by Kyle Belote
Her wand fumbled in her grip, nearly dropping it, the sweat building in her palms. She tried to imagine the flickering candle in her room, remembering how she called upon her essence. Reaching for her essence educated her, patience was not her strong suit, but determination was. She called on her essence now, determined that it would help her, show her the correct way. Closing her eyes, she pushed out from herself, searching for the correct way. A quiet settling came over her, and she turned her head in that direction. Her eyes opened and a second vision danced over her sight, a magesight swirled in the foreground, and a fog brighter than their surroundings settled over the trail to the left. The vision retreated like it had never come. “We go to the left,” she said, assertive.
“Very well, you may lead, my dear.”
“Me? Why me? Why do I have to?”
“How will you grasp anything if you never have situations to handle?” Judas asked. “I can only guide you; I cannot do it for you.”
“What if I die?” Julie simpered in distress. The agitation returned, the oppressive, manipulating force. Her ire flared like an exposed nerve to incessant irritation. How can he do this to me? “What if you die?”
“Nothing will happen to you while I am here. Don’t worry, child.”
Julie walked past him, muttering under her breath. The anger swelled with each step, her legs snapping out, her heel striking hard against the ground more out of spite than the uncertainty of what lay beyond.
“Hope you die,” she whispered darkly to herself but regretted the words the moment they left her mouth.
I hate this fucking place!
But Judas knew that already and it bothered her. Julie didn’t want to seem like a bellyacher, but this hardly seemed the best place for him to bring her, especially since she was still a novice and not deserving of such a lowly title.
Blowing a stray hair out of her face, she took the rut to the left. The route twisted its way up the side of the cliff, narrow and rocky. The climb was short and taxed her more than she thought it would. A boulder blocked her way. Julie almost asked Judas to help, but she knew he wouldn’t. It was her task, all ‘part of her training.’
First, she tried pushing the large rock out of the way, but the heavy stone failed to tremble under her strained effort. Next, she tried summoning magic, but it failed to heed her call. Finally, to skirt past the obstruction, she precariously inched by on the lip of the path. Her heels dangled off the cliff, her toes had mere inches to find purchase. Her hands latched on the stone and a quick look over her shoulder was a mistake, becoming well aware of the hundred foot plunge to the ground below.
Once passed, the incline leveled off, and a small area enclosed by a wall of rock encompassed the plateau. She spied a trail leading down the other side and walked towards it when a movement caught her eye. A pair of large eyes floated towards her, belonging to a creature Julie had never encountered before. What little she did know didn’t match the monster before her, and there was no way to mistake it for a gorrillian or saricrocian.
The enormous beast was a hybrid between several different species with the head of a snake. Long cattle horns protruded out of the sides. The body of a lion and the tail of a scorpion completed the beast. The hideous head extended high above her. The quadruped stood foot to shoulder over two meters, the head an easy meter higher if not more.
Julie lost her voice and nearly stumbled as she backed away. She turned to run, and the warlock was nowhere in sight. The apprentice searched, frantic, losing a few precious seconds she couldn’t spare.
Run, was her first thought. Run; stay alive–live so you can hunt down that old man who abandoned you. Where is he?
Rage gushed forth at his betrayal, driving her weak legs, keeping her alive a few moments longer. The magic responded to her fury, alive, awake. A small hope sparked within her.
She heard the screeching roar of the beast behind her and did an about-face, wand held as steady as she could manage and cried out the first words that popped into her head. The moment she said the incantation, the words retreated to the deep recesses of her mind. She identified that the incantation was something neither Judas nor Meristal taught her.
A splash of energy hit the creature’s front left leg, washing it in blue light, and the monster slowed.
Now, there was a second chance to escape.
She turned and ran back down the passageway she ascended, the drumming beat of the creature’s legs coming close behind her, a quick session of clack, clack, clack, clack. Her eyes latched onto the boulder as she descended the trail at full speed, the segment of trail impossible to navigate in haste. Pointing her wand, she shouted with all the strength she could muster, a flinging motion over her shoulder. Startled by how well the spell responded to her call, she stumbled as the boulder flew past her shoulder. The creature roared in pain, but where it hit, she did not know. She dared not look back.
Fatigue enveloped her the instant the cast flew. She crashed into the cliff face, her shoulder exploding with pain. Twisting, putting her back to the rock, her movements halting and unresponsive as her amber eyes snapped to the leviathan rearing up on hind legs.
Faster than she thought she could move, she dived to the right, down the trail. A shower of rock fragments peppered her body, exploding where her head had been. The stinger struck lightning-quick, almost too fast to perceive. The momentum of her dive allowed her to roll up on her feet. With a burst of speed, she made it to the bottom of the path, the ground leveling out.
Spying a hedge of boulders, she changed course and leaped as high as she could and–for the briefest of moments–she could have sworn she floated. The moment passed. She came down hard and rolled again, taking the shock off her feet and scrambled for the shelter of rocks. Hoping that she was hidden sufficiently, she curled up behind them, keeping low.
Luck was on her side. Behind the boulders, the rocky ground dropped away into a depression about a meter lower than the ground where her adversary stood. She crouched and peered between V-shaped wedges in the rocks. Her body trembled with fear, breath coming in pants. Hot pins of sweat prickled her forehead, and several beads rushed down the sides of her face. Robes clung to her back, sticking from the sweat. Screeches curled the air as it searched for her. When it finally turned in her direction, it bounded toward her hiding place with incredible speed. The snake-like head reared to strike when Julie jabbed her wand up and yelled the spell Meristal had taught her.
The brightest light Julie had ever seen–rivaling even the light emanating from Staell–burst out of the wand’s tip, eclipsing the muted sunlight. The brilliant light flashed like lightning against a backdrop of velvet night, momentarily blinded. She blinked her eyes several times; spots floated in her vision.
If I am blind, so is the creature, she assured herself.
She ran before the monster recovered, but she was not fast enough. Julie dived underneath the legs, her movement alacritous but the miscreation was quicker, striking her shoulder, a long fang piercing her flesh. She staggered first from the impact, and then because of the paralyzing venom that coursed through her veins.
She continued her course, staggering, halting. Her legs refused to respond. The hellion turned to face her. It swung its huge paw and hit her, sending her crashing to the ground with a bone-shattering crunch. Dust kicked up in the air, half-obscuring her. The ground rumbled beneath her body as the horrid animal neared its prey. An indelicate paw gripped her, claws entering her flesh, tearing her robes, rolling her over to her back. Terror gripped her as she looked up at the horror closing in on her. Obscurity threatened the edges of her vision.
Not like this, she thought. Not betrayed and then killed by a beast–not after surviving a murder attempt.
Shadows seduced her. The tail raised higher and higher. Like when she leaped over the rocks, time seemed to stand still once again. The tail twitched, moving, plunging downward. She knew the tail was striking at incredible speeds, but to her, it seemed to creep by. The ta
il struck her chest as the darkness closed in. She didn’t know which one killed her first: the bite, the darkness, or the stinger.
***
Chapter 20 : Gryzlaud
“The hour and day grow near, and soon I will be one again,” Xilor’s oily voice slithered out, almost tangible. Sidjuous suffered the crawling sensation twisting smoothly down his flesh. “Not even all the wizards of the Ermaeyth will be able to contend with my hate once I am released.”
Sidjuous bowed low and rolled his eyes when his master could not see. He had listened to this all before, yet he still had not seen any action. Sometimes, he did not know why he bothered to follow Xilor anymore. He was gone, and only the promise of his return kept him and others in his thrall.
“Yes, master. Only you will be able to restore Ermaeyth to its true integrity.”
He would certainly accept the rule of his fallen lord; but as the circumstances fell, his master had not returned fully–and Sidjuous believed they stood little chance without him. Krurik, though powerful in his own way, lacked the vision of his master, relying heavily on subterfuge where as Xilor trusted his overwhelming strength. Sidjuous believed in his master’s cause and lived it wholeheartedly. In many ways, Xilor’s grand vision was akin to the Krey of the Grand Royal Army. The Dark Lord wanted to cull the weakness out of civilization but as to why, Sid only guessed. Those reasons he kept closely guarded. Often, Sidjuous perceived he was a dupe, a handy pawn in his master’s schemes rather a true apprentice and possible heir to his mantle. Occasionally, Sidjuous became bold and needed to be reminded of his place.
“I have grown powerful, more powerful than any wizard could fathom while in this hell,” he intoned. His eyes rolled around the edges of the mirror’s frame to make his meaning clear. “But it has been useful.”
“What do you mean, master?”
“I discovered the ability to enter and control the mind of another being. This imprisonment is not without its benefits and drawbacks. Had I not been caged, I would have never slowed to learn such ingenuity,” Xilor’s voice grated.
Sidjuous shuddered, a cold tingling dripping down his spine, settling in his stomach. If he possessed the ability as he claimed, what kept him from entering Sidjuous’ mind and controlling him? The thought of Xilor’s idle boasting crossed his mind. Did he think inflicting fear would keep his servants from abandoning him? Other than Krurik, Sidjuous was the only one that remained in his presence. Perhaps the threat was meant for him.
“Then, my lord, why not enter the body of a creature or wizard and come back to us?” Sidjuous challenged.
“Fool, I cannot stay there indefinitely. Anyone that I take a hold of will die. No one–only my body–can hold such power.”
“How do you know that your body can withstand it?” Sidjuous asked, egging on the confrontation.
“Would you like me to demonstrate my capabilities to you, Tyro?” the voice whispered. An implied threat slithered over Sidjuous. Rising panic flushed through his body, an automatic response from years of servitude, a natural reaction. He had to distinguish fact from a veiled threat.
Sidjuous bowed low, a hidden smirk on his face. “An excellent idea, Master, I would be honored for you to demonstrate your abilities.”
Sid’s hands reached for his throat instantly. His lungs seized, he couldn’t breathe, denied precious air. Black spots peppered his vision along with plumes of colors, red, gold, and green. He fell to his knees with a hard, soundless thud. The only sound he heard was the drumming–the deep pounding–of his own heart as it hammered his rib cage and throbbed in his ears. His lungs blazed as if he swallowed fiery coals.
The hold released from his windpipe, and he gasped. Sweet oxygen rushed through his mouth and into his simmering lungs, making him gag. “Master, I … know th-that you … can … do that,” he croaked between coughs.
“That was not a demonstration but a reminder. You are not beyond my reach. Don’t ever mock me again,” Xilor warned.
“Yes, Master.” The apprentice remained on his knees, subservient, and regarded the mirror with his head bowed, hiding the hate in his eyes.
“This is my demonstration,” the master whispered.
Sidjuous’ mind exploded with pain and light, blinding, like lightning shot out of his frontal lobe, light from the suns poured out of his eyes, blinding him forever. A hand instinctively reached for his face, to press against the anguish flooding through him. With a jarring impact, his hand keeping him from toppling completely to the stone floor. Distress lanced through the bones in his arm, his forearm snapping, a mild annoyance in comparison to his mind.
Another fresh wave washed over him, smothering him and he toppled. A scream ripped from his throat, but he did not hear it as he writhed on the floor. His head threatened to cave, rip inside out, slowly from his eye socket to the back of the skull and down his spine. When the light grew so bright and hot that he was oblivious to all else, a suffocating darkness enclosed him, a chilling pressure compressing from all points. The constricting cold tightened, his skull, mind, and body closing in on itself, crushing him to death. His left ear sloped down the side of his face, becoming one with his jaw while his body snapped in a thousand places, crumbling in on itself.
And then the pain was gone as if it never happened. He blinked in the sudden brightness of the candle-lit room. Unable to believe, shaking hands ran down his body finding him whole, unblemished. Amazement and relief riddle him when he found that his arm whole. He could have sworn it broke during the moments of agony.
At some point in Xilor’s demonstration, he had lost control of his bowels, and he laid in a puddle of his secretions and vomit. He blinked a few moments before struggling to rise, his energy sapped. His throat was hot and angry, raw from overuse as if he had been screaming through the totality of the demonstration. Staggering up to his knees, he rested on his heels, his head spinning.
“That is why I can not take over someone else’s body. They can’t contain my power,” Xilor whispered. “That was just a brief touch of my essence to yours. Had I stayed longer than a few heartbeats, you would be driven mad with the agony.” The eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him. “Call for Derms to clean up your mess. Remove yourself from my presence and make yourself presentable.”
Shaken to the core, cowed by the display of power, Sidjuous meekly left the chambers, having tasted Xilor’s displeasure. The Dark Lord’s impatience was palpable, and if he didn’t want to feel his wrath again, he would need to make better use of himself. Daring himself to toe a line, Xilor had punished him for his insolence. Sid vowed to find a way back into his graces.
The trolls were late in returning with Xilor’s body which meant the trolls he dispatched to the City of Despair had failed. He would have to do it himself, needed to do it himself. Only success would assure his continued existence once his master returned, and he vowed to make sure that happened.
***
Chapter 21 : Meristal
“This had better be important!” Sedrus came with his usual bad attitude, stopping just shy of the Lakayre Manor’s front porch.
“Well, of course, it is,” Meristal rebuked sharply. “Do you think I would just call you to waste your time and mine? No! I would rather spend my time doing other things than putting up with you.”
“Your tongue is sharp this morning, Madam Raviils,” Sedrus glowered.
“It speaks the truth. Maybe Judas will put up with your insolence, but I won’t. Now close your mouth before I do it for you.”
“Why are we meeting at the warlock’s house?”
“Do you know of any place in Ralloc where we can all meet without being overheard?” she countered. The centaur bit back a retort and Meristal turned her eyes to the others gathered. “Now then, we can get to business. As some of you may be aware, Judas and his pupil are on the run. The Kothlere Council tried to track them down and failed so far. He will remain out of contact until the war starts. And the attack on Dlad City? The vampires are responsible, rou
sing from their shadows, and as Staell told us, the sheol are stirring. Apparently, there have been more sightings of them outside of their Ruins, and the Council is keeping it quiet. Is that not so?” she asked, directing her question at Sedrus.
He nodded.
“When will Judas return?” Mella, the elyfian, questioned.
“I suspect he will be returning shortly, especially if this war escalates as quickly as he suspects. Before he left, Judas shared his thoughts with me. He said that the first few attacks of the war will be small skirmishes, but the real war will not start until they breach the Corridor and into the Ralloc Domain. That is, of course, if you don’t count Dlad City.”
“What strategic value is in small skirmishes?” Mella quired, bewildered. A newcomer stood beside her, a fellow elyf, and everyone recognized him. Prior to today, he had never been a part of their gathering before. He was the Supreme War Commander of the Elyfian Enclave in the Vikal Mountains and hailed a hero and veteran of the first war.
“I do not question Judas’s judgment or Xilor’s logic. But I would speculate that the Dark Lord’s absence will make some of his followers leery of going to war, and these skirmishes will be a way for him to establish who is still loyal.”
“Do you believe it will come to a Second Wizard’s War?” Sedrus posed, skeptical.
“Yes. I do.”
“What do you need from us to help him, Madam Raviils?” Zmora urged.
“The time will come soon; we need to know who will be ready to stand and fight, and against whom. Staell hinted that the unicorns retreated to their valley beyond Wizard’s Pass. Judging by his absence here and his ominous words, they will only come to our aid when Judas is vindicated.”
“The elyves do not get involved, but we will take the vampires of Shadow City should they arise again,” Supreme War Commander Yullus pledged the elyves allegiance. “Years do not forget a needed revenge for the spilled blood of the innocents of the first war. We will march when you give us the signal, Madam Raviils.”
