by Kyle Belote
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all, Todd; Xilor, while bent on destruction and no doubt mad, his ingenuity was often the creative backbone for many magical things we take for granted today.”
The journalist scoffed. “Like what?”
“I learned to teleport from Xilor. I never even thought such abilities possible, to move between time and space so fast and across far distances near-instantaneously. In many ways, Xilor taught me, led me to the answers to stopping him. Most people cannot teleport from lack of power, but it is something we’ve incorporated for all to use. Take journey-stones for instance, a device that allows you to teleport. Portals too.
“Another invention you can thank Xilor for is the Psimond spell. Who knew communicating with other people on a flat surface was possible. We didn’t know about it either. Imagine what we could learn from someone as ingenious as him, albeit without all the evil and devastation.”
Todd hemmed his throat and cast his eyes about, looking for anything to help him change the subject. The veteran noticed his praising of Xilor made the columnist nervous. When nothing fell within the boy’s sight, the atmosphere charged with tension. A solemn silence crept in the space between the two men. Judas scrutinized the young man as he squirmed, suffocating with dread, before glancing away.
The writer’s eyes flickered back to the elder, noting his strayed gaze. A notion about Xilor struck him.
“If the Dark Lord held the power to teleport into your midst, why didn’t he before? Why didn’t he kill you? You’re the much bigger threat,” Todd said with certainty.
The warlock’s eyes came back to the young man. “I have also wondered about that many times in the past. Perhaps Xilor didn’t think much of me as a threat? Perhaps he mistook my brother for me? Or perhaps he aimed to show me that he could take me any time he wished. By killing my brother right in front of my eyes–everyone’s eyes–he proved himself superior. Destruction of morale. The vulgar display of cogency worked in his favor. The ordeal shook me to the core. I’ve never seen magic like that before or since.”
“If he killed you, the outcome would have been very different,” Todd surmised.
Judas’ eyes flickered back out the window, finding his new apprentice. Excuses formulated to break off the interview. The writer’s presence presented problems, a risky business having the boy here so soon after his return from the Other Side, and considering what he brought back with him: a Wcic and an enemy hounding his steps.
Perhaps it is best to cut the conversation short and reconvene at another time. It would keep him from stumbling over the situation.
He needed to secure Julie’s safety and discover the mystery of his attackers. For all he knew, the Council was behind it, even though Sedrus claimed they weren’t. If they were, the decision was based in fear.
Most people feared Xilor’s return and with good reason, it was possible. Judas knew it more than probable. Coming back to life is a capability yet discovered, allowing a soul to come back, ripped through the pall of the Underworld. He wouldn’t put the deed past the reach of the Dark Lord. Even the warlock admitted to much he didn’t know or didn’t want to.
Certainty settled over him, the probability his attacker was a devoted fanatic of Xilor’s. But who gives the orders while the tyrant is away? His assailant was most certainly not the Dark Lord himself. He’d know if he came back. Everyone would.
But he would need to be dead to resurrect.
All people feared what they didn’t understand. Xilor was an entity beyond their comprehension. Judas wasn’t sure he understood either but better than most. An arrogant few didn’t appreciate the abilities the Dark Lord once wielded. They now sat in seats of authority, hiding behind fancy titles, fearlessly oblivious to what they didn’t understand.
Better to fear and approach with caution than to be careless to what can destroy you, Judas mused.
“Is something wrong?” the young man asked, breaking into Judas’ thoughts.
“Hmm…?” Judas blinked, reining in his thoughts. “No, of course, not. Can’t a warlock act a little suspicious? Adds to the mysterious aura.” His infectious smile made the correspondent smile, too. Judas needed to find a way to get rid of the reporter. “Listen, Todd, can we convene at some other time? I haven’t eaten breakfast, and I would be remiss not to give the majority of my attention to my apprentice.”
“Oh, sure,” Todd grumbled with evident disappointment.
“Don’t worry. I am not dodging your questions, but I get cranky if I don’t eat.”
“I understand.” Todd’s tone showed he didn’t. Judas thought it better to disappoint him now than suffer Todd’s curiosity about his behavior.
“Todd, I promise you,” Judas spoke, laying a fatherly arm across the reporter’s shoulders, walking him to the door, “I won’t take on another scribe until we complete your interview and you publish. That way, you are the first person to interview the crazy warlock. Sound agreeable?” He gave a winning smile, pouring on his charm.
“Alright,” Todd agreed, enthusiastic. He bid his farewells, the young man retreating down the stairs. Judas closed the door behind him and let out a sigh of relief. He turned and glanced out the window, finding Julie again. The urgent need to start her training festered. If he could feel her presence, others could, too. They might even use her to track him. He hoped whoever tracked them would be oblivious to this fact. Soon enough, they would slip through the Corridor of Cruelty, and no one could follow you through. They would be safe until they exited.
His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he and Julie needed to eat, and set off to find her.
***
Chapter 12 : Outpost Dire—the Hive
Nestled behind the treacherous crags and crevices, high up in the Vikal Mountains, lay Outpost Dire. Snow drifted heavily in the winter, torrents of ice and snow flurries. The summers were pleasant, light rains in the spring, and cool breezes throughout.
Few dared to venture close to Outpost Dire; even fewer came willingly. The mysteries surrounding this place were as sharp as the jagged spires of encompassing rock. One thing all the rumors had in common was its nickname: the Hive.
Staell crested the last rise, his eyes falling upon the Hive and House Eti, the latter a school for the inhabitants. The school itself raised four stories high, each floor added as the need arose, and built against the mountain to discourage an attack from behind. The giant, circular building held a diameter of fifty meters. House Eti lacked beauty and was built for one purpose: to house and train warriors for war. Every aspect was meticulously efficient, nothing used for vanity’s sake. The building, if necessary, could be used as a last line of defense. A small town, the actual outpost, encroached the keep.
Steep, narrow stairs lead up ten meters to the front doors. The optimal width served two purposes, the people of the Hive and choking an invading army. If an enemy managed to take the stairs, the width whittled the enemy’s numbers down. A mock battleground doubled as a free-for-all for archers. The ground was called the ‘killing field,’ and all knew it well. The grounds was as wide as the school and twice as long. The mock battleground supplied numerous obstacles. Uneven ground, trenches, steps, chokepoints, and multidimensional platforms for fighting enemy above or below. Swords, hammers, axes, and pikes rang out every day come rain, sleet, snow, ice, or sunshine.
The clanging died abruptly when Staell came into view. The warriors gawked at the unicorn. Most had never seen one, a natural reaction. One man came forward and dropped to a knee.
“Welcome to Outpost Dire, may you rest easy among your friends in the Hive. What is your bidding, master?”
Oblus Eti, Staell greeted him. The shock in the soldier’s eyes was unmistakable.
“Oblus Eti.”
I have come to speak with the Heir of Valin.
“And so you shall. Please, follow me.”
The warrior led Staell through the heart of the ‘killing field’ and up the steps to the mas
sive iron doors of the keep. Inside, in the center of the room, was a training ring referred to as ‘the Pit.’ Onlookers and fighters lined the ring while they watched fighters in the slight depression in the floor.
Alcoves lined the outer walls, most used for housing weapons and armor, others used for small study areas. Two massive stair cases lined and curved with the walls and led to the second floor and beyond; their purpose only served the visitors. Many smaller staircases spiraled along the walls in strategic intervals. Doors leading away from the center of the room were used by adolescents carrying laundry baskets, food, armor, and cleaning products. A waft of fire-charred meat, boiled vegetables, and a tinge of something sweet like citrus fruit drifted through the chamber every time a novice used the doors.
Heads turned toward Staell as the guide took him to the second floor. He ushered the unicorn into an office that overlooked the pit below.
Again the guide knelt.
“Is there anything I can get for my master, food or water? The journey must have been long and difficult.”
I do not require anything, Staell replied. He moved to the balcony to watch the fighters below.
“Then, I shall leave you and let the Heir know you have called.” The guide left.
Ralloc boasted three divisions of battlemages, the Aegis caste for defense, the Barrage caste for offense, and the Pharmacon caste for healing. The battlemages of the Hive were of a different breed altogether. While Ralloc had specific wizards for each caste, the Hive’s battlemages did all three simultaneously. None were masters of specific crafts, but they formed meticulous pupils and formidable foes for magical enemies and common soldiers.
But even the Hive’s battlemages would give pause before taking on one of the Krey, the blood lusting berserkers. Their trance protected them against pain and fatal wounds within reason. The armor enhanced their defenses against magical attacks. The Hive held all outcasts of society because of their unique abilities. The Krey were here because of their battle trance or bloodlust malady and to learn the finer points of slaughtering their enemies. The battlemages or A’uri were here to gain control over the voices in their head and to meld with other minds.
Staell watched the Krey below, besting each other in single combat. His gaze shifted up, as if peering through the floors of House Eti, and curiosity laced him. What were the A’uri doing? Did they train as well? The enigmatic Outpost Dire was a gem, both in terms of unique culture and the cultivation of the world’s greatest fighting force, but even Staell had to admit that is knowledge of the A’uri was limited. He had never seen them in action, but had heard the stories, especially when their powers took over.
The unique ability of the A’uri made it impossible to keep other people’s voices out of their head. When the power manifests, the first sign is the victims crying out and acting possessed. An A’uri is called to block the voices for them and abscond the victim to the Hive. The other side of the unique ability is the aptitude for entering other people’s minds and controlling them. For this reason, they are kept away from the public and used in cohesion with the Krey. They are taught to hone and harness the power to reach beyond their own mind and meld multiple minds into a fighting unit, thus giving them an uncanny hive-like mind. Using this power takes years of practice and control that surpass all in the realm.
The Hive was a small, self-sustaining town. Krey and A’uri worked every day honing their fighting skills and preserving their town. Their numbers were split into divisions to rotate through the school while the rest took up their secondary skills as craftsmen, blacksmiths, farmers, rune masters, teachers and many other functions. To help augment their work force, the spouses and children of the Krey and A’uri worked beside with them.
From dawn till dusk, the sharp clanging of swords, axes, and war hammers could be heard through the small town. Due to the close proximity to their neighbors, other activities were easily overheard, especially at night when sounds carried the greatest. All single Krey and A’uri lived in House Eti. The exception was the Ko-dons, the Heir, and the most senior squads.
Outpost Dire was an extension of the Grand Royal Army and the Krey served the Realm. While they were allowed to take side jobs like mercenaries to help augment their income and imports, their main loyalty remained with Ralloc. Their entire town consisted of five thousand personnel, families and warriors, but it didn’t include visitors or honored teachers from Ralloc. Though the A’uri were unlike any other mage that walked the earth, they still had to learn from the Grand Masters of each caste. Ralloc chose to send the masters rather than have the ‘mind-benders’ loose in the Capitol.
Staell tore his attention away from the fighting to the graying Heir entering his office. He was a round, meaty man with a pointy mustache and a matching wispy patch on his chin.
Oblus ina’ti Sepan Eti, Staell communed.
“Oi! A formal greeting! Not many people know our words. It appears not everyone is ignorant of our ways, after all. Oblus ina’ti Sepan Eti,” he returned. Oblus ina’ti Sepan Eti meant: ‘Live and die by the sword.’ As way of greeting, everyone normally just said ‘Oblus Eti’ or plain ‘Eti.’ The keep and original training ground in Hive was referred to Eti or House Eti, which meant ‘House of the Sword.’
The Heir strolled behind his desk and reached for the cupboard. Grabbing a goblet and a flagon of wine, he filled his cup and raised it to Staell.
“Today is my birthday; here’s to another year.” He gulped it down and refilled his cup. “Here’s to all that commotion down in the Pit and the headache it’s going to give me.” He slammed the cup back and went to refill his glass again. Once filled, he raised it again to Staell. “Here’s to seeing a unicorn, a rare sight in these parts!” He drank in the same manner and refilled his cup and settled himself behind his desk.
“What brings you to my humble outpost?” The Heir had to nearly shout to be heard over the fighting below.
War is coming, good Heir.
“I’ve heard that before.” A loud clanging of swords drowned out the Heir as he rolled his eyes at the Pit below. The second floor was reserved for offices and sleeping quarters of the Heir, his family, and the Ko-dons. The third floor was for training the A’uri in the meld and the fourth floor was sleeping quarters for all singles and senior squads of Krey and A’uri. The Heir walked to the balcony of his office which overlooked the first floor.
“STOP THAT RACKET!” the Heir bellowed. “I have a guest and I can’t hear him talk!”
Technically I don’t talk…
The Heir whirled around to face Staell. “Don’t start!” The Heir returned to his desk. “As I’ve said, I have heard that before. There is no war to be had. It ended with the death of Xilor.”
But he is returning, good Heir.
“Ha! Not likely, though I would almost wish for it, just to grease the cogs.”
We have foreseen it.
“We who? Don’t tell me you’re talking about that cracked warlock, are you? Granted, he killed plenty in his day and is a warrior at heart, but the man has lost it.”
Yes, he has foreseen it. But the ‘we’ I am referring to is the Maghai of unicorns, myself included. I have already done my duty to the Council as emissary for my people.
The color drained from the Heir’s face and he reached for the bottle, bypassing the cup entirely, and gulped generously.
“Of gods and demons.”
The Maghai were a Council of five. The first Maghai were the unicorns who only answered to the Grand Maghai. Overtime, wizardkind adopted the formal title as one of their own and used an abbreviated version of the name: mage. All professions dealing with magic fell under the rule of the Maghai, the Council of five Grand Master Wizards. Staell referred to the former.
“When was this? How long ago did you have your premonition?”
Ten days past, and the cracked warlock you referred to also feels the stirrings of the old enemy. His power is growing. The premonitions are quite clear. Death is coming, war
, famine; Xilor will march again and soon.
“And what did the Kothlere Council say to your message?”
It was ignored.
“So, they will do nothing?” To this, Staell remained mute. The Heir reached for the goblet on his desk and gulped down the red wine. He swiveled in his chair to the liquor table and refilled it to overflowing and began to chug the drink. He came up for breath and looked at Staell. “Why tell me this?”
Because Ralloc will need your help and so will Warlock Lakayre. If you do not aid them now, Ralloc will burn, Judas will die, Xilor will merge the two worlds, and the fallen angel will join him.
“The fallen who?”
That part does not concern you, but that is the full disclosure of the premonition. Just know that if you do not act now, all will be lost. Even you and the Hive will not be safe up here.
“What you are asking…”
I have asked you to do nothing.
“But you just said…”
That Judas and Ralloc will need your help.
“What you are proposing could be considered treason.”
I have proposed nothing. However, I think your men have grown tired of the walls of Eti and could benefit from some training outside the Hive, don’t you agree?
“Training exercise?” The Heir looked at Staell before he took a few more mouthfuls of the bitter, red wine. Suddenly, a mischievous glint glimmered in his eyes. “I like the sound of that. Show our presence, our strength again, lest the Realm forget!” He slammed his fist down on the desk and stood abruptly, excited by the idea. “The Black Tide will march once more!”
Calm yourself greatly, Heir. You are exceedingly happy about this. Your movements must be strategic. There must be some meaning as to why you have mobilized without orders, lest Ralloc turn its might against you.
“What would you have me do?”
I would have you do nothing.
“What would you…muse about at this conjecture of current and future paths and fates?”
