by Unknown
Lattimer retrieved a small vial of blood hidden in his robes and poured a drop onto the glowing orb of the scepter. Slate instantly felt attacked and dropped to his knees, clutching his head. “I hate the term Blood Magic, but there is some truth to the term. The mind is very complex and even spark-based magic has difficulty subjugating the strong-minded. People think the term Blood Mages came from the destruction caused by the warring of the spark-based mages. That isn’t entirely true. Blood can serve as a medium to subjugate the uncooperative and control minds without consent. It maintains the integrity of the mind without burning it out like the mindless Furies.”
“You will never get away with this, Lattimer!” King Darik broke through the monologue. “My troops surround Ispirtu. Our numbers will overcome your treasonous plans.”
“Am I the one who is outnumbered?” The scepter flashed and the eyes of the Bellator Guardsmen and Ispirtu wizards in the room turned red, with the exception of the small group protecting the King. The eyes returned to normal at Lattimer’s command. “My father placed too great an importance on the strength of spells. Ispirtu wizards were willing to try anything to gain strength and improve their standing within the house. Once a few wizards saw the benefit, more wizards sought my services. The Bellator Guardsmen were more difficult to convince, but after Magnus became my first willing subjugate, recruitment rose dramatically. I met Magnus while training for the tournament. He fought in underground duels for the amusement of the rich. I freed him from captivity and he trained me as a fighter. Magnus has been instrumental in gaining the support of other guardsmen unhappy to serve a pompous blowhard like Villifor. These individuals are the first to join what will become the most powerful military force ever seen. Magnus will be one of my generals. Slate will be the other. His unique Perceptor abilities have allowed him to hold on to the effects of spark-based spells, although it drains the life of the spellcaster in the process. I sacrificed several loyal subjugates from Ispirtu during testing and another in the most recent round of experiments on Slate. He came away with the ability to run fast and jump high, but the subjugate hidden in Primean’s lab was not so fortunate. I controlled the flow of water in the tank while the subjugate was drained of life behind the curtain, never seeing the benefits of his work.”
Slate heard the conversations going on around him, but the words floated into his head without meaning. Something was attacking his mind. It slowly seeped into his head and took hold of his thoughts, his fears, his being. Slate pushed back…
“Furies are useful, but once created their usefulness is rather singular since the brain needs to be burned out. I solved that problem by creating warriors who can think for themselves and strategize, but maintain the benefits of Furies during battle.” Lattimer smiled to Darik. “You have been very helpful in coordinating the formation of my army. By eliminating Sicarius and bringing the Bellator Guardsmen into Ispirtu, you have gathered everyone in one place. By the morning, all of your soldiers will be converted.”
At the mention of the events at Sicarius, the headmaster struggled again, but was unable to free himself from Magnus’ grasp. Lattimer turned toward the headmaster. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you either. You will be subjugated just as Slate is, tasked with the creation of a new Sicarius…”
Lattimer was interrupted again by Darik, who had heard enough. “I will not stand idly by and watch you take my kingdom from me. Attack!” Lattimer raised his scepter and said casually, “Protect me. Do not kill them…yet.” Red eyes reappeared and guardsmen threw themselves in harm’s way to protect Lattimer. Darik’s men were unable to push through the defense.
Slate stood despite the war waging in his head. An intense pressure threatened to burst within his skull, but Slate felt the urge to sieze King Darik and bring him to Hedok. It wouldn’t be difficult. Darik engaged Lattimer’s forces ahead of him. He knew if he did this, the pressure in his head would decrease, but he couldn’t remember why. Slate flashed forward and grabbed the King. Before anyone could react, he jumped over Lattimer’s men with Darik in his arms and delivered the king to Hedok. “No!” Lucus shouted. The pressure in Slate’s head decreased dramatically when he complied with the command to capture the king, and it was replaced by a soothing feeling. Maybe if he listened to what the voice said, the pressure would stop? He knelt and held his head.
Hedok captured King Darik, and with the help of a few guardsmen, disarmed and constrained him. “It appears Slate is starting to see the error of his ways. Thank you, Slate.” Lattimer passed a hand over Slate and a gratifying wave of calmness washed over him. When he left, the pressure began to build again. Why was he fighting it? “In a few more moments, he will do anything I ask of him…and so will the King.” Hedok cut Darik’s forearm and Lattimer touched the orb of his scepter to the bleeding wound.
Darik knelt to the ground and stood up again after only a few seconds. “I do as you command, Lattimer.”
“You will continue as King but will accept any future commands I give you. You will listen to my counsel absolutely and defer large decisions to me. Finally, you will proclaim my father was the Blood Mage. Tell the citizens of Malethya that the assault on Ispirtu is successful and that my efforts were paramount in the elimination of the threat. My heroics warranted that you entrust to me command of the Ispirtu forces. Do you understand?”
“I understand. Why would I tell them anything else?” The question was asked without sarcasm. It was the only truth he knew.
Jak yelled to his troops. “Darik is lost. Push through to save Slate.” Slate knew he needed help, but he wasn’t sure how his friend was going to relieve this pressure inside his head. Even his eyes began to hurt. Why did his eyes hurt so badly? That seemed like a bad sign, but Slate couldn’t comprehend why…
Lattimer looked down toward Slate, kneeling next to Hedok. “Slate’s Perceptor abilities are helping him to delay the Blood Magic’s effects. That’s ok…it’s just a matter of time before he gives up fighting.”
Finally, he turned his attention back to the Sicarius headmaster. “I don’t expect to obtain your help, headmaster. You have already proven that by siding with my father. Instead, I intend to offer you a trade. If you voluntarily offer your services to me and allow me to subjugate you, I won’t kill your friends.”
The alternating voice of the headmaster came out with extra venom. “You know nothing of leadership and you know nothing of me if you think threats will sway me.”
“We shall see. Cirata, please restrain the headmaster.” Magnus transferred the Sicarius headmaster into the control of Cirata and awaited orders from Lattimer. “Magnus, you have been a very loyal friend. You taught me to fight and have carried out my orders perfectly, if a little aggressively. Since you voluntarily subjugated yourself to me, I will ask you first. Would you like to attack Slate’s companions as a Fury?”
An evil and joyful smile spread across Magnus lips. “Slate was the first person to ever defeat me in battle, and he humiliated me in the process. I am thankful you allowed me to lead a group of Furies into that fractal-forsaken town of Pillar to gain retribution for my defeat. My broadsword felt the warmth of his father’s stomach and I finally felt vindicated. The notches on that broadsword symbolized my survival in the fighting clubs of Ravinai. Slate created an enemy for life when he destroyed it. I would have killed him in Minot if you hadn’t given me strict orders to the contrary. If I can’t kill Slate, I will gladly kill his friends.” The words floated into Slate’s head, but he couldn’t understand why Lattimer would send anyone to hurt his parents. Lattimer was the person who eased his pain, the one who sent soothing waves to relieve the pressure. Could Lattimer relieve the pain behind his eyes? Everything started to look red…
Lattimer held aloft his father’s scepter and Magnus turned into a Fury. He raised his battle axe in a roar and rushed forward. Jak positioned his guardsmen perfectly to sustain a charge, but Magnus was too strong. His huge battle axe reached past the defenses of the guards
men and kept Jak’s men at a distance too great to counterattack. They slowly retreated with each swing of Magnus’ axe.
“Resolve is one of my favorite traits, headmaster…I always enjoy watching it wither away.” He walked over to the Sicarius headmaster, who stood motionless. Even with the Sicarius mask on, Slate could read the expression beneath the mask. The headmaster was concentrating. That seemed like an odd thing to be doing. Did the headmaster’s head hurt like his?
Cirata held the knife against the headmaster’s throat as Lattimer reached up and peeled off the Sicarius mask. His face froze in disbelief. “Rose,” he whispered. Slate beheld the woman he’d known as Sana. Immediately, Sana released her spell, casting a small electrical spark that reached into the bodies of Cirata and Lattimer. They fell to the ground as she yelled, “Now, Lucus!!!”
The subjugated guardsmen and wizards tasked with protecting Lattimer rushed to his defense. The guardsmen took up position between Lattimer and Sana, preventing her from finishing the job of killing Lattimer or grabbing the scepter. The wizards prepared spells, but Sana incapacitated them with a flurry of darts from her robes. She ran to Slate, grabbing him from his knees. Didn’t she understand she knocked out the only person that could help him? It inspired a deep anger in him, but Slate fought it. Something within him didn’t want to hurt Sana.
Across the room, Magnus continued slicing through Jak’s guardsmen. Slate felt a distant sorrow for them, but he didn’t have any desire to act. He just wanted the pain to go away. His red-hued vision was drawn to a curious sight. Behind Jak’s soldiers, near the unconscious body of Rainier, Lucus began a slow dance that moved his glowing axe in a circular motion. Somewhere in Slate’s muddled mind, the memory of a catalpa grove surfaced. Slate couldn’t make sense of it, but he couldn’t stop watching either, feeling it was important. The woodsman and his axe swirled in larger and faster patterns. Snow hit Slate in the face, swirling around the circular room coincident with the motions of Lucus.
Magnus cleaved through the final guardsman under Jak’s command, and Villifor stood before him, facing him head-on. Tommy and Annarelle cast small spells that would have stunned a normal attacker, but Magnus went right through them. Jak tried to work his way to the side of Magnus to flank him, but Slate could see he wouldn’t get there in time. A mighty overhead swing came down on Villifor, who held his shield up to block the blow. The huge battle-axe cut through the upraised shield and Villifor’s armor like it was made of tin and the spike of Magnus’ axe imbedded in Villifor’s shoulder. He ripped the axe out of Villifor’s body as Villifor cried out in agony. Magnus began to swing again.
Sana continued throwing darts as fast as she could while retreating from the Furies. She was slowed by Slate, who moved along with her only because of her prodding. He didn’t want to have any more pain…the pain in his head was already more than he could take. Oh well, it was obvious to Slate she was fighting a losing battle anyway. He wished she would quit prodding him so he could finally get help from Lattimer.
Lucus finished his dance and thrust the axe skyward. Suddenly, the wind hitting Slate increased tenfold and he was lifted from the ground, swirling upward. As he tumbled through the air, he saw that Sana was still with him. Villifor had been lifted up just as Magnus’ killing blow met empty air. Rainier’s body tumbled lifelessly in the wind. Jak tried to land a final blow on Magnus as he was torn away. Annarelle and Tommy reached for each other and locked in an embrace as they floated upward.
Only Lucus was left below with the Blood Mage and the Furies. The glow of his axe faded and he knelt to the ground in fatigue. The woodsman stared at his friends as they escaped his fate. He smiled up at them with pride and hope as Magnus attacked. The battle axe descended upon Lucus’ neck and the look of serenity never left his face.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
INCOMPLETE DEFEAT
Slate tumbled through the cold air like the snowflakes falling onto the city of Ravinai beneath him. With his red-hued vision, the winter’s first snowfall rained blood onto the helpless citizens below, but his head hurt too much to comprehend or care. Ispirtu was a combination of smoke and flames, with the armies of Villifor and Darik constructing a new bridge to reach Brannon’s tower. It would be completed soon and Lattimer would have his army.
He tumbled farther through the city and saw the lights on in nearly every home. The battle within the city had inspired fear. Fear made people keep the lights on. The anger within him rose at the ineptitude of the citizens. If they chose to hide from their fears instead of attacking them head on, then they deserved to die when those fears were realized. Light wouldn’t save them.
Slate left the confines of Ravinai and floated toward the catalpa grove that Lucus favored. Why were they going there? They should be trying to reach Lattimer. He was the only one who could help. He looked around at the people he thought were his friends. They were trying to take him away from the help he needed. The anger rose. He needed to get away from these people and get back to Lattimer. He took out his staff.
“Slate, what are you doing? We escaped! You’ll be ok now!” Annarelle saw him grip his staff and pleaded with him. He wouldn’t be swayed by her lies. He tumbled through the air and met Jak as they descended into the Grove.
“He’s turning, we need to hurry!” Sana screamed. Jak defended himself from Slate’s blow and the collision of their weapons thrust the two apart. Slate hurdled toward Tommy, who prepared a spell. As Slate was about to reach him, he released a concussion wave that sent Slate into the trunk of a catalpa tree with startling speed.
“Restrain him, but keep him awake. If you knock him unconscious, his brain will stop fighting and we’ll lose him.” Slate slid down the tree trunk, determined to escape. Villifor had landed softly within the catalpa grove and sprinted to meet him. The injured soldier raised his broken shield with his good arm, ready to pin Slate against the tree trunk. Instead, Slate planted his feet and pushed, propelling himself over Villifor. Annarelle was there to meet him with a concussion wave, but instead of the spell pushing him away, the wave hit his back. It flattened him against the ground where Jak and Tommy pinned him to the grass before he could flash away.
Annarelle and Villifor each grabbed a leg, and between the four of them, they temporarily constrained Slate. He struggled mightily. If he could just headbutt one of them, he’d be able to break free, but his arms and legs were pinned and they stayed out of striking distance.
Sana appeared with a grapevine coiled over her shoulder. She cast a spell and the vines wound around him, securing him to the trunks of several catalpa trees. At her command, the grapevines tightened, lifting his body into the air and suspending him between the trees. Slate snarled and growled in frustration. Then Sana left him struggling as she went to the oldest catalpa tree in the grove. She bowed her head and placed her hand upon the trunk of the great tree. Slate felt the pressure in his head decrease slightly as he let his aggression take over. It was tempting to give in to it, but he remembered he was supposed to push against the pressure… he just couldn’t remember why. He roared, trying to release all his pain and confusion through his lungs, but it didn’t help. Where was Lattimer?
Sana removed her hand from the tree and withdrew a catalpa throwing knife. She plunged it into the trunk of the tree and then ran to Slate. Slate felt the familiarity of her probing and she gasped as she reached whatever was pressuring his brain. Whatever she had found, he knew she couldn’t help him. She was wasting his time. He struggled against the vines holding him suspended amongst the trees of the grove. It was senseless. He couldn’t reach Lattimer to get the help he needed and he couldn’t hold out much longer. Maybe it was time to give up. He relaxed his muscles and closed his red eyes, fighting as long as he could within his mind.
Sana withdrew a second catalpa knife and drew blood from Slate’s arm, creating a deep enough wound to produce a trickle of blood. The blood flowed over his skin and touched the vines holding his hand. Sana placed similar cuts on his o
ther hand and her own hands. She knelt over Slate and placed her bleeding hands over Slate’s opened hand.
Sana probed his mind and tried to envelop whatever was attacking him. He also felt a tugging at his arm similar to the transfusions Ibson administered in the arena, but this time blood was taken out of his body. A second later, blood entered from where Sana held his hand. What was she doing? Something changed and whatever created the pressure in his head was pushed out, little by little. His own blood was used to attack his mind. Sana pushed his blood into the catalpa tree and replaced it with her own. The pressure steadily decreased, but Slate refused the temptation to draw on the spell. He had learned the consequences of his Perceptor abilities and he didn’t want that to happen to Sana.
The slow process was bearable only because of its effectiveness. Sana probed fewer and fewer areas in his head, but her spell weakened as time wore on. She drew from his own energy for her spell, just as she did during healing, and fatigue set in. Sana’s probe stopped as Slate reached exhaustion. He shut his eyes…
A cloth cooled his forehead and memories came back with each refreshing wipe of the cloth. He had wanted to kill his friends. Lattimer had gotten away. He had failed. He kept his eyes shut, not wanting to face his failure. Then he thought of Lucus, who had offered up a true sacrifice to save his friends. He cast the spell of his own accord when Sana signaled it was their last hope. Lucus’ sacrifice needed to count for something.
