by Kyle Belote
Their reflective eyes set deep in their black sockets; ears of thin membranes, engorged and pointed, full of webbed veins, perked from their skull. The corner of the next building, a fleeting instance, rushing forward, even, and beyond. A staggering Poplu came into view. The council member enthralled a goblin in torment.
What is Poplu doing here?
“LET HIM GO!” Judas bellowed. His face remained impassive but his eyes blazed with a blinding rage. The command startled Poplu, his concentration broken, the goblin slumped in a heap.
Poplu smiled, slick and oily. “Well, if it isn’t the renegade warlock. Had I known you were in the city, I would have hunted you instead. Such the hero, Judas, back in the war. Only a matter of time before the squeals of a woman would reach your genteel ears,” he snarled. “The high and mighty warlock come to visit justice upon me?”
“Not another word or I will be sure you are stripped of your powers and exiled to the Other Side for being the decadent, immoral man you are,” Judas threatened. Even to his ears, his taunting sounded hollow and flat. Poplu knew he was a man of morals and even cursing secreted proverbial bile in his mouth.
“NO!” roared Poplu. “I witnessed this goblin myself, engaging with the enemy in cannibalistic activities. There is blood on his mouth, his teeth, his claws! When the enemy chooses not to talk, you must force them to confess! You hold no power over me, old man. You can’t send me away to the hellhole you created. You blather of justice, fairness, and equality among us all. Look at him!” Poplu snapped, pointing at the ugly goblin. His curled fingers grabbed a handful of hair, jerking the small creature’s head upright. “He’s an animal, a monstrosity! We’ve lulled ourselves into thinking they are equal. A lie, I should silence your twisted tongue.”
“Step away from him, Vamor Poplu, or I will be forced to take action!”
“TAKE ACTION?” Poplu mocked. “Against me? Your kind? A council member? Your vileness should wither and die! You disgust me, Lakayre! You’d have us lay with them and breed, wouldn’t you?”
Judas pointed his wand at Poplu’s chest. “Last chance,” he declared, voice soft and icy.
He would cast, but Poplu was too close to the goblin. Judas, though certain he could hit the mage without harming the goblin, withheld action. The moment was not life or death. Poplu needed to be coaxed away. Any stray energy would be deadly and hail dire consequences to the bystander. Goading him into the open was the safer.
The veteran didn’t like stooping to his level–a level of immaturity–but some tactics yielded immediate results. “Duel with me, you arrogant, pretentious, bastard.” A taste of bitterness filled his mouth, and he ridiculed himself in silence for cursing. “You know why you are a bastard? You mother writhed as the whore of the Underworld!”
The other’s jaw tightened, and he shoved the goblin’s head away, the small body falling to the ground, limp. A malicious sparkle came to Poplu’s eyes.
Another slight push.
“You are nothing compared to your vaunted father, and he nothing more than a the seed of a troll’s loins, siring piglets who–”
Poplu burst into motion, wand raising with blinding speed, his essence rushing up, charging forth. A decapitating spell split the night.
The instant the curse flew, the black vapor closing on Judas, time slowed almost to a halt for the elder. This precious secret, Judas’s most prominent gift, was one he should thank Xilor. He side-stepped the oncoming curse, moving to flank Poplu, bringing his wand to bear on the councilman. The sounds exploding around the war-torn city dragged on, slowing to a dull pulse. Each distinct sound morphing into a single, thrumming resonance indistinguishable from the next.
Shattering debris crashing to the ground slowed, nearly-hovering in the air, movement too minute to perceive. Every sense of perception heightened, clearer and sharper than ever before. Minuscule objects loomed in his vision, everything from fault lines in the walls and the insects burrowing tunnels in the ground below his feet.
With deft flicks of his wrist, the counter-curse erupted from the warlock’s wand. A silky, white mist shot out of his wand and swallowed up the black. In his element, Judas would appear to move faster than possible, faster than a teleport. Woven spells would cripple his opponent, one right after another.
The veteran cast dazzling luminance to blind his attacker and block his wand from casting again, a temporary solution, enough to give Poplu pause and the warlock extra precious seconds. Poplu, if worth his title, would remove it with ease. Another gush of conjury sailed at the younger man, to levitate the youth off the ground and ended with a binding curse of invisible force.
Judas relinquished his grasp on time. He couldn’t hold an absolute grasp, time did not stop, but slowed to a crawl. The drift of normalcy soared back into full swing. Spell after spell hit the councilman.
Poplu gawked in astonishment, witnessing his target’s relocation almost too fast to perceive. Before comprehension found him, Vamor’s attack broke. While blinded, his wand shuddered hard in his grip, and a levitation rippled through, and his body constricted by an invisible hold.
“You think this will stop me? I don’t need my wand to curse you!” Poplu screamed in disgust, spoken before he thought. Judas backhanded him across the face, his blazing anger getting the better of him.
His wand level to Vamor’s face, an expression of horror overwhelmed the youth’s features. The warlock cast another spell in complete silence, the reason for his exile, his title.
Magic without words.
To Poplu, the sensation mirrored all the air sucked from his lungs, but the war veteran only took away his voice.
Exhaustion overwhelmed the aging man; fatigue riddled his body, limbs shaking. He bent over at the waist, hands planted on his knees. The sensation would pass, it always did when he reached out to slow time. As he got older, the ability slipped away, becoming harder to grasp without prevalent need. The hefty toll it exacted always gave him pause. It had been at least an Age since the last time he called for it.
His lungs heaved, sweat broke out on his forehead; a sole bead trickled down his left temple. He wiped it away and stood to his full height. His knees trembled, hidden, beneath his garments. His gaze slid to Poplu, who flung scathing glances, his eyes hard and unforgiving.
The weariness passed, his strength returning. The ability to slow time a far cry from ordinary. Now, the toll regressed, his vitality surged back. He could deal with Poplu and the wizard who sent him. Judas distinguished who directed Vamor. The Poplu House, a proud and ancient lineage who owed allegiance to none, fell in league with other nobility such as House Dathyr.
The elder grabbed hold of Vamor and teleported back to Ralloc.
They appeared in the chambers; everyone stood around, milling about like a social gathering, most oblivious to their arrival. Consul Dathyr spoke up, his eyes widening. “Lakayre? What in the Underworld are you doing here? We summoned you!” His eyes flickered to the disheveled council member. “What happened to him?” he asked with dripping suspicion .
“I happened to him, Kayis!”
“What in the Underworld did you do to him?” Dathyr pressed while trying to remain aloof. Judas grabbed Poplu by the neck of his robes and threw him on his back, his head smacking hard against the podium.
“I caught this low-life torturing a goblin when our paths crossed. A woman warned me of his vile deeds. Of all things, treating anyone who isn’t wizardkind with cruelty. There should be no place for him on the Council, let alone the Realm!” the warlock thundered.
“Calm down, Lakayre,” Dathyr admonished, asserting control. Judas let him. He wanted nothing to do with politics, councils, or any number of related things. The ensemble observed while the charade unfolded. By tomorrow, it would be a whispered debacle. Peasants would know nothing of what transpired, but the upper tier of society would gossip for a fortnight or two.
Even though an outcast, Judas knew the people would listen to him, known for being a moral man
and law abiding. Too many nobles were privy to what he did in the war. If he said Poplu tortured a goblin, everyone took his word as truth.
Judas’ eyes searched those gathered, detecting eyes of wariness, of mild rebuke, all directed at the Consul. The situation already nearly slipped beyond the young man’s control. If he didn’t handle this right, the lesser would lose faith and House Dathyr would lose face. With the loss of their belief, cries for his removal would follow. Kayis worked too hard to get to the top, and he would not let it slip away because of Poplu’s foolishness and stupidity to get caught.
Dathyr suffered all their eyes as he spoke again. “Cruelty? What do you think you showed him? You are no better than he is. Guard your tone when you talk to me, sorcerer,” Kayis taunted, reminding all that he was like Xilor in regards to magic, attempting to avert suspicion. “I am Consul, not you. It is not your place to say who should sit on the Council or who should live in the realm!”
“Sidestepping allegations again? Deferring to the method of waiting and forgetting?”
“So, you witnessed him torturing a goblin?” Dathyr switched tactics. Judas surmised Dathyr’s hope, to curb an inevitable defeat and displace the warlock.
“I told you before,” Judas replied, his voice even. Curiosity prickled the elder, wondering how the younger man would finagle his way out of trouble.
“A woman came crying to you?” It was a slithering question, oily.
“As you know.”
“Did you bring back these two? The alleged victim and the witnesses?”
Ah, that’s how you are going to do it!
“Your eyes don’t deceive you,” Judas confirmed.
“Your word against his? How convenient.”
The room thrummed in silence, the proverbial creeping chill of death sweep through. The acrid words between the two made the Council chambers caustic. The sound of breathing from those congregated thundered as though trapped in a crypt.
“My word against his, yes.”
Dathyr shrugged a nonchalant and fluid movement. “No choice but to throw this case to the Abyss. No witness, no testimony, no conviction,” he sneered. “It never happened!”
Rage boiled through Judas but managed to scrape a moment of composure, his spine rigid, his ire making every muscle taut.
“Don’t even bother making a report about the alleged incident. As we all witnessed, yours would be quite biased. We couldn’t trust your word after the events of tonight.”
Twit!
“But you are a wanted man and we cannot let you just go gallivanting around the country assaulting Council members. That is a crime, one you must pay for. You also failed to bring the Wcic forward and heed our summon which is expected of you. You will be remanded in custody.”
Judas chuckled. “Not likely.” In a blink, the warlock teleported away from the chambers and emerged in a night filled with falling ash, curling stench of smoke, and wet embers.
He and Julie needed to move again, tonight. It wouldn’t take too long for the Consul to deduce where he stayed and send people after him. Vamor could attest to his presence here. Judas would have to fight his way free and didn’t feel like battling men who were just following orders. Any casualty would only further fuel the resentment Kayis directed his way and possibly incite others to follow his lead. There were more important things to do than worry about a spat between them. Julie would probably be in hysterics by now, and he needed to return to her.
Judas reentered the inn. A throng of people with tousled hair and sleep-deprived eyes glanced in his direction, but none gave him much attention. He slipped upstairs while idle conversation rejoined between the milling guests.
He reached the second landing, and his heart stopped. Julie’s door stood ajar, a slight crack. At first, he thought maybe she went downstairs, but she would call out upon his arrival. His second thought was she entered his room, but a quick check with his essence told him she was not inside. Pulling his wand, he pushed the door open.
Julie lay on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood. He burst into action, sliding to his knees beside her; the impact negligible as adrenaline swelled through his aging body.
Shades of the Underworld, how did this happen? Who did this? Such thoughts were not important at the moment. She had to survive. A quick touch confirmed what he knew at a glance. Blood-loss aided her cold skin, but relief and hope filled him, finding a faint, struggling heartbeat. He summoned his essence, harnessing the infinite energy and channeled it through her. A Pharmacon mage would sputter incantations, but he didn’t bother. Using his mind to direct and control the magic, he split his attention while he worked. The mirror swooped off the wall and hovered in front of him, swirling green. A sleepy face with squinting eyes against the sudden glare swam into view.
“Meristal!” he called, his voice shaking. “Help me!”
“What happened?”
“It’s Julie. Come quickly. Dlad City, Traveler’s Respite, second floor.”
She didn’t bother to acknowledge his words, to do so would waste time. Her face faded from the mirror, turning away and hurrying off. With a mental command, the mirror returned to the wall.
Judas’ eyes roamed over the young woman, the panic rising. He could heal himself and others, but had limited knowledge in the healing arts. He needed a Pharmacon mage and most resided in Ralloc. Meristal had a better understanding of anatomy, often doubling as a healer in the war. She could help him. All he had to do was keep the magic channeling and keep his apprentice alive until she arrived.
His hands shifted over the blood-soaked cloth, a golden glow about them, mesmerized by the cascade of energy seeping through clothing, blood, and skin. He closed his eyes to concentrate, feeling the wound. The laceration began to heal under his slow and meticulous care. He didn’t wait long for Meristal to arrive. Even at this time of night, she was still beautiful, but he could tell from her disheveled hair that she hadn’t bothered to make herself presentable.
“What happened?” she asked, kneeling down beside him.
“I don’t know, but the trauma is consistent with a puncture. Perhaps a blade, but where is the blade?”
“We need to put her on her back.” They rolled her over, but Julie did not lay flat. Meristal reached behind her and pulled an object from underneath the girl, a knife materializing in her hands. “There’s your blade. Did you even bother to search?” she said, scrutinizing his face.
Once Julie was flat, Meristal situated herself opposite of Judas. Her hands placed, she closed her eyes for a moment, assessing the damage. “If you didn’t get here when you did, she’d be dead,” Meristal said, her voice grim.
“Can you heal her?” The other nodded. “Then do it!”
“Does anyone else know you are here?”
Judas frowned at the question. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Judas!” Meristal snapped in a firm tone. “This will take time and then she will need to recuperate. Judging by the carnage outside, something happened, and knowing you, you went out there to stop it. So I will ask again, does anyone know you are here?”
The warlock swallowed. “The Council.”
She swore, sharp and scathing before turning her attention back to the pupil on the floor. “We need to move her, now. We need to take her to your house.”
“We are hunted, and I am sure the Council will send someone there after tonight’s events.”
Meristal nodded. “Okay, but we can’t stay here. Keep channeling energy into her and close the wound but do it slowly. I hope to be back before you get too far along. If you mess up, the less I have to reopen, the better.”
“Where are you going?”
“Cape Gythmel. I’ll rent a room and then come back for you both.”
Judas nodded, and Meristal vanished. He turned his eyes back to his pupil. Remorse filled him. He failed her, failed to be there for her, to protect her. And now she was dying all because of his stupidity and his penchant for leaping t
o action before thinking everything through. He should have left the fighting to others, left the city as soon as the attacks started. Even as he thought it, he knew he couldn’t. Yes, Julie was his charge and under his protection but he couldn’t let others suffer and possibly die while he did nothing. It went against the grain of his nature. He answered the call of war in his youth and continued to answer the call. Though battle piqued his blood and quickened his heart, helping others and righting wrongs called to him.
He wronged his student when he helped others tonight. No amount of self-loathing would change what happened or make it better. He didn’t know how long he silently chastised himself, but Meristal reappeared what felt like moments later. Kneeling down beside Julie, she touched her for a moment before nodding. “I’ll teleport us. We’ll go straight to the room, but you’ve got to carry her.”
Judas scooped Julie’s small frame up in his arms. It seemed like an hour ago he carried her through the Mirror of Imation the same way. He stood to his full height, Julie like a sleeping bride in his arms. “Meristal?” he queried, voice soft.
She gave him a quizzical look.
“Thank you.”
She smiled. “You don’t need to thank me, Judas. I’d do anything for you, but you already know that.”
Meristal placed a gentle hand on his arm, and he felt her essence surge, the room disappearing and a new room materializing around them.
“Set her by the fire,” Meristal instructed. The warlock knelt, laying his apprentice on the floor. Meristal, as Julie’s head neared the floor, placed a pillow beneath. Judas felt Meristal’s power thrum as she worked, searching the extent of the wound. After a few moments, she gave a thoughtful noise.
“What?”
Meristal’s violet eyes looked up. “The blade was also laced with poison.”
“Who would go through so much trouble for a girl?”
Meristal’s eyes narrowed. “You want to try that one again? I don’t think you meant it the way it came out.”
