by Nikolas Rex
“Yes, actually,” she replied coolly and confidently, “I am here to meet someone named Belator.”
“Sorry, cannot help you, never heard of him,” He replied, pretending to play along.
“I was not asking for your help,” she said.
“Can you believe the mouth on this girl?” The one with red hair said.
“I like girls with big mouths,” The man with black hair said, “Makes for an easier fit. Hold her down boys, I am going first.”
“Yes you are,” Nyrith replied with a wicked grin.
She sprang into action quicker than the men were capable of reacting to. Her movements were precise and swift, executed with an agility and grace that her many cycles of practice and petite figure allowed for.
First she fell to one knee, her arms moving in a quick arching motion from high to low, and then to the side. She swiveled on her knee and touched the ground, then came quickly back up, straining with the motion. Her motions seemed almost like a blur to the men and as she rose, it appeared as if she had gripped some thick invisible blanket and was struggling to pull it up into the air to reveal something underneath.
But to Nyrith, she was performing the Mystic Dance to pull away the veil from her eyes that hid the world of magic from the untrained eye, and as she pulled, the scene before her transformed almost completely.
For an instant everything was black. Then things began to appear like thousands of bubbles popping quickly one after the other. The ground came first, hard packed brown dirt, but it wasn’t exactly as it was before. It swirled and shifted slowly in impossible ways. Pebbles appeared next, then blades of grass, but each item was strange, surrounded by thin multi-colored strands of subtly shifting ethereal substance. Then the wooden crates, also outlined by the strands. Then the walls and the men surrounding her. Then finally floating mists of the ethereal magic hovered in the air in random spots surrounding her and the men. Everything beyond that was black. Nyrith knew that with time and practice her ability to see further and further would increase. But she was content with the limit of her abilities as she was able to see all of her would-be assailants.
She focused on the glowing force that emanated from the men. In a matter of a few heartbeats the thoughts of the many ways she could manipulate the magical strands passed through her head but she decided that with the number of opponents against her she would have to slow things down to win the fight.
Continuing the momentum from her opening move, she let her arms unfurl outwards and spun in a circle upon the ball of her feet. As she spun she gripped at the floating forces in the air around her. She pulled violently, bending the magic to her will and with a powerful push she stopped spinning and came down with her hand to slap the ground. Upon impact a shockwave of magic went out, with Nyrith at its point of origin. The men around her flew backwards from the thrust of energy at a normal speed, their hands flying up in the air and their hair flinging backwards, two of the closest even had their feet lifted from the ground. But as the magic passed over and through them they began to slow in mid-air, as if moving achingly slowly through water. Nyrith stopped the dance and stood up. She let go of the hold she had on the veil. The things around her began to return to appear normal to her. She could keep the veil withdrawn if she wanted to but she had already summoned the magic she needed.
With the men still falling in an impossibly slowed state of motion Nyrith simply drew one of her favored long daggers and one by one proceeded to slit the throats of each of her opponents, starting with the one she had promised would go first. She lingered on the last one, savoring the man’s final moments. She drew the dagger first across his naked arms, the man’s blood flowed freely like a fountain. It spurted forth quickly for a brief moment, but then, like it’s owner, it slowed down.
Nyrith marveled at each individual droplet of blood suspended in the air, finding the effect to be quite breathtaking.
She wondered if the man could feel the pain, or if one moment he found himself standing with his cohorts around a seemingly helpless girl ready to satisfy his carnal desires, and in the next he simply encountered darkness and then ceased to exist.
She did not know since the magic had never been used on her. She brought the blade to his throat and sliced it open just as the effects of the shockwave wore off. The men all fell to the ground, dead.
Nyrith wiped her dagger off on a nearby patch of grass and sheathed the blade back at her side. She stood and continued down the alley as if nothing had happened.
A black bird crowed and took off from one of the rooftops of one of the buildings that made up the cramped alley.
Nyrith saw the bird and took it as a good sign. The black bird was an omen of the Archfiend.
Chapter Thirty Four
Unexpected News
Topar awoke to the distant sound of knocking on the front door of the shop.
His ears twitched and stood up, catching the sound of the knocking easily.
Despite the lateness of the hour he was up and out of bed in an instant, shaking off his tiredness. He donned his belt and loincloth quickly. He ruffled his right hand through the fur on his neck where an old battle scar still bothered him. He swished his tail back and forth quickly but absentmindedly.
He was out of his quarters and halfway through the main room, headed towards the shop, when he saw Eleanor coming down the stairs in her nightgown. She was clearly tired, another restless night, worrying about the boys.
“I will see to it, m’lady,” Topar said in a sort of soft command that also said, I do not wish you to have to burden yourself with this small thing, I am your keeper, I will take care of it.
Eleanor, used to Topar’s ways smiled and nodded, “Thank you, Topar.” She returned to the top of the stairs.
Rovaar were honorable and beings true to their word, once given, never broken. Topar was there with Garrond when he died. Garrond’s dying wish was that Topar care of Eleanor. Topar took the wish and put it upon himself as an unbreakable oath.
Topar blamed himself for his best friend’s death.
The knocking continued as Topar was making his way down the aisles of the shop.
“Peace hold you!” Topar said as he neared the door. His ears flattened in frustration as he strode forward, his tail swishing back and forth with each step.
When he reached the door he placed his large furry claw on a symbol inscribed on the stone next to the wall and muttered something. He then placed his hand on the door and softly spoke another word. An exact copy of the symbol on the wall shone on the door from Topar’s paw and the door lit up. The large locks on the door moved and clicked.
He felt unease in his gut. Who could be knocking at such a late hour?
The final lock was released and Topar lifted the large wood wedge put in place as a last resort and barricade, and set it aside.
He opened the door about halfway, ready for anything.
On the other side stood five figures, four men in foreign armor, and—
“Demar!” Topar said, his long rovaar ears coming up.
“Topar!” The man stepped forward and embraced his large white-and-black, furry friend
“It has been too long,” Topar said in his husky, almost growling but happy voice.
“It has, old friend.”
“We received no message of your coming,” Topar said.
“There was no time to send one ahead, faster to come myself.”
Topar nodded, already guessing why the man had come.
“It is time, then?” Topar asked.
Demar nodded, “The Sovereign has been overthrown, Sesuadra is safe at last, it is time for the rightful ruler to reclaim the Isles.”
“Demar,” Topar said, his tail flicked half-nervously, “There is only one problem.”
***
He felt horrible about all of it.
A part of him deep down inside wanted it, welcomed it. But the many cycles of inner conflict won out and as he looked out upon the events happening ar
ound him, he both hated it, and hated himself.
Drake sat on a large throne-like chair in the middle of the town center of Terga as everyone in the village gathered to celebrate his heroics and the liberation of the town from the sky-bound terrors that had threatened them for so long. There was a good two hundred or so gathered in the town square.
Drake had already sat through most of the morning as the town mayor gave a long eulogy and speech about their savior. The mayor spoke of the history of Itherin, and the legends of many brave champions and their grand deeds, he even likened Drake to some of the Exalted.
But Drake knew the truth, he knew of the darkness within, that came, unbidden, to wreak havoc and destruction. But never was he conscious to witness it. He would rise only in time to ride the wake of its comings and goings, never quick enough to stop it. And now the town bard was giving a very well done retelling of the battle Drake had gone through to save Terga, as he had been informed by the only boy who witnessed it.
And me, Drake thought, I was supposed to have witness it to. archfiend’s spawn I was supposed to have done the deed myself! I did do it. But I cannot remember it.
And the girl, Mel, continued to swoon over him, playing desperately for his affections. He caught himself a number of times being kind to her. Exalted how she reminds me of Laeyadin!
She should have just sewn herself to the new clothes her and her mother had made for him, for how close she kept herself to him since he had awoken in her house. She sat on a small wooden crate nearby, watching him and smiling kindly. He made a show of tugging at the collar of his new white shirt, as if it was sewn improperly and did not fit him right, though it was indeed put together just fine and fit him comfortably. It was all he could think of at the moment to do to maybe make the girl hate him just a little or something.
She was a nice enough girl, but he just didn’t want to deal with that kind of thing then, or ever. He thought, reminding himself of his curse.
He kept imagining scenarios that involved him slipping away silently, but the people gave him no time to himself.
His wounds were all practically healed, he could leave, but his armor was still being worked on by the town blacksmith. He didn’t really want to leave without it, it was one of the few things, besides his two swords, that he had carried with him since his first awakening.
“And where once the Vorstai reigned,
The champion now their heads both he claimed.
Our village he did save.
Forever more, remembered, will be his name!”
The bard finished his ballad with a flourish of notes on his lute and bowed at the audience’s applause.
“And now! We shall feast!” the mayor stood up and clapped his hands together.
The town cheered and turned to the area where some of the townsmen and women had been preparing and setting out food.
A large group of people, mostly younger, stronger men, lifted the chair into the air and headed over to the tables of food. They set the chair beside the place where the mayor sat at the head of the largest table present. It took a long time for all the adults to find a place to sit. Mel, of course, found a seat almost next to Drake. The children played nearby, coming to the tables only now and then.
Once ale and wine was poured in each cup the Mayor stood with his goblet in hand.
“We feast in honor of our hero,”
“Here! Here!” The people chimed, the men stood and shouted, cups in hand as well.
“Champion!”
“Here! Here!”
“Defender!”
“Here! Here!”
“May he live forever!”
The crowd roared their approval, banging mugs together and spilling most of their drinks.
The mayor titled back his drink and everyone followed.
Except for Drake.
May he live forever. The words were meant to be taken in a positive light, but for Drake, it was only a painful reminder of his unending curse. Maybe I will leave, armor or no. he thought.
“Let the feast begin!”
The mayor sat back down and the people followed suit. The eating commenced. There was all sorts of dark, succulent, spit roasted meat, colorful fruits and steamed vegetables with spices and herbs. It was truly a delicious enough meal, but Drake did not need much to fill himself, and the mayor continued to insist he eat more. Drake knew the people had most likely dug deep into their storehouses for the feast and it made him all the more guilty inside. He couldn’t help but listen to the talk going about the table as they ate.
“Did you hear about Kolima?” One man at their table said.
“You mean the light!” The woman next to him nodded.
“Of course the light,” someone else jumped in.
“Everyone has been talking about it,” Mel added.
She was trying to show Drake that she knew what was going on in the world, and that she wasn’t just a healer’s apprentice, born and raised in a small town, never venturing far from her home.
“Yes,” The first man continued, “But I heard another bit of news just the other day from That small wagon train that came through here.”
“I remember them, carts so full they could hardly move it seemed!” Mel tried again, trying to impress.
Drake continued to ignore her.
“The wagon leader,” The man went on, “told me he had heard from someone who had seen the spectacle with their own two eyes! An Exalted descended from the stars and formed into a body so that we could see them without losing our sight.”
“The Exalted have long since left us since before the War of Power.”
“Nonsense, the Revenant caused the War.”
“You have it wrong, the Exalted allowed the Revenant to reign for a time, as punishment for our corruption, and that was the War.”
The first who had started the conversation wrestled for control again, “I am telling you, the man said it was an Exalted come down for sure. He took the form of a young man with dark brown hair and eyes like emeralds speckled with golden honey. He was wielding a flaming sword, one that could only be the Phoenix Blade!”
Drake sat up straight in his chair.
“beg your pardon sir,” Drake said.
The man stood and took a deep bow, “I am sorry your greatness, I was just pushing the breeze along,” he muttered apologetically about his gossiping.
Drake was frustrated that he was being treated like a king, that his smallest utterance in conversation would illicit such a reaction.
“Never mind,” Drake brushed it away, “I only mean to know that I heard you correctly, what did the wagon leader say he saw about a young man?”
“An Exalted came down, and he took the form of a young man with dark brown hair and green and brown eyes, not much older than you by description. They say that he has come to rid the lands of wild magic and restore order. They say that he will conquer Terragur once and for all, and begin another Illuminated Era.”
Drake sat, motionless.
The man took it as a sign he should sit back down.
Could it be? Drake thought. The world around him faded as he turned his attention completely to his own mind.
The young man from my dreams? The Sword of the Phoenix? an Exalted?
***
Nyrith thought that as she got further into the city that it would become more frantic, but it turned out to be exactly the opposite.
Everywhere buildings lay empty, deserted. An eerie silence hung thickly in the air. And the fog, it blanketed everything, more thickly in some places than others. Random household items and things had been left lying on the ground, broken and forgotten. The quality and appearance of the buildings began to deteriorate deeper into the city as well. The sun moved slowly across the sky and it was nearing late afternoon when she finally heard something. She peered down an alley and saw a group of city guards and soldiers run by in full armor, their weapons drawn. She decided to follow the troops. She slunk quietly behind them, movin
g quickly between stretches of shadow, avoiding light and trying not to be noticed.
As she followed them she could hear the sounds of battle growing louder.
Finally the soldiers turned a corner and she did so as well, the noise of commotion and yelling was extremely loud.
Up ahead, between rows of tall buildings badly in need of upkeep, a roughly built wall was half constructed. It was clear that the idea had been to finish the wall but things coming over it had stopped that from happening.
A group of men, clearly workers, cowered behind stacks of stone and other building supplies while soldiers ran up and down giant wooden scaffolding aligning the wall. The soldiers were engaging in combat with what at first Nyrith thought were some sort of wild animal. The grey green things came from the fog, appearing as it were from nowhere and nothing at all. They were pouring over the top of the unfinished wall, some jumping wildly and missing any sort of footing to fall far down below and smash to the ground. The fall would clearly kill a person but the things scrambled up, despite obvious injuries, and jumped to assault any nearby guards.
The men in armor she had been following rushed forward to help in the attack.
As Nyrith got closer she realized that the things were not creatures at all, but humans, dead humans that had been reanimated to serve their master’s purpose.
The Necromancer. She smiled.
She knew she had found what she needed to. She had to get through the wall and she wanted to do so without being seen. She crept quietly closer to the battle scene and the wall, sticking as close to the shadows as she could.
She finally reached a portion of the wall that was mostly unnoticed. She quietly began to dance, moving slowly and deliberately. She pulled the veil away and waited as the world transformed before her. The dirt ground shifted below her and the colorful magical strands ran the length of the wall she could see. Finally, glowing mist-like aura’s appeared in the air. She ignored the auras and focused on the wall. She began to dance again, moving gracefully on her feet. She gripped the immaterial strands of the wall and pulled, twisting and forcing them to bend to her will. As she did so a hole began to appear in the stone. She continued to move and pull until the hole went completely through the wall.
