The Fourth Age Shadow Wars: Assassins (The Fourth Age: Shadow Wars Book 1)

by David Pauly

  Placing the flute against her lips, Aradia smiled darkly as she thought of Phaidan’s face going purple with rage if he ever discovered that she and Justinus had transcended the very nature of the Air Crystals. Air Crystals were meant to move through the air, allowing the magic of the Air Spirits to flow through them, creating the magic of the Greater Elves. Instead, the Breath Flutes received their air from Aradia, allowing her to imbue her exhaled air with her own magical powers, creating a magic uniquely hers. If Phaidan ever learned of this new form of magic, he would place her in prison until she surrendered all of the secrets of its use and making. Phaidan would brook no rivals to his magical supremacy or his role as king of the Greater Elves.

  Aradia placed her lips against one end of the flute, and a melodious sound filled the cabin, and the strands of pink light did their work again, but this time, the effect was not as great as before. The poisoned threads lost much of their vibrancy and many of them faded away, but they would return stronger than before, winning the war over Bran’s body. The terrible odor retreated, however, and Bran lay easier in his bed, enjoying a restorative sleep.

  Aradia placed the flute back into her robes and thought of the other, similar flutes that lay hidden aboard ship. If they were discovered when she arrived in Elvalon, there would be little mercy for her. While all on the boat were loyal, she suspected that her baggage would be carefully searched upon her return, but with the aid of the Silver Foam's captain, one of her most loyal followers, she hoped to be able to hide the flutes until she dared to use them again. Spent and hungry, she left Bran's cabin as Jerus and another Elf entered Bran’s cabin to clean his body and change his bandages. Aradia returned to her own cabin and bathing and dressing, she climbed on deck in time for lunch with the ship’s captain Sarton, joined by Raghnall and Jerus. As she ate, she asked Sarton ‘How is the ship, when can we get underway again?’

  ‘My lady we have hove too for the past 6 hours, and we should be underway safely in three days, I dare not risk the safety of the ship.’ replied Sarton.

  ‘How long until we reach Elvalon?’

  ‘My experience tells me that we should have a steady north wind for the next week, so with a little luck we shall arrive in six days.’

  Turning to speak with Jerus, she asked, ‘Does Bran have six days?’

  ‘No my lady, I am amazed he has lived this long, at most he will die within four days.’

  ‘Sarton, when is the earliest that we can get moving again?’

  ‘The main mast is sprung, and our bowsprit broken off; six hours would see us able to make way again, but even without another storm, strong waves or wind could spring another leak. Without finishing the repairs, the ship stands little chance of making Elvalon.’

  ‘As soon as you are able to make sail again, do so.’

  Sarton opened his mouth to object, when Aradia cut him off ‘We and every other person in Nostraterra owe their lives to Bran, the least we can do is risk ours to save his.’

  Nodding his acceptance and acknowledging the debt to Bran, Sarton turned and bellowed orders to the Elven crew ‘Finish the repairs to the mast, reinforce the plug in the starboard leak, jury rig a bowsprit, I want to make sail by sunset.’

  Aradia retired below for a brief nap, knowing that she would have to risk using her forbidden magic again to circumvent the machinations of the Air Spirits to try and preserve Bran's life until they reached Elvalon. But now time was her enemy and once again she would wrestle with fortune, but this time not to help herself but her friend.

  #

  Three days later, Bran was carried aloft to the port rail, close to death yet again, his wounds fomenting disease and oozing, barely able to see through the haze of pain, when he felt his chest contract, the breath leaving his frail body. Black spots swarmed before his eyes, a chill grayness covered his eyes, as if he were enveloped in rain clouds on a hillside.

  Suddenly Bran felt a cool, invigorating draught placed within his lips, he swallowed reflexively, and the fog fled. Life, along with cool air, flowed back into his battered frame. Never had he known such joy in the simple act of breathing. Bran tasted sunshine and the fruits of the garden, smelled the sweet clover moving beneath the buzzing sound of bees laden with pollen. As suddenly as the flavors had appeared within his mouth, they were gone, replaced with a newfound strength that coursed through his limbs. Today he had tasted death for the second time, and this time it had seemed so empty, so empty. He hoped he would be spared its cold embrace in Elvalon, but even more he longed to be free of the pain of his body.

  Coming fully back to himself, Bran realized that someone had called his name. He blinked away the last of the mist obscuring his vision and turned his head to the left, where he saw his friend Raghnall.

  ‘Are you all right Bran?’ As Raghnall spoke, Bran saw a flash of gold in his hand. It came from a small crystal phial that shone as if a newly risen sun was trapped within it. Raghnall spilled the phial into a pocket in his robes, as Bran responded.

  ‘Is that…’ he began.

  ‘The Cordial of Phoenicia, so powerful that only today, could you take another drop without the liquor burning your body away. The effects will last only until sunset; pray that we get you to Elvalon in time. Look now while you still have the strength to see.’

  Bran turned away from Raghnall and looked over the port rail of the ship. Cerulean waves hissed as they caressed the hull, welcoming it onward into strange seas the timbers had never known. Dawn was breaking, and to the east a golden glow filled the sky. Shafts of rose and pink, saffron and salmon streaked across the sea, blending with darkened waters. Silver-white foam climbed upward from the crests of waves, blown westward to fall like heavy raindrops upon the sea.

  Bran's heart gave a great leap as he saw a range of white-tipped towers impossibly high against the still midnight-blue sky of the south. In their lee lay green isles, their living presence felt like a mother's kiss on a child's scraped knee. Peace and hope radiated from them. Bran saw small ships put out from their shores, tacking into the northerly breeze, eager to greet their brethren from the distant shores of Nostraterra. The crew responded redoubling their efforts to keep the ship afloat long enough to reach land. Above all were the towers of Myrddin, the city of the Immortal Lands. The towers rose from white castles and battlements, their tops covered in crystals that sang with the morning breezes.

  'You are the first mortal to hear the music of immortality,' said Raghnall.

  Bran was astounded at their song, a music that came to him in the flutes of birds, the pipes of musicians, and the voices of otherworldly spirits mixed in with the noises of wind and weather. The sounds culminated into a great symphony of life and hope portending tremendous magic and power flowing through this land.

  As the day wore on, the ship drew nearer to the isle, and the Elves in the first welcoming boat swarmed up the sides of the ship like squirrels up an oak tree. Many presents they brought, and their clear voices bid all welcome to the undying lands, but Aradia cut short their welcome bidding them to return to Elvalon and summon the master healer to meet them at the dock as soon as possible. Several Elven mariners remained on board the Silver Foam aiding in the repairs as their small sleek craft turned back to Elvalon its silver lateen sail billowing out from the mast, racing before the wind to summon help for Bran.

  Raghnall and Aradia remained on deck as they helped Bran into a hammock. Jerus examined Bran briefly, turning to Aradia, and said in the Elven tongue,

  ‘Three hours after sunset my lady, that is all the time he has left. Would that he could have gone in the small boat, but the rougher voyage would have finished the work of Magnar’s poison.’

  ‘Then let us sail as fast as we can.’

  Sarton stood nearby and gave the order to get every trace of speed out of the beleaguered ship, heavy weights and extra supplies were thrown overboard, their fresh drinking water pumped over the side. Fresh groans and snaps were heard by Aradia coming from the wounded main mast. Gl
ancing at Sarton with an unspoken question, Sarton replied

  ‘My lady this ship must reach harbor by nightfall, or we will founder.’ Mentally urging the ship on, Aradia watched the island steadily grow larger. Hearing Bran’s breath coming in shorter rasps, Aradia wondered if any of them would be alive tomorrow.

  #

  An hour before sunset, the ship reached the quays of Solana, the great harbor on the north shore of Elvalon. There a great throng of Elves had gathered to greet them, as Sarton drove the sinking ship alongside the pier knowing he had to beach the ship on the soft sand close to shore as they would never remain afloat at the dock. Aradia heard the ship shudder and groan, the mainmast slowly toppling forward until it crashed upon the deck, the Elven sailors jumping free from the tangled rigging. The ship scraped to a halt and listed towards the pier on its right side by ten degrees. Elves had run alongside them, and ropes were tossed to the ship and a boarding ramp was hastily brought up and lowered to the deck of the Silver Foam. Bran was bundled ashore and taken into a tent bearing the flag of the Master Healer that had been hastily set up on the pier, and was lost to Aradia’s sight.

  Aradia now saw her grandfather, Phaidan, High King of the Greater Elves emerge from the crowd. He towered a foot over Aradia, his raven black hair starkly set against his extraordinarily pale face. His deep, rich, melodious voice spoke with disdain and contempt.

  ‘So granddaughter, you have returned to the land of your birth after leading a rebellion against my authority, do you have anything to say for yourself?’

  Gritting her teeth and suppressing the rage that she felt towards the man who had always held her back from her true potential, she said ‘Grandfather, accept my apology for my transgressions, I ask nothing for myself only that Bran be treated for his wounds and allowed to live here in Elvalon.’

  ‘I can see the fire in your eyes, and I don’t believe that you have repented in the slightest from your arrogant folly. Still, the first reports reached me yesterday about the tiny mortal in your charge. He accomplished what you could not, destroying Magnar and the evil magic in his realm. He will be treated by our healers and if he survives he will live in Elvalon for eternity. You will pay the agreed price for his care. Go now to my kitchens, you are the lowest scullery maid there, with no rights of the royal family. After one hundred years, your behavior will be reassessed and if you have not re-offended, you will be freed from the kitchens and placed on probation for another century as a lady in waiting. Make any presumption to resume your rebellious nonsense and you will spend eternity scrubbing dishes, and your mortal friend will age and die in a matter of days. Now go from my sight.’

  Aradia could do nothing but bow her head in acceptance, hoping that someone would tell her tomorrow whether Bran had survived his healing treatments. She found herself wondering if she had made the right choice in coming here, wondering if the sacrifice of her rank and magical powers would be worth the cost. Still, morally she had no choice but to be Phaidan’s loyal servant, as Bran’s future held her hostage to the King’s will.

  CHAPTER TWO: IN PARADISIUM

  Fourth Age: Year 100--Spring

  One hundred years after returning to Elvalon, Aradia stood on the pier in the bay of Solana, conflicting emotions clouding her thoughts. Dawn was breaking over the eastern edge of the harbor, illuminating the homes and businesses clustered on the small hills that ringed the harbor in a half moon. The sounds of the harbor coming to life were all around her. The slap of oars from a small boat ferrying crew and cargo to an outbound fishing boat came over the water along with the strong smell of fish from nets drying along the shore.

  Here, she thought. Right here on this pier is where it all began. I stood on this very spot and vowed never to return . . . and yet here I am.

  Early in her youth, Aradia had led a rebellion of talented young Greater Elves who chafed against the conservative restrictions of the Elven Council denying them permission to experiment with Elven magic. Phaidan was the first and only Greater Elf given the secrets of both making the Crystals and how to use them by the Air Spirits. As his family grew, Phaidan made certain that the crystal-making skills were confined to Greater Elves not of his line, who possessed no magical abilities to use the crystals. Phaidan did not want anyone to threaten his complete monopoly over the use or creation of Elven magic. Aradia from an early age showed tremendous magical talent, but Phaidan, brooking no rivals, would not teach her all that he knew, so to expand her skills and learn, she began experimenting with different movements of existing crystals, usually with disastrous results. Specific crystals were designed for individual tasks, and Aradia was terribly frustrated until she met Justinus, best and brightest of the apprentice crystal makers. Justinus possessed a similar curiosity, but he too had been forbidden by the Master Crystal maker to deviate from traditions handed down over millennia.

  Aradia and Justinus then made a fateful choice: Justinus would make new crystal designs, and Aradia would experiment with them in secret. Swiftly, their efforts bore unexpected fruit as they fell in love with one another, but Phaidan discovered their activities and demanded the surrender of the crystals: worse, he forbade Aradia from seeing Justinus again, as Justinus was not a member of Elven royalty. Refusing to bow to her grandfather's demands, Aradia gathered other young Elves who yearned for independence and set sail for Nostraterra, where they would be free to be themselves.

  Departing from this pier in open defiance of the Council, Aradia and the other rebels had been convinced of the superiority of Greater Elven knowledge and culture. Aradia had wanted to civilize what she considered to be the primitive, barbaric, races of Nostraterra; to build a kingdom of her own far from the oversight of the paternalistic males, led by her grandfather, who formed the Council. She, along with her followers, would lead all the races of Nostraterra into a new enlightened age from a city she would found and rule as its queen. Aradia, Justinus, and the other Greater Elven rebels created the city of Phoenicia on the southern coast of Nostraterra, the most beautiful advanced city in the mortal lands, startling the other races of Nostraterra with their tremendous magic. Aradia and the other Greater Elves were forbidden to interfere in the affairs of the other races by the terms of the Spiritual Peace commanded by the Elementals who created the world.

  According to Phaidan, when Nostraterra was newly formed from the void, the Elemental spirits had warred with one another, each vying for supremacy, creating individual portions of the world, yet seeing them destroyed by other Elementals. The futility of their actions eventually persuaded them to cease the pointless war, and each agreed to influence part of Nostraterra, with lesser Elemental spirits building specific areas under individual Elemental control. Earth chose to forego putting her power into many lesser elemental spirits, creating only a few lesser elementals, while instead creating a race of mortal creatures, Men that would breed quickly and use the secrets of the elements of the earth to eventually dominate Nostraterra. Fire chose to have many lesser elementals, but he kept the peace with the other Elementals by having only distant, mysterious contact between his Lesser Elementals and his mortal creatures. These mortals of the fire Elemental, known as Dwarves, would initially be few in number, live much longer than the creatures of earth, and slowly build their realms, hoping to outlast the brief lives of Earth's creatures. Water, gentlest of the Elementals, wanted no domination of Nostraterra, only the right to create life wherever and whenever she chose to do so. She spread her power far and wide, with only one lesser Elemental to abide in Nostraterra, creating immortal beings, the Lesser Elves, who would care for the forests and beasts. Air, strongest of the Elementals, had a large group of lesser Elementals at his command, but his very strength was his undoing, as the other Elementals allied against him most frequently. He chose to create the strongest beings to people Nostraterra, immortals superior in magic and skill above the other beings. To retain the uneasy peace amongst the Elementals, he was forced to agree that his creatures would never intervene directly
in the affairs of other beings and that his lesser Elementals would communicate rarely with his creatures, the Greater Elves.

  The Elementals created their creatures and set their individual plans for eventual supremacy in motion, content to wait eons if need be for their beings to defeat the others. Only if the peace was broken, directly or indirectly, could they act personally or send their subordinate spirits to act in their stead. Constant maneuvering and jostling for power kept the Elementals on edge, suspicious of one another's actions. This mistrust manifested itself within their creatures, and each race of beings looked to the others with suspicion. But the world was young, and Nostraterra was vast: the great conflicts between the races were yet far in the future when the first mortal creatures awoke and began to fulfill the plans of their creators.

  Now, returned to Elvalon, Aradia reflected on how arrogance and pride had been her downfall. Too late she'd discovered that even immense talent and undying personal strength could not lead a world if its inhabitants did not wish to be led. Prohibited from direct intervention in the affairs of mortals by the Elven Council and the Air Spirits, Aradia was forced to work indirectly, confounded and stymied by the ignorance and fear, greed and selfishness inherent in the peoples of Nostraterra. Only when the Great War enveloped Nostraterra did the other kingdoms call for her help, and then it was too late.

  Justinus, searching for new materials to make stronger crystals at edge of the Plaga Erebus, was ambushed in the first skirmish between Magnar's forces and the Greater Elves. Justinus and his entire mining party vanished, presumed dead.