by Kyle Belote
Tearing himself away from his musings, Xilor spoke. “Let us begin. Bring forth the vessel.” Sid summoned the kettle, maneuvering it near the coffin-like statue, the vessel.
“Now the tomes, hover them over the bowl and burn them. Make sure all the ash makes it into the bowl.” Xilor lead him through the precarious instructions, blending the fourth branch of magic–Derengi–and alchemy together. The pace ponderous, the instructions tedious, but Sid followed his edicts like an expert
“Begin the siphon,” his grating voice commanded. On his word, the apprentice cast another spell, the ashes spinning in a cyclone. He laid on another weave of conjury, drawing out the essence of Xilor’s blood out of the spinning ashes and sent it weaving across the air into two casks filled with water. The water turned red.
“Into the vessel,” Xilor bade him.
The vessel, a form-fitted coffin far from ordinary, molded for a humanoid nearing nine-feet tall, designed for a giant. Some people whispered Xilor was a half-giant because he dabbled in more magic than full-blooded giants could tolerate. Giant’s blood had nothing to do with his towering frame, more his dark ambitions and magical machinations twisted him into the towering wraith.
That and a little help. The creature he became was the Dark Lord everyone knew and feared.
“I need my soul from the Abyss, which I arranged, and my skin and bones, what’s left of it. Dispatch the Inium clan to send a squad of trolls to the City of Despair where they can retrieve the powder of my bones.”
The apprentice bowed low and hurried away through the same doors as the goblin.
Sidjuous did have his uses, Xilor thought, and was glad he did not kill him when he initially wanted. Weak, unworthy, but he also had ambition and cunning. Xilor kept him around for many reasons. Sidjuous, one of the select few allowed to see him in his weakened state. When the time drew closer to his return, he would bring others into the fold, one being the vampires.
Speaking of which, Xilor thought. The Betrayer needs more incentive in his dealings with the vampires.
“Psimond,” Xilor cast the spell, projecting his will into magical accumulation. An eerie green glow came from the mirror and illuminated the room.
“The Betrayer in Shadow City,” Xilor completed the magical command.
***
Chapter 7 : The Betrayer
Death and the cold chill that accompanied were old acquaintances, but not a friend to the Betrayer. Darkness, shadows, silence: this place held the whispers of madness. The Betrayer strained hard against the ringing silence, his composure slipping. The porous stone walls made of black and red flecked granite were as cold as sheets of ice. What little light was granted to the Betrayer failed to keep the claustrophobia at bay. The lack of fresh air didn’t help, too. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he would lose his mind. He relished the thought of leaving, deprived of the suns and the chirps of birds for a moon turn.
A little over a month ago, the Dark Lord sent him as his emissary to the Clan King of the vampires in Shadow City. His duty: to voice the displeasure of Xilor and their lack of commitment to the fallen lord. At first, his presence was taken as a joke. Only when the sheol showed up did the vampires stir from their languid slumber. When the sheol quickened, everyone took it as a sign Xilor wasn’t far behind.
The Betrayer paced his small and windowless room. A cot nestled against the far wall beside a table with a washbasin. A nondescript and unflattering mirror, the only other decoration in the room. One candle burned, striving in vain to hold the intense darkness at bay.
The mirror swirled in a yellow-green fog, an expected transmission. When the swirling subsided, an image of eyes came into view, familiar, cold, peculiar. The Betrayer plastered a smile on his face and prostrated himself on the floor. “My lord, this is a pleasant surprise. Is stage one complete?” he asked, trying to mask his true feelings.
“Yes, my faithful servant. Your switching of the books in the non-magical Realm turned out to be your best accomplishment yet, including your memory charm on the girl. The flawless plan worked; even the great Lakayre was caught unaware. But your future may be forfeit because now they must know another Betrayer is among them. Instead of you, they hunt my apprentice. I cannot permit this.”
“Have they caught him, then?” the servant asked, almost hopeful. If the newest minion Xilor placed inside the walls of Ralloc was caught, that would effectively retire the Betrayer from his vile service, and the Dark Lord would have to start over. He prayed to whatever gods existed the day would come soon.
“No, they have not. But you should heed my words and watch your back, for they will catch on and come for you. If they capture you, I will have no need to keep them alive.”
Dear Spirits, not the children. Anything but them.
“As long as the trilogy with your blood is back, the risk was worth it, my lord.”
“Yes.” Xilor paused, scrutinizing the man. “What of the vampires? Have they allied themselves yet?”
“Yes, my lord. The Clan King of the vampire will set out tonight to meet you. He will arrive in a few days.”
“And what of the sheol? Have they also aligned with me? Did they not sense my presence and power growing stronger?”
“They are ready for war, but I am not certain they can be persuaded. They are aware that without them, we would be hard pressed to win. If they do not fight for us, then all is lost.”
“Not lost, no. I am never without a fail-safe. Even if my demons of death do not side with us, they will when they sense the power shift.”
“Yes, but I think they might already ally with us after the attack on Lakayre. That almost seals their fate with us,” Betrayer brooded.
“The staged attack on the Other Side? My apprentice took the opportunity to try to eliminate you and Judas on the Other Side. His foolishness tipped our hand early. I did not command him to do so. He will pay for his transgression. But the act might work in our favor. If the sheol think some of their rank have sided against Ralloc, perhaps more will come to the cause. You would think the creatures I created would be trustworthy; however, spending much time with them as I, one learns they can never be trusted completely. Their agendas are their own.”
“Perhaps they will not pledge allegiance to either side of the struggle and they mean to finish off whatever side wins, when they are at their weakest,” the Betrayer mused out loud.
“Careful, turncoat. If I didn’t know any better, I would have figured that was your idea all along!”
Shades of the Underworld!
The Betrayer blushed and bowed low. “No, my lord, I would never turn against you!”
“How do I know? You betrayed your kind, your blood.”
“My lord, why would I turn against the dark tide when it drowns out all light in the Realm? I have been foolish in the past to think such conservative actions are the true display of power; I know that to have power, you must demonstrate it with full might!”
“I can see into your soul. Much hatred burns within you, but for whom? Me?”
If you only knew the truth.
“My lord, the hatred is the fuel to my power, and you know who it burns for. I hate mentioning his name.”
“Judas Lakayre?” the voice sneered. It slithered like an oily creature breathed to life.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good, then you will have no problem killing him when the time comes!”
“My lord.” Betrayer bowed, showing reverence.
Do I want to kill Warlock Lakayre?
“My lord, wouldn’t you want the pleasure of killing the person who destroyed you?”
“Yes, I would. Nothing would please me more than to kill him; however, nothing would show me more loyalty than if you took Judas’ life!” The Betrayer bowed low again, lower than before to hide his face, giving him time to compose his mask.
I cannot kill him. I am no murderer.
He looked up. “I am honored, my lord! Do you know where he is?”
“Yes, my other spy. My apprentice said he saw him in Ralloc today. Two betrayers is better than one, don’t you think? And three, well, I believe in redundancy.”
“As always, my lord, your wisdom is boundless,” the Betrayer bowed a third time, his face grimacing into the ground and out of view.
“Good. Enough of the not-too-distant future; how is the Clan King getting here?”
“Given that no one can teleport across the Corridor of Cruelty, he’s going to use the journey-stone I gave him to teleport outside the Corridor. He will fly through under the cover of night. Once out the other side, he will use the journey-stone to teleport to the Ruins of Sheol. Once night falls, he will complete the journey to Gryzlaud.”
“Very well,” Xilor said from the mirror. “Your next assignment will be to sway the trolls. Go to the Ruins of Sheol. Incite an uprising, have them attack Wizard’s Pass. There will be a small window of time. It is a test of loyalty.”
“My Lord, the Ruins of Sheol are through the Corridor of Cruelty, in another Realm–”
“I DO NOT ALLOW YOU TO LIVE TO QUESTION MY WISDOM!” the acidic voice boomed from the mirror. It almost vibrated out of its framing.
The Betrayer fell to his knees, hunched over with his face to the ground. Scrotum of gods don’t kill me! “My Lord, forgive me, I was foolish to think–”
“YOU ARE FOOLISH! YOU THINK YOUR FEEBLE WIZARD SKILLS ARE EVEN CLOSE TO FATHOMING MY UNDERSTANDING?” The eyes narrowed to slits, but when he spoke again, his voice grew quiet though still harsh. “If you think you can outwit me or betray me, think again. I may not be in physical form, but my source of power is vast, if not endless, and I will crush you if I perceive the slightest inclination of treachery.”
He’s insane!
“Forgive me, Lord, I didn’t mean–”
“But you did.” Xilor’s acidic voice turned back to the familiar cold, clammy voice. “Otherwise, you would have said nothing. I will give you five days to complete the negotiations. Five days! Or you won’t be around to witness my return to glory.” Before the Betrayer uttered another word, the eyes in the mirror faded in a green swirl, the communication severed.
The Betrayer sagged with relief when the communication terminated. He trembled with exhaustion. He almost wished he said ‘no’ to the Dark Lord all those years ago. But how could he? How could he throw away the lives of two innocent children by not answering the Dark Lord’s call? He threatened their death every chance he got, to remind the Betrayer where he belonged. It was a tough choice to make: betraying everyone and everything he had known, or the death of innocents. Both choices were horrible and each held distinct consequences. But he would rather betray his heart than suffer the deaths of those children. Still, he needed to find a way to escape, utilizing every bit of guile and ingenuity he could muster. The time had come for him to corner the Dark Lord, to outmaneuver him. He just hoped he could come away unscathed.
“Five days …” he muttered to himself. A near-impossible feat. He would need to find a Journeyman and purchase a porting stone. The candle of time burned quickly. Five days to prove his usefulness, loyalty, and reliability.
***
Chapter 8 : Lakayre Manor
His feet touched the familiar wood floor of the library. The phthalo-blue carpet lay dark beneath the tables in the distance. Julie still lay on the floor, his traveling cloak about her. He cast a glance over his shoulder, a warm orange and purple glow on the distant horizon to the north. Dawn. When moving to kneel beside her, he discerned a small tremor of magic. He spun, pulling his wand free of his robes, shooting his conjury in a sudden, aimless burst. The blast wave ripped through, invisible to the eye, crashing through shelves, splintering wood, ripping through books, and sent paper flying. A grunt escaped his attacker, but he couldn’t see through the ensuing confusion.
Judas stood to his full height, wary there may be others. He darted down the aisle, dipping around a corner, spying the feet of his attacker, the body buried under shelves and tomes and was unable to identify him. Another tremor from behind him, moments before he heard the incantation. Whirling around, he batted the spell away without a word, throwing up his mage-shield. What he didn’t reflect, the shield absorbed. The second attacker stayed in the shadows, cowering in the darkness, hoping to draw him out. They wanted to divide and conquer, moving him away from Julie. But the question gnawing at him: were they there for him or her? He assumed for him; it made sense. Why would someone come for the girl?
The warlock turned away, hurrying between the bookshelves, back towards Julie. If they managed to beat him, she was as good as dead. Reaching her moments later, he kneeled beside her. Once in his arms, his mage-shield enveloped them both. Another stray bolt of energy ripped through the room, breaking more shelves and destroying more volumes. His heart panged at the sight, knowing the scripts were most likely beyond saving.
He called his power, the essence answering his summons. As he started his teleport, a figure materialized at the other end of the aisle, skidding to a stop. Black cloth shrouded the figure, its face hidden, raising its wand, light and force flaring, shooting forward. The flash was so bright, Judas had to blink several times to regain his sight. When he did, his manor stood before him, the teleport successful.
For a brief moment, he pitied Sam, the librarian, who would come to work this morning only to find the place destroyed. How did they track me?
He shook his head and adjusted the girl in his arms. A black iron gate guarded the front of his manor and stood fifteen feet high, the brick wall the color of burning coals, encompassed the entire manor. The gate opened at his thought, moving in silence, admitting him inside the grounds.
The manor was an enormity for one person. Giant, stark-white pillars greeted all guests. The double doors were made of marble and crystal glass, with an intricate design outlined in silver. The house boasted four stories and painted marble-white.
To the left of the house, as a visitor would face from the entrance, a huge barn painted deep, dark green. Horses nickering inside floated through the morning air. To the right of the house sat a smaller cottage, Judas’ infamous study. No one entered, not even Meristal though many guests joked openly about it. The house boasted other study rooms, one per floor in fact; Judas kept all his secrets locked up in this particular cottage.
The warlock walked up the front path, carrying the young woman like a bride. His feet climbed familiar wooden steps. Without word or incantation, the door opened, and he carried her through.
Once inside, he kicked off their leather mesh sandals, pushing them aside with his foot so he wouldn’t track dirt, mud, or manure inside the gorgeous house. The floor, a light stained oak with a lustrous, high-polished finish. He stopped a few paces inside the sitting room, pondering if to place her on the long chair or a bed. His eyes moved up, stared through the open ceiling, architect designed to allow an unimpeded view of all four-stories.
He decided on a bed. The winding stairs hugged the wide walls, a daunting task for his age. The oak staircase was built on a marble base, with silver handrails. Every few feet inlaid with precious gems. Artistic paintings of people, places, and things, as well as abstract art, hung on the wall. Most of his paintings depicted rare beautiful places, tribes of people long gone, and mythical races. At the second landing, Judas stepped off the staircase and headed down one of the many halls, each of which held several rooms. The house tallied twenty guest rooms in all, four studies, and a small kitchen on each floor, and a master kitchen located on the first floor. Each floor came with a sitting room and small library of various books Judas bought, found, and collected over the Ages.
Once clearing the last step, he hung a left and entered the first door to his right, which opened in the same manner as the front door. With gentle ease, he laid her on the bed. He could have thrown her, and she would not have woken from her magically-induced coma. Judas detected her subconscious underneath the pall of magic, blissful yet unaware of anything. The Wcic dr
eamed of an open meadow with a large oak tree; she ran barefoot through the shin-high grass towards its welcoming shade. Birds twittered a bright song in its branches. Judas smiled at the peaceful dream.
He moved away from her and walked to his room where he disrobed in haste, throwing his tattered clothing at the foot of his bed and pulling out a fresh set of formal yet plain robes. He dressed in an alacritous pace. First, the under robe of white linen. Second, the inner robe of deep tangelo. And third, the outer robe of dark indigo with silver needlework along the cuffs and neck. A traveler’s cloak of tanned color with black stitching added the last touch. Checking one last time in the silver looking-glass, he left his master bedroom and peeked inside the guest room, taking a moment to judge the young woman and assess her state.
Closing the door behind him with a soft click, and after a moment of deliberating with himself sealed the door to her room with a magical barrier as an extra precaution. Satisfied, he returned to the sitting room to await Staell.
When he arrived on the first floor, a knock reverberated through the silence. Judas paused, startled. He hadn’t expected anyone other than Staell. Had his enemies come to his house? Had they been watching, waiting? He procured his wand from within his garments and walked to the door, his footfalls soft. The memories of the Wizard’s War came back to him. Old habits he tried to forget sprang to life. His gut clenched, his breath held. If a friend wasn’t on the other side of the door, the victim wouldn’t have time to be sorry.
The door snapped open on his silent command, his wand thrust forward, the tip glowing, magic ready to fly out at a simple thought. The young man dropped his belongings, holding up his hands. “Please, don’t!” he cried out.
