by Kyle Belote
“There it is.”
Julie wasn’t sure if Harold had said anything or if she imagined it. When she found the traces of likeness, she followed them. And then, before she could pull away, she was gone in a sudden surge, lost in the tides of Shadowcasting.
---
The commander’s voice peeled through the night, signaling the attack. Trolls came over the rise, flooding down on the unsuspecting village with clubs, claymores, spears, and knives. It would fall easily without a giant wall surrounding it like in Dlad City and Ralloc, or an encompassing channel to ford.
Towering trolls surged forward, descending on the sleeping town. But wizardkind emerged from all over: behind houses, stables, wagons, and old rum barrels. Spells split the night, light radiating over the invaders. Silhouettes perched on the roofs rained a hail of arrows, piercing the incursive band. A plethora of diverse spells rent the darkness. Oauk watched those under his charge burn, stumble from paralysis, explode, or riddled with arrows and swords. Some trolls turned on each other, driving clubs and edges through their comrades.
But in war, while strategy played a part, so did numbers. The mass overran the initial line of small resistance. Clubs and dirks caught combatants in the heads or neck, driving them into the ground.
The command boomed from the hill where he stood, guiding his troops through the battle. The next swell of personnel gushed over the rise just as the first started to pillage the town, ferreting out those in hiding. With torches, they set fire to the huts and outlying shacks. The first and second waves commenced their destruction; the third awaited their opportunity.
His warriors swarmed through, a near flawless attack. They came from the northeast, skirting the swampland. To the south lay leagues of rolling plains; any attack would be seen from that direction. To the west, a narrow, mountainous trail leading to the Unicorn Valley, impossible to navigate in numbers or speed.
“We can’ wait much lon’er, Judas, or th’ figh’ will be over, and th’ legions of trolls will return ta’ th’ commander on th’ hill,” T’son whispered harshly.
From the edge of the swamp, T’son witness the destruction of the hamlet. He, Judas, and a large band of wizards crept the inside of the swampland to flank the trolls from the left. They remained undetected, using the outcroppings of the rocks, trees, and the slope to shield their approach.
All these years of rebuilding from the Wizard’s War, T’son thought to himself. What a waste.
Disgust boiled in his stomach. Waiting galled him. He cast Judas a withering glance, silently urging him to commence. The commander gave another order, and a third influx pullulated the village.
“Yes, I know,” the warlock replied. “But if the children are doing their job and running for the river, they will draw the infantry away from the commander, and we can take him with ease.” They had gone over this before, but T’son did not like that part of the plan.
Houses burned, heads cleaved from shoulders, screams curled through the night. The trolls rushed forward like a disease, flies swarming over spoiled food. Relentless in their murderous ways, no man or woman was safe as they slit throats and ran swords through chests. His men and women were dying, but the trolls didn’t stop there; they went after the children who ran as fast as they could to the river on the far west side of the town. If they could make it, there they would be safe; trolls hated water and would not venture in after them.
“Ah, ta’ th’ abyss with this. I’m attackin’ now,” T’son declared. He stood from his crouching position and yelled, “CHARGE!”
“Not yet,” Judas tried to warn him, but it was too late. Their location revealed, half of the men rushed past the edge and out of concealment.
The commander turned to the noise, caught off guard. He pointed his sword at the incoming attackers and grunted, the remainder of his soldiers attacked. Trolls and wizards clashed. Spells flew as clubs and swords rang out, blood spewing.
Judas ducked underneath an incoming sword and - while crouching - sent a bolt of fire piercing through three charging trolls, melting them from head to foot. He stood, blasting the nearest Troll off its feet, the force of impact shattered his spine. In silence, Judas weaved, cutting a swath through the invaders. Severed arms clattered to the ground, missing legs toppled adversaries. He called fire and lightning, churned the earth to devour those above. With a practiced hand, he invoked one potential attacker to turn his sword upon himself.
An order boomed and numerous trolls turned in his direction, running him down. He pushed out with his hand, a wave of invisible energy lashing out, trampling the inbound, mowing down ranks of soldiers.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Slowly, the tide of battle turned.
---
Out of body, she soared above a battle in progress. She touched down in their midst; animalistic beings fought wizards and common folk with swords and axes. The battle moved faster than physically possible, the events flashing through her mind. In horror, she watched bodies litter the ground in fractions of a second, within blinks of the eye. Children ran screaming, slaughtered by the animals that hunted them. Men were cleaved and flung to the ground. The screams curled her blood. Beasts burned, crushed by an unseen force.
The carnage ground to a halt as Judas stood alone in the field. A man lay at his feet. Her former master wept openly, unashamed tears streaked his face. Seeing him like this shook Julie to the core, having never seen this range of emotion from him.
She stepped closer, coming to a stop just behind him and to his right. “He fought courageously, I saw. It was amazing … his strength to carry on,” Julie murmured. It was the truth; she did witness his last courageous act, a spectator to everything that had happened or would happen.
“Yes, a magnificent display of dedication … honor … desire,” Judas agreed.
“How many years have you known each other?”
“Since before the Wizard’s War, so long ago. Time slipped by. I sometimes find myself wondering, where did all the time go?” Judas spoke more to himself than her. “You know what he said?” Judas both chuckled and cried tears of sorrow. “I reached him just before he died. I told him that I was here for him and that I would heal him. He smiled and said, ‘I see my first mate, my love, I have sailed to you.’” Silence followed as Judas wept, grieving.
“How long since you two last visited each other?”
He rubbed away the tears and took a deep breath. “About two Epochs ago. It’s a long time when you are going through it, but a short time when you reflect.” She stood quietly for a moment. “A tragedy,” Judas spoke up after a brief moment of silence. “A tragedy that will only amplify as the time goes on.”
“So much death and violence, I don’t think I can stomach a war!”
Judas’ face hardened, full of turmoil, righteous anger, and restlessness. “You better get used to seeing it,” he barked, his voice stern. His brows frowned. “There is no reason for Xilor’s madness. I tried to predict him in the last war, but with no way to–” At that moment, Judas’ eyes widened and recognition came to his face. “Julie?” he whispered, recognizing the voice at last.
He whirled, but what he perceived made him doubt his sanity. The faintest image of her stood before him, but he peered through her like an apparition. Shock spread across his face, and he turned visibly whiter.
“A ghost,” he gawked.
He reached for her, but she faded before he touched her incorporeal image.
---
Both Harold and Julie exhaled together, their eyes opened. The fire had dwindled down to red embers and cold claimed the space where heat once occupied. Harold stirred, his back, knees, and hips popped audibly as he rose from the floor to his chair. He reached for his pipe and relit the tobacco, drawing quick, deep puffs. Julie shifted, a slight spasm rolled from the base of her spine to her neck. The pain raced through her and she, too, moved to a chair, rubbing her neck.
“That was intense.”
“Yes, as is each
time you Shadowcast, in their own way, of course. But the events you saw will change now.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, uncertain.
“Because you interfered, if the event still happens, an altered outcome will manifest.”
“What will change? Will Judas die?”
“Possibly, but I have never heard of events changing so drastically. Usually, it is small things. Small events, words, items. To inflict death, you would have to interfere a great deal more than you did, or so experience has told me.”
“I will keep that in mind in the future,” she vowed.
“Also, this ability is quite advanced. I don’t know of anyone able to do it besides you and I. But to be honest, I’m not acquainted with that many people. There are others who can do variations of it, but to actually Shadowcast…” he shook his head.
“What others? What variations?”
“To each his own, but Warlock Lakayre, your former master, can do something similar.”
Alarm spread across Julie’s face. “How did you work out he was my master? I never told you.”
“I am knowledgeable of many things, child.” He paused a moment before continuing. “There is another warning I must give you before you go. What we just did is something that the Archangels do. They live like this, in a perpetual state of casting.”
“Are you well-versed with Archangels?”
“I am knowledgeable of many things, child,” Harold repeated. He sighed and stirred slightly in his chair. “It’s getting late and a long journey awaits you in your near future. Get your rest. You will find what you are looking for,” he said with a knowing smile. “But heed this: you may not like what you find, or you may like it too much. You may find that you already found what you sought. Sweet dreams,” he bade her, pulling on his pipe. He turned his gaze to the book and pulled it back in his lap.
As she was exiting, he called to her. “Don’t bother to say goodbye, you’ll be back.”
Silently, she closed the door behind her.
Chapter 46 : Wizard's Pass
“Take the commander,” Judas’ urged over the chaos of the battle. Spells flew as swords hacked away in a spray of blood. The gore of war gushed out like a mist, peppering their faces. War always started small, the carnage before him a taste of what was to come.
Judas leapt over a fallen troll, calling the troll’s sword to his hand with a flicker of magic. The sword was unwieldy, alien, it had been years since he last held one. The blade was heavy and strange in the cradle of his palm. A paw shot out, snatching him by his arm. Instinct drove the steel through flesh and bone. He didn’t need a sword as long as he had his wand, but two weapons were better than one.
He ran to the nearest troll overpowering his comrades and lashed out, ending the momentary struggle. A flash of metal slashed through his vision, catching an incoming blade. A right cross rocked the troll’s head back, a reprieve allowing Judas a chance to run steel through the torso. Shaking off dying warrior, Judas scanned for the commander in time to see T’son advancing on him.
T’son sprinted up the hill, throwing his weight into every troll he caught off guard. Each collapsed, stumbled, or rolled down the hill. Reaching the summit, he pressed his relentless attack.
T’son swung overhead, throwing all weight and strength into the blow. The leader blocked and countered, pushing the crossed blades back the way they came. Off balanced, T’son stumbled, an opening capitalized with a side-stepped to the left and a thrust. The blade burrowed to the hilt in T’son’s stomach.
“No!” Judas yelled.
T’son’s eyes widened in shock. Blood and innards emerged, a face of glowering satisfaction loomed near him. Knees trembled, his strength ebbing.
“Good day to die, isn’t it?” Oauk taunted him.
“For both of us,” T’son answered with all the hate he could muster. With renewed strength and arching steel, the troll’s head toppled to the ground.
With the blade still inside him, he gazed out over the carnage. Through the blood bath below, he glimpsed his friend rushing to his side. T’son collapsed in a heap, the sword driving deeper as he doubled over. All noises of the battle faded, his distant gaze tracking his friend, fading from sight.
The fight raged on.
---
Judas waded through the bodies, checking for wounded and lending his meager healing skills. The citizens of Wizard’s Pass fought gallantly against the overwhelming legion. In the end, they managed to drive off the last remains, the battle turning with the loss of their commander, but the citizens took heavy losses, both in casualties and the village itself. Most of it burned to the ground, hardening the resolve of the survivors.
Blood soaked the ground and pooled in other places. Bodies and limbs lay strewn; Judas hoped for more survivors after each body he passed.
Such a tragedy, Judas thought, all this loss of life for the fall of an out-of-the-way village. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible. Did Xilor track me here?
It was the only explanation that made sense at the moment. Wizard’s Pass offered no strategic value; the only other alternative intent was to break morale. The mind game had started, Xilor, the master puppeteer. By the time he trampled his way over a sea of bodies and reached Ralloc, Judas envisioned them laying down arms almost willingly. The defeat here molded a detrimental future.
The children returned in droves from the river as the remaining trolls retreated. Only their dead and the destruction they wrought was left in the wake of their departure.
A passionate anger burned in Judas. All this death, sanctioned by orders from a master they would never see.
Pawns are such, he mused. Move this piece against that. If you lose, no damage to you; if you win, the more power you accumulate. That was the way of tyrants, and Xilor is the biggest of them.
Judas stopped suddenly, finding the corpse of his friend he lost today. He had fought bravely to the end and beyond.
Judas sensed a stir beside him. “Did he fight courageously?” a woman spoke.
“Yes, it was magnificently displayed dedication … honor … desire,” Judas said, tears formed in his eyes.
“How long did you know each other?” the other queried.
“Around the time of the First Wizard’s War, maybe sometime after, it’s all a blur. I sometimes find myself wondering, where did all the time go?” Judas spoke to himself. “Do you know what he said?” The warlock trembled with sorrow. “I wasn’t there for him in the end.”
Silence followed as Judas wept with grief. “I will regret my failure for the rest of my life, but I don’t think I can bear to hear his last words. I am the recipient of many last words in my time. It is funny and tragic the places your mind takes you while approaching death’s door.”
“How long since you two saw each other last?”
“About two Ages, a long time when you are going through it, a short time when you reflect. Cherish the moments you gain.”
“I will,” she said, her voice stoic.
Judas spoke up after a brief moment of silence. “This is such a mess, and it will only get worse as time goes on!” He looked out over the toll of bodies.
“There were so many deaths–and the violence?–how can anyone choose to go to war?”
The words angered him, but his gaze lingered on his lifeless friend. “You better get used to seeing it,” he said sternly. His brows frowned. “More is coming and soon. Day and night will stand maddeningly still. Blood will soak the ground, polluting our water. People will die, and fire will fall from the sky. Turmoil, hate, death: that is our future, one not for the weak.” He knelt and closed the eyes of T’son, and grief took him once again.
“I am sorry, Judas,” she said. The warlock whirled, glimpsing the fading image of his lost apprentice, and in its place, a woman he knew well, appeared.
“I came as quickly as I could, Judas.” Meristal wrapped her arms around him, her hair of orange flame tickling his nose. She smelled of sweet
vanilla and a mild flowery scent. “What happened here?”
“A troll invasion. The few people you see are the survivors.”
“And your apprentice, what of her?” she asked, glancing around anxiously.
He looked at her, and a solemn expression crossed his face. “Julie is gone.”
“She perished?” Meristal gasped in shock. Her hand came to her mouth.
“No, no,” Judas was quick to assure her. “During the night, while we were in the swamplands, she took off. She is with the fairies now, or they are with her.”
“What can they possibly teach her? They don’t have the level of magic that she does. Why didn’t you go after her?”
“They are not teaching her magic, but about the Realm, and I am unsure about that. I didn’t ask for their planned academics. The fairy warned me that they would hide her from me if I pursued, so I didn’t.”
“Why would they waste their time with those trivialities?”
Judas didn’t respond. His eyes swept over the carnage. They could remove the bodies, but blood would stain the earth for a time.
“Why?” Meristal pressed.
“Because they believe in their prophecy, and they may be right.”
“Since when do you believed in prophecies, fates, and destinies, Judas?”
“The moment I reached out to find her. She is too far away for you to do the same, but what I felt was incredible.”
Meristal took his acknowledgment in stride, knowing she would never change his mind once set. “What about the trolls who attacked? Where did they go?”
“They have retreated, but I fear that another attack is coming soon.”
“Here?” she inquired, skeptical. He shook his head in response. “Then, where?”
“The only probable place, Meristal: Far Point.”
“Well, we have to warn them. I can teleport there and–”
