reputation. What do I owe you for this?”

  The smith raised his hand in negation. “Nothing,” he said firmly. “I think that being the only smith alive to have participated in the forging of a sword-staff is going to bring me enough business to more than make up for my time and the few materials used.” The smith grinned, and offered the sword to Tal with both hands. “Your sword-staff, Lord Tal’raen.”

  Tal reached out and took it. He rotated it with one hand, testing the balance. It was, unsurprisingly, perfect. “Once again, thank you.”

  He led Brea into the glade around the back of Hawk Manse. The trees formed a simple geometric pattern, a triangle within a circle. The center of the triangle was shielded from the city and its noise by the trees – and some minor magic.

  “It’s so peaceful,” she said, stopping.

  Somehow, Tal felt her reach out and touch the life around them. He shouldn’t have been able to – Death Magi couldn’t detect anything other than the most blatant applications of Life Magic. He nodded in reply to her words.

  “That is the point, milady,” he explained softly. “This is the only peace many of the men who’ve lived here have found.”

  He felt her eyes on him as he laid the sword down upon the onyx-black stone block at the very center of the pattern. “Like you?” she asked. “Is this place your peace?”

  He smiled gently, knowing she couldn’t see it. “At times,” he admitted. “I didn’t even know it was here until I returned… but it draws me to it when I need it.” He glanced back at her. “The glade itself is alive, I think.”

  She nodded, her eyes unfocused. “Yes, I can feel it,” she told him. “It’s alive… and powerful. Oh so very powerful. This was made by a very powerful Life Mage… made with love.”

  Tal found himself nodding, and he spoke quietly, “Her name was Lis’lara,” he told her, “the Wolf Lady. She was to have been the Hawk Lord’s bride.”

  Brea’s looked at him sharply. “How do you know that?” she demanded.

  “He’s in my head,” Tal told her quietly. “Always. Advising, ordering, guiding.”

  “The Hawk Lord?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Tal said flatly as he turned back to the sword. He glanced up at the twilit sky, glancing towards the moon. It had risen enough, he judged. “We should begin.”

  He felt her urge to ask more – he wasn’t sure how – but she didn’t. She stepped forward to face him across the plinth, and they both laid their hands on the sword, his on the blade and hers on the hilt.

  Tal felt her power flare up alongside his own, and their eyes met across the plinth. Magic flared between them, and the world vanished around them.

  Brea suddenly found herself in a long, oddly shaped, black room. The lines were sharp, each edge glistening.

  “Where are we?” she asked, finding herself still facing Tal.

  “Inside the sword,” he replied. “Shall we begin?” he asked.

  “I… I’m not quite sure what we’re doing now,” she admitted.

  He flashed a smile at her, his eyes abstracted. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “Neither do I. No-one’s done this in over five centuries. I’ve got Shar’tell in my head giving me the step-by-step.”

  “So what does he say we do?” she asked uncomfortably.

  “He doesn’t like it,” Tal said slowly, “but… I can’t explain why.” He looked at her. “Take my hands.”

  Brea reached out and took his hands, the touch of his flesh warm upon hers as they stood at the center of the sword. She felt the magic flow between them and reach out to the edges of the sword.

  “And…” Tal said quietly, “now!”

  The power suddenly flashed into existence, lighting the room with a maelstrom of colors. After a moment, an incredible wind added to it and she felt her power flow into all of it.

  She felt herself lift off the floor as the magic caught her up in it. A moment later, she slammed into Tal as the wind caught her.

  His arms locked around her to prevent her from falling. “Don’t let go of the magic!” he whispered into her ear. “Hold on to it!”

  She held on. The energy flared through her and she could feel it in Tal too. “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “We’re binding the magic to the steel. Mine to build a weapon, yours to defend the wielder,” he replied, his eyes glowing white with power.

  She glanced away from him, to see that the walls were changing colors, and seemed to be sharpening. The air seemed to be getting short in the room.

  “Where’s the air going?” she gasped.

  “It isn’t,” Tal replied calmly. “It’s just the magic.”

  “When does it stop?” Brea asked, knowing she didn’t have much more energy than what she’d given up.

  A moment later, the sharp edges of the inside of the sword vanished, to be replaced by the glade.

  Tal looked across the sword at her, his hands still holding hers. “Now,” he said, his eyes meeting hers across the sword.

  Tal picked up the sword-staff, rotating it in his hands as he looked over the blade. It had changed colors from the night-black it had been to a deep blue reminiscent of the ocean at night.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said quietly.

  “It’s a weapon,” he heard Brea say.

  He looked up to meet her eyes. “So am I, Brea,” he told her quietly. “I am nothing more, nor less, than a human weapon.”

  She reached out and took his hand again. “You’re no more a weapon than you are a god, Tal,” she told him. “You’re a man; a Battlemage perhaps, but only a man.”

  He smiled at her. “I think, milady Brea’ahrn,” he said gently, “that you do not know me as well as you may think.”

  Brea took the sword from his hand and laid it down on the plinth, gently. He watched her, unmoving. She stood, and faced him. “I think I know you better than you think,” she told him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “Do you?” he asked, his voice quiet. She can’t understand. No-one can.

  “You’re afraid,” she said softly. “You’ve lost the only thing in this world that provided you with a safety net, and been handed more responsibility and power than you ever imagined. And you’re afraid. So you focus on what you can deal with.”

  Her eyes met his
and she stepped up to him and took his hands. “Tal, you can’t sacrifice everything you are to become the Black Lord,” she told him firmly. “The Black Lord is you, it cannot replace who you are.”

  He said nothing for a moment, then moved towards her. She didn’t move away, and he kissed her. “Brea…” What can I say? How can I explain what I’ve seen?

  “Tal, you can’t be alone,” she said again. “Not always. It will destroy you.” He felt her place her hands on his shoulders.

  You can’t do this! Shar’tell shouted in the back of his head. She will weaken you.

  Tal looked into Brea’s eyes, and knew he was wrong. She is not my weakness. She is my strength. This is no longer your concern, Shar’tell.

  Brea looked into Tal’s eyes, seeing the distance there. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Shar’tell…” he said quietly, “is wrong.”

  “How?” she asked, leaning forward to silently rest her cheek against his shoulder.

  “He didn’t understand the visions. He thinks they mean that you will weaken me, destroy me,” he replied. He moved a little, and she found herself looking into his eyes again. “I see the future, sometimes. Visions… of war and death, usually. But they’re false… warnings, not prophecies.”

  “What did you see?” she asked, unable to resist, even though she could sense the horror the visions had for him.

  He kissed her again. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “I think I understand now.”

  She tightened her grip on him. “Tal, I think this is meant to be,” she told him. “Someone once told me we were Mage-bonded. I wasn’t sure what he meant then, but I know now. We’re linked, somehow. I can feel your magic, feel your pain.” She hesitated, not knowing how to say what had to come next. “I love you, Black Lord Tal’raen.”

  Brea felt him tense for a second, then it all seemed to flow out of him, and he spoke quietly. “So it is how it is,” he said. “Life and death, an unending circle and we its symbols and its avatars.”

  She lifted her head to face him, uncertain of what he meant.

  Their eyes met. “I love you, Princess Brea’ahrn, my shek’sali,” he said. He kissed her, and for a while, the glade under the stars was all the world they knew.

  Once again, the great mass of the Swarm had been gathered. This time, thought, not merely the great Magi and their retinues had come; every Chaos Mage had come, unable to resist the call of the true Lord of the Swarm.

  Cloaked in shadow, Stret gazed out over the immense horde he now commanded. No-one had ever even tried to count the Swarmbeasts, but eleven hundred Swarmmasters and nine hundred Warriors had come. The Warrior Magi had managed to bring a host of sixty thousand Beastmen between them.

  Those Stret had bound most closely to his cause – mostly followers of Tel’kit, but many were independent Magi who had chosen to follow him – now moved through that horde. They were but his Servants, but all answered to them. They organized Beastmen, Magi and Swarms into units.

  “It is time,” Lo’kae said from where his own shadow cloaked him. “They will obey the Servants for a time, because they serve you, but they must see you. They must know who they serve.”

  Stret nodded. “I will speak,” he told his servant. “I will be seen. Wait my friend. Soon now, they will know whom they serve.”

  Lo’kae bowed, the shift visible even in the shadow. “As you will it, my Lord.”

  Stret drifted through the shadow, watching one of his Servants arguing with a Raven Warrior. The Warrior’s warband was reasonably well-organized, for a Beastman warband. The tents were all in one place, there were clear paths through them, the fires weren’t about to set the tents on fire and they’d actually dug latrines. For Beastmen, that was impressive.

  Unfortunately, the sort of Warrior who could instill that kind of discipline in the inherently Chaotic Beastmen tended to be proud, arrogant, and quite attached to the ‘men he’d trained so well.

  “Look, I came here to follow the Lord of the Swarm,” that Warrior now spat at Stret’s Servant. “You aren’t him, so I don’t see where you get off giving me orders.”

  “I speak with the Lord’s voice,” the Servant replied, only a Crow Mage herself, but confident in her authority. “To defy me is to defy him.”

  “Well, that’s all fine and dandy,” the Warrior said, “but my ‘men are mine, and I ain’t ordering them to obey anyone else without some fairly certain proof of who’s giving the orders.”

  Stret figured it was time to intervene. “And just what sort of proof would you be requiring, Warrior?” he said softly, drifting into the light. He’d found that melodrama actually added to one’s authority – when handled correctly.

  He glanced around, to find that the area around him had dropped to silence. “Well?” he demanded. “What proof do you all require that the Servants are mine? And speak with my voice?”

  “My lord,” the Warrior choked. “I merely thought…”

  “You thought that you could not ‘stoop’ to take orders from a mere Crow Mage,” Stret cut him off. “Well, unfortunately for you, Warrior, what you ‘thought’ doesn’t matter. You swore to serve me. Well, the Servants serve me also, but more directly. They have been placed above you by their loyalty to me – and their words are as my own.”

  He glided towards the Warrior. “You seem prepared to defy my Servant,” he told the Servant, his eyes glowing. “Are you prepared to defy me?”

  The Warrior practically melted. Every Chaos Mage in the camp knew that they had about as much chance of surviving going up against the Lord of the Swarm as they did of stopping the tide. “No, lord,” he said quietly.

  “Good,” Stret said, then turned to the Servant. “What was the problem here, Mar’eya?” he asked her. He’d made certain he knew the name of every single Servant – with the support he was giving them, he wanted to know them all as well as possible.

  Mar glanced at the visibly trembling Warrior. “I don’t think there will be a problem anymore, my lord,” she replied respectfully.

  Stret nodded carefully. “Very well,” he said firmly. “Make sure of it.”

  He turned away from the two, to face the rapidly gathering crowd of Magi. “If any of you doubt that the Servants speak for me, do not doubt anymore,” he told them. “If any of you resent having them placed over you,” he paused for effect, “feel free to take up your complaints with me.” Silence reigned. “I take it there are no issues then?” he asked. “Good.”

  They knew whom they served. That had to be so. This army was one of Chaos and destruction. His crusade would change the world, and he would not allow the nature of his tools to destroy it along the way. When the time came for him to force the Chaos Magi to follow his will rather than their base nature, there could be no dissent against him.

  It took Brea a moment to remember where she was when she awoke. The bed was larger than she was used to, and the canopy was a deep burgundy, not the green of her own rooms.

  Then the warmth next to her shifted, and she remembered. She turned, coming up on to one arm to glance down at Tal. She smiled, remembering the night before in the glade.

  Her fingers dropped down to drift above his chest, supported by the warmth of his body. Small white lines marked his upper body. Some were scars from sword practice, the rest were from Mage combat. Not much energy could get through a Mage’s shields before they collapsed, and even less of that energy got through enspelled fabrics, but what did tended to sear the body in a way no mere metal or mundane fire could.

  Tal shifted again, and her smile faded as she watched him. There was something wrong, she could feel it. She reached out and touched the side of his head.

  His eyes suddenly snapped open, glowing black, and he spoke in a voice she didn’t recognize. “See!”

  Then she found herself falling into his eyes… falling into horror.

  A blood-red sun hovered over the battlefield. The Swarm surged across, surged across the fallen bodies of Vishnean Knigh
ts.

  She stood in front of the ordered lines of the Battlemagi, watching as the last survivors of the Kingsmen and knights passed through the gaps in them. She raised a hand, holding a sword. With a shock, she recognized the sword – and the hand – as Tal’s.

  “Now!” she commanded, and the voice was Tal’s – heavy with some emotion. A flickering silver line of death flashed into being before the line of Magi.

  Then, suddenly, a knot of Kingsmen broke free from the front of the Swarm, the banner of the house of Ahrn flickering above them. Under the banner she saw herself.

  “Milady,” she heard Tal whisper.

  “Milord, we can’t lower the shield,” the Mage next to him – Shej’mahi – said.

  “Then I’ll go for them myself,” she heard him spit at the Battle Lord.

  She felt the body she watched from Shift into a Hawk, and fly out over the shield, straining every sinew to reach her before the Swarm did.

  Tal – and her – plummeted down to stand beside her. “My lady!”

  The other Brea reached out her hand and she felt Tal take it. They turned at bay, before the line of Battlemagi, to face the mass of the Swarm…

  Tal waited for Brea to stop shaking before he spoke. “You saw what I saw, didn’t you?” he asked, softly.

  She raised her face to him and nodded. “Yes. I saw,” she told him, her voice choked. “I saw.”

  “I won’t let it happen, Brea. I can’t,” he said. He knew what he had to do, now. “I was planning on bringing the Kingsmen with me, but it doesn’t seem as if they’ll do any good. I won’t risk them. I can’t risk…” he paused as his throat seemed to clog. “I can’t risk you, Brea. I can’t.”

  She began to open her mouth and he laid his finger against her lips. “It’s decided, Brea,” he told her. “The Battlemagi will stand alone. As they must, for I will not risk that which I must defend.”