by Nikolas Rex
There was an enormous shout of delight from the crowd including Marc, Zildjin, and Sesuadra, as the Overseer stepped down and Lanvar took his place.
Marc, Zildjin, and Sesuadra were lucky enough to have found a spot and could see the tall figure clearly from where they were and they had never seen anyone else like him.
Lanvar stood almost a head taller than the Overseer, who was a fairly tall fellow, and was noticeably stronger. He was dressed in sparkling chrome armor made from dragon scales and a helmet with a plume of stiff dyed gold hair that was said to have come from a unicorn he had tried to save but despite its best efforts had died and he had taken its hair in its memory. Underneath his armor he wore a dirty but fancy suit of blue with faded gold stitching and across his back he wore a velvet red cape. In his right hand he held a large polearm with an axe on one end.
“My fellow Freelanders!” He yelled.
His voice was deep and filled with power.
The crowd and the three boys roared with patriotism.
“I know I usually have a Guild representative or other member of the Reclaimers attend The Gathering. I admit I have not come very often, for my travels take me far. But I have come this cycle, and I just wish to say, to all my brethren Relic Hunters out there today, that I am not so proud as to boast my guaranteed victory at this contest for I am assured that my reputation precedes me, but I will tell you now, that I have come across, through dragonfire and wasteland, some of the greatest relics I have seen in all my cycles. Good luck to you all. Thank you!”
The three friends smiled, and clapped and cheered along with the crowd until they were hoarse from yelling. “He gave me this!” Zildjin yelled at the top of his lungs, holding the medallion proudly and tightly in his hand.
Finally the Overseer got up again and finished with, “Kolima! Enjoy the festivities, and from here until the end of the third day, let the judging begin!”
***
The sun was low on the horizon, casting an array of yellow and orange light across the ocean’s vast expanse, signaling the end of the day, Kolima, however, did not quiet in the least bit.
The Gathering was still in full swing, music, dancing, magic demonstrations, and especially the contest.
Marc, Zildjin and Sesuadra had been in the thick of the festivities since they had awoken that morning and were about ready to head back to the Magic Emporium, and call it a day. Marc was drinking something sweet and tart from a mug, watching one of the many street corner magic shows. A dark skinned sorcerer was performing elemental tricks, summoning a ball of water, turning it to ice, melting it with a ball of fire from his other hand, and making it all disappear with a wisp of smoke. The show was visually interesting, but Marc put his hand up to stifle a yawn, the day’s excitement was finally catching up to him. Sesuadra was buying a piece of roasted meat from a nearby vendor and Zildjin’s gaze was set on two beautiful young women passing through the crowd.
“That was nice, was it not?” Zildjin, his eyes following the swish of the two girls’ dresses until they disappeared into the masses, said, nudging Marc.
Zildjin had to raise his voice over the din of the merriment.
“The show’s not over yet, but yeah, impressive I suppose,” Marc replied, having missed what Zildjin was referring to entirely. His voice was equally loud.
Sesuadra came over, already half finished with his leg of meat, “Misplace something in the crowd?” he said to Zildjin.
“Huh? Mmm, something like that,” Zildjin gave up trying to find the girls he had seen and turned his attention back to his comrades.
Marc yawned again, not holding back this time. Zildjin followed suite, and even Sesuadra had to yawn though his mouth was full.
“Yeah, Marc said, “I’m about ready for a good night’s rest, lets head back.”
“Agreed,” Sesuadra nodded.
“Eleanor will probably start to worry otherwise,” Zildjin added.
As they did so the sun finally dipped behind the horizon and the darkness of the night blanketed itself over the city with surprising quickness. Torchlight, both natural and magical, appeared throughout the streets in reply, brighter in the more largely crowded areas and darkest in the small vacant alleys.
The stars in the night sky were beginning to vanish as dark clouds began to form high above, storm clouds.
Suddenly the three friends turned at a scream in the distance.
And then there was an explosion of magical violet fire.
Chapter Twenty Two
The Fall
The hot wind blew across the top of the wall and around the towers of the fortress.
The red banners on the tower roofs whipped gallantly in the breeze, fiercely displaying their colors across the deep blue sky, like splashes of freshly spilt blood. The larger banners displayed the Terragurion emblem, a fully armored knight of black and silver standing tall and proud, his two arms gripped firmly to the pommel of a giant sword pointed downwards in front of him, a kite shield with a diamond pattern lay behind the knight, and the complete crest was surrounded by vines of thorns and crimson flowers, a crown of thorns atop the knight’s helmet. The other banners displayed the local city insignias in their various forms.
In the valley below lay the city of Rothk, but mostly everyone called it Rockhollow. The stronghold where Krynn Brellek resided to look over his lands, was built into the nearby mountain, a great network of tunnels led to the other side of the valley where a second, though smaller castle also overlooked the valley. The two castles made for an extremely effective defense strategy, as a result Rockhollow had not been overrun in hundreds of cycles.
In the main tower of the first castle was a large room with a tall dome ceiling. The tower was the head office of the Bloodcloaks of Rockhollow, and the main residence of Iadar, Grand Commander, and his loyal compatriot and brother in arms, Mordan, second in command. Iadar’s reputation for merciless adherence to the regulations both from the original founding of the Bloodcloaks and the new rules set forth by the Krynn of Rothk, had given him the name of Stoneheart, though not a single soldier in his right mind would ever say it in his presence. The room was decorated in an imperialistic fashion with large painted portraits of legendary Bloodcloak legionnaires standing in full dress hanging in gold frames along the walls, and all the dark wood furniture was swathed in red velvet filled neatly in parallel places along the floor. There were two large desks, one wider than the other, chairs lined up against two walls, and large shelves of books, canvases, and scrolls. The desk tops were neatly organized with piles of parchment stacked carefully in rows to one side with inkwells and feather quill pens on the other. The dark marble floor, taken from the nearby mountain itself, had recently been polished, as it regularly was, and reflected everything nicely.
The man they called Stoneheart sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair behind the large desk where he worked most of the time now. He and Mordan had been born and raised Bloodcloaks, they believed in the Noble Kingdom and swore with their lives to protect its ways. Back in the day of the Marauders war, Iadar had led a strong force of powerful, trained, soldiers into battle. But that was many cycles ago. Now all they did was sit in their office mostly seeing to the bureaucratic nonsense that only old men could attend to. Iadar was a big man, heavily muscled for his age. His uniform was similar to the apparel worn by all Bloodcloaks, except his tunic was emblazoned with a sword, shield, glove, and helm, signifying his superior rank. His carefully cared for big dark beard only had streaks of grey and white at the side, showing he had not given up the fight against time just yet.
The other man, Mordan, just five cycles younger, was similarly dressed, though his tunic did not have the helm in the symbol. Mordan was second in command, and back in the Marauder Wars, had loyally fought side by side with his captain and friend, Iadar. It was in those same battles in which Mordan had lost his right eye, over which he now wore a dark red eye patch, and Iadar had been wounded in his shield arm.
The room was usually busy
with soldiers bringing in reports and following up on archival duties but the day had been mostly quiet and dull. It was just him and Mordan in the main headquarters that day.
It was why they both looked up in surprise as the double doors leading into the room burst open suddenly. A soldier entered the room, a low ranking footsoldier by the lack of symbol on his chest. The assistant, a short woman clothed all in dark muted robes, looked terrified and very apologetic at the sudden entrance of the stranger. He was dirty and travel worn. But he did not hesitate to cross the newly polished floor.
“What is the meaning of this?” Iadar stood up from his desk, outraged at the lack of courtesy shown. There was a specific order to seeing them in the headquarters. The chief assistant was supposed to quietly knock and wait for approval before opening the door. Instead she had allowed this soldier to come straight in.
“Officers, forgive the intrusion, but I have a message which cannot wait.” The man said.
The assistant bowed her head apologetically and closed the doors quietly, separating her from them.
Iadar pushed the chair away from the desk and strode towards the moving soldier, meeting him halfway in the room. Mordan was still standing by his desk until Iadar waved him over.
Stoneheart glared at the young man, ready to make the kids life miserable for as long as his breaking of protocol would allow. Inside, Iadar was happy to finally let off some steam through discipline and punishment.
“How dare you,” Iadar began, “who gave the order to come bursting into headquarters with a message like this?”
The young man looked scared but was struggling to hide it.
“You did, sir, both of you did.”
The footsoldier held the sealed parchment before him as if it was the only thing separating him from physical harm.
Iadar snatched it from his shaking hand.
He glanced down at the seal, an official mark of the Bloodcloaks lay there, and broke it.
“What nonsense do you speak?” Mordan had finally reached them, and glared at the young man.
“It is written in the official assignments under your command,” The soldier stammered, “Any message containing information about—”
Iadar rose his hand to silence the soldier. Then Mordan shook his head to command the footsoldier to leave. The young man gave a bow and strode quickly out of the room, closing the doors behind him.
A look between anger and pleasure came over Iadar’s face.
He handed the parchment to Mordan, having already read it.
“Alert the others,” Iadar told his friend.
Mordan only needed to glance at the parchment to know what to do.
They could finally begin the search again.
He had resurfaced.
Kilik Dualis.
***
Laura felt herself hurtling through, what is it, air?
Something.
Then she landed with a thud against hard dirt and grass.
Her breath escaped upon impact, leaving her gasping for air.
She struggled for a moment, trying to draw breath. She blinked and clawed at the air around her, fighting off the monsters who were trying to eat her, who had eaten Carlata.
The dark was all around her, oppressive, overwhelming.
She finally found air and filled her lungs with it.
Rushing water sounded somewhere nearby.
She stood, wheezing, forcing, and pulling the air into her lungs.
She stumbled in the dark, trying to steady herself.
Suddenly she felt the floor beneath her give way, she heard the sound of falling rocks all around her.
Her body tumbled against dirt and stone, downward on a steep slope.
She grabbed at the darkness around her finding nothing solid to stop her fall.
Something, a tree branch, tore at her robes, ripping off her mantel and part of her right sleeve.
Then she hit her head and her body stopped, motionless on hard earth.
***
A slowly bobbing light flittered before her, waking her.
It was a gentle light, soothing, comforting.
She began to stir.
She felt something heavy on top of her, rough, the bark of a tree, a tree branch.
So heavy.
Something moved and the weight lifted off of her. As the weight lifted, the light around her increased tremendously and she lifted her arm to shield her, shying away from the brightness.
She slowly opened her eyes.
She lay on a small rocky cliff ledge. The ground was far below her, mind numbingly far. She was not afraid of heights but the fear of her situation overtook her for a moment.
She scrambled backwards until she was as far away from the ledge as she could be.
It was daytime, early morning by the position of the sun.
She looked around. The cliff she was on overlooked a partially wooded valley surrounded on three sides by mountains. Near the edge of the valley were two smaller mountains shaped like long thin pillars thrusting upwards towards the sky.
A city was built into the two pillars with massive bridges linking both mountains together. A large structure was formed into the middle of the mass of bridges, like a third small city in the space separating the mountains. A river came through the empty space between the two mountains as well, tumbling down into an incredible, voluminous waterfall, down into the valley below.
She had heard of this place, the ruins of Zheund.
It was a breathtaking sight if not for her circumstances.
Her head hurt and her stomach grumbled. She felt her head and felt dried and crusted blood there. A sharp pain shocked her at the touch of the wound. How long had she been out?
Her hands were shaking. She clasped them together but she couldn’t make them stop. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She closed her eyes to try and slow her breathing, but the faces of the sickly-pus-filled-sore-ridden-people trying to eat her flashed through her mind.
She opened her eyes again.
How did I get here?
She did not know where the ruins of Zheund were exactly, but what she remembered it was somewhere deep in the Wildlands.
She sat for a long time, thinking, trying to calm herself.
She thought of the grass dolls she practiced moving with her mind and she quickly realized.
I moved myself!
She didn’t know how she did it exactly, but she had escaped. She had thought desperately that she needed to get out, to get somewhere safe, and just before she thought she was going to die, she did just that.
I escaped! I can not only move objects, but I can move myself!
She looked around, so much for escaping. She chided herself. She would have to work more on her power so something like this wouldn’t happen again.
She looked up at where she had fallen. She remembered stumbling in the dark and falling. If she would have moved any further, she would not be alive.
She tried to climb up the rock but to no avail.
She sat down and wanted to cry. Doyenne Carlata being dragged through the door flashed through her mind, and her screams, she could still hear her screams.
Stop it! She told herself, This is not going to get you anywhere, you have to think, you have to do something!
She crawled to the edge and peeked over.
It was an impossible climb down.
She sighed.
Then she changed her line of thinking.
Not impossible for me.
She looked down and visualized herself there.
She closed her eyes and thought take me there, I am there, I am down there right now, I am moving, I am walking, I am THERE!
She opened her eyes, nothing.
She closed them and tried again. Her stomach growled and her head was pounding.
She searched her mind for the magic, the key to the transportation. She had done it several times before, with small grass dolls, and she had just moved herself, out of Sulendald.
She could do it again, she had to.
I am sliding down, down the cliff, and then I am there at the bottom looking up. I am moving, I am jumping, I am THERE!
Nothing.
Then she thought again—I am jumping—
And she knew what she had to do.
She stood up, still looking down.
She took a deep breath, and another, then three in quick succession, blowing them out with a whoosh of air.
Come on Laura, she encouraged herself, you can do this. You can do it!
She bent her knees.
And vaulted off the edge of the cliff with all her might.
NOW!!!
She screamed to herself.
Nothing happened.
Terror seized her.
She had made a mistake, she couldn’t do it. She wasn’t able to move herself twice in a row.
NOOOOWWW!!!
She felt herself wink away in an instant, there was a whooshing sound through her ears and she felt herself suddenly appear, not too far from the ground.
But still not very close.
She fell the rest of the short way and hit the ground with a powerful smack.
Her head felt like it split open. She rolled over, she couldn’t breathe again. Blue and white sparkling stars clouded her vision, flashing angrily at her.
She felt herself blacking out again.
Then the light reappeared before her, bobbing gently.
She struggled to focus on it.
It drew closer.
She finally found her breath again, just enough to gasp.
The light was emanating from a small exquisite being with wings, floating above her head.
It was a Fae One.
Chapter Twenty Three
Deception
The explosion was off in the distance, in a different part of the city, but the flames were high and fierce.
“What was that?” Marc said what the other two were thinking.
“I do not think that was part of a demonstration,” Zildjin added.
“No,” Sesuadra replied in agreement.
