by Jordan Baker
In her hidden place, Calexis felt something she had never felt before, something far worse than the horrors of what the god had done with her, something that cut far deeper, for it arose from the knowledge that she was indeed no better. For the first time in her existence, Calexis learned the meaning of shame, and in the throes of passion, amid the moaning and laughter, the god that had become Calexis did not notice the tears that glimmered for but a moment in the dark wells of her eyes.
*****
Stavros was both angered and saddened by the tragedy of what he saw before him as he and the two younger mages walked through the blue grass of the island. So many corpses littered the ground, all of them robed in black, and all of them appearing to have had the life sucked out of them. Even though their faces were gaunt and leathery, stretched tightly across their bones, Stavros recognized many of the dead mages as former colleagues and even a few friends. Doubtless, Willem and Calthas might also have known a few, and the three of them were glad when they reached their destination.
They entered the library and found a lone, solitary figure, sitting at a table and reading by the light of a single candle, his face covered by the shadow under the cowl of his black robe. Dakar did not bother to look up from his book when they entered, but he sensed their approach, feeling the familiar magic of an old rival, one who did not bother to conceal his power.
"Stavros," he rasped, still staring at his book. "I knew you would come. Are you here to end my miserable life?"
"Dakar," Stavros said, and after a moment, the black robed mage finally looked up, from under his cowl.
"What do you want, Stavros?" he asked.
Calthas and Willem both gasped at the sight of the mage, his features deathly and gaunt like the other mages they had seen, all of them long dead, but his eyes still glistened in their sockets and the intensity of his stare was unmistakable. Stavros took a deep breath and let out a sigh, then he moved a chair from the table and sat down. From the folds of his robe, he pulled out a bottle and four silver goblets, then he uncorked the wine and poured a measure for each of them. Calthas and Willem sat down on the other side of the table and Stavros slid a cup in front of Dakar.
"You look a little parched, Dakar," he said. "Have some wine."
"Your sense of humor always had a dry edge to it," Dakar said as he picked up the cup and looked at the dark, red liquid that swirled within it. "I wonder if I can even drink this. My body is barely alive, so a mere sip of wine could mean my death."
He smiled at Stavros over the cup, his lips stretching tightly across his teeth, then he took a drink and swallowed the wine.
"Apparently not," he said. "An excellent vintage as well. I would not have expected such from you."
"I am not here to torture you, Dakar," Stavros said. "If anything, I pity the state you are in, though my sorrow is even greater for those who may no longer enjoy the simple pleasure of a sip of wine." He glanced at the black robed figures that littered the library floor.
"I have not decided whether I envy them or not," Dakar said. "But I suppose I should be glad that I am able to decide things for myself. Now, I thank you for the wine, but you have not answered my question. What is it that you want?"
"Answers," Stavros said. "You might be of some help in stopping the dark god."
Dakar laughed dryly and his voice cracked into a rasping cough, which he quelled with another sip of wine.
"There is no stopping the power of the god," he said. "The shadow is far too powerful. I have been sitting here, reading books to pass the time, patiently awaiting Cerric's arrival, when he will finally come and destroy this place."
"Cerric is no more, Dakar," Stavros told him. "The god has taken hold of the Xallan Queen, and she now rules in Maramyr, consuming the people with a dark magic."
"That is interesting, though it changes little," Dakar commented and he slid his cup toward Stavros. "A little more wine, if you wouldn't mind. I would like to drink a toast to the death of the only greater fool than I."
"Enough talk," Willem said, with uncharacteristic harshness that surprised both Calthas and Stavros. "We came here for answers, and we do not have time to sit and chat, making pleasantries."
"Calm yourself, Willem," Stavros said. "Dakar is not going anywhere, and in this place we have all the time in the world."
"You noticed the curse, did you?" Dakar smiled and proffered his cup. "A cruel trick, but a fitting one, perhaps. Time moves very slowly in this place."
Stavros poured more wine for the half dead mage, saying nothing, and Dakar held his cup to his mouth, then took another sip.
"What is it you would like to know?" he asked, staring straight ahead and ignoring the angry young mage with the missing eye.
Calthas pulled out the jeweled sword that Kroma had given him and placed it on the table. "What is the nature of this weapon?" he asked.
Dakar leaned forward and looked at the blade.
"It is a godsword," he said, and he glanced over at Stavros. "But this you already know. What of it?"
"These weapons absorb magic," Stavros said. "Is there some way they can be used to remove the power of the shadow?"
"What would be the point?" Dakar asked. "They are weapons, meant for killing. The wielder gains the power of the slain."
"But that is the power of the blade," Stavros said. "What of the jewels?"
"Crystal magic, or stone lore, as it was once called, is something of a lost art, or at least it was," Dakar said, resisting the temptation to touch the blade, fearful that it might absorb the small amount of power within him. "Much of what I know, I learned from the one book, from the mind of a secretive and malevolent god, so there are things that may not entirely true, or intentionally obscured by the god. Such magic is very dangerous, for it risks the very essence of a mage, not just power, or the energy of life, but that which makes a person, if you understand."
"The mages imbue the stones with their own essence?" Stavros asked curiously.
"Simply put, yes," Dakar said. "But it is not so simple. When Cerric began to search for these weapons, I remembered having read about them in a book that I happened across by accident, many years ago. Luckily, I was able to find it again and study it further away from the influence of the god, and I have learned that the artisans who would craft weapons such as these were able to transform the energy of the stones without sacrificing themselves, but how they were able to do such a thing remains a mystery."
"This absorbing the power and essence of others smacks of death magic," Stavros commented.
"Yes," Dakar agreed. "It is a subject with which I am most familiar, but the primary difference is that by using gems or crystals to absorb energy, there is far greater control. Death magic is like a blunt instrument compared to a sharpened blade of a godsword."
"But what about the crystals in the spell the priesthood used?" Calthas asked.
"They work in a similar manner to the gems in the sword, but that magic is comparatively crude and destructive, though I suspect that is by design," Dakar said. "The dark god created that magic not just to steal life and energy but also to replace it with the compulsion of the one book and the corruption of the shadow as well."
"But these weapons are different?" Calthas was curious to know what Dakar might have learned.
"With the godswords, the gemstones work with the unique nature of silvergold, a rare metal that allows for greater control over how the energy flows. The magic bestowed upon the weapons allows the will of the wielder to have some influence." Dakar looked down at the sword that lay before him. "I would be curious to experiment with this blade, but I would risk losing what little essence I have left."
"This has been most helpful, Dakar," Stavros said, then he turned to Calthas and Willem. "Come, let us depart."
"I would like to stay here," Willem said, his voice more calm than before. "My place has always been among books and there is much I would discuss with Dakar. Perhaps we can discover more about the godswords and the natur
e of the dark power that falls upon the land."
"As you wish," Stavros said, glancing over at Dakar.
"I am in no position to argue," Dakar said.
Calthas picked up the sword, then he and Stavros bid their farewells, leaving Willem and Dakar in silence, alone in the library. After a short while, Willem rose and walked around the table to where Dakar sat in his chair, staring at his book, but not reading its pages.
"You despise me," Dakar rasped as the younger mage stood behind him, his fist clenched. "Go ahead and strike me if you must."
"I would very much like to do that," Willem told him through his clenched teeth, then he let out a deep breath. "But it would change nothing." He sat down at the table once more and picked up the cup of wine he had not touched. "What is this book that contains knowledge of the godswords?"
"It is a record of visions, prophecies of the past, scribed by seers called the Mistrani," Dakar replied. "It tells of a past age, when powerful beings fought each other with weapons of magic. It also tells of a great and terrible destruction, of a war between shadow and fire."
*****
Brian emerged from the tunnels to find smoke and dust billowing through the stone streets and among high walls of White Falls. He was informed by one of the men that enemy soldiers outside the walls had been firing catapults, which was causing a lot of havoc. The people were holed up inside the buildings of the keep and there had only been a few injuries during the time he had been gone. Brian made his way to the outer wall where he found Fergus and a group of archers looking out over the parapet and across the flowing river, at what looked like hundreds of Xallan soldiers and dozens of Darga massing on the riverbank, a far larger force than had been there before. It also looked as though the attackers had felled half the surrounding forest, using the trees to construct a kind of weir from the bank to the keep and now they were reinforcing the logs into a bridge. As Brian walked up to Fergus, the few catapults atop the walls fired a volley of rocks but they merely bounced off the thick wooden logs and fell into the water, doing little damage and missing most of the soldiers who continued reinforcing the bridge.
"Welcome back, Brian. 'Tis a right mess we're in," Fergus said. "We've nothin' left to throw at 'em, an' when they make it across the river, they'll be up the walls 'fore you can shake a stick."
They both ducked behind the wall as a catapult on the riverbank lobbed a pile of burning, pitch-covered rocks over the walls, smashing the roof of a building and creating chaos as the defenders inside the walls rushed around trying to put out the flames. Brian knew right away that the handful of Kaleb's men and the scores of farmers and country folk who had sought refuge at the keep would be hard pressed to defend the city of White Falls against such numbers. Once the enemy soldiers were able to cross the water, it would not take long for so many to overcome so few. Brian leaned out over the parapet and noticed something odd about some of the Darga, and he realized that the people of White Falls were in far greater danger than they might realize.
"Fergus, how long have the lizard men been here?" he asked.
"They got 'ere in the night, I reckon," the big man replied.
"It's a wonder they haven't attacked yet," Brian said. "I thin it is time to get everyone down into the tunnels."
"But we've got to defend White Falls, my boy," Fergus said.
"We're badly outnumbered," Brian told him. "And, if I am not mistaken, some of those creatures can fly."
"What's that?"
"Look there." Brian pointed to where a group of winged Darga were gathered around a large vat that sat atop a fire. One of the Darga leapt into the air and Brian saw that the creature was carrying a sack of some kind that left a trail of smoke behind it as it flew toward the keep.
"If they've wings, then we'll shoot them out of the sky," Fergus said, then he turned to the men atop the wall. "Ready arrows, lads!"
"The arrows won't stop them," Brian said, with a frown.
"Ye don't know 'till you try," Fergus said, with a determined grin.
"We have to get everyone to safety, Fergus," Brian insisted. "Take the tunnels down to the refuge."
"Don't be givin' me orders, Brian! No, lad. This is Kaleb's land, and we'll defend it!" the big man argued.
The ground began to rumble and Brian felt Kroma inside his thoughts, wanting to interject, and he let the god speak.
"Don't be a fool. Go, now," Kroma said, his voice shaking the earth itself.
"Yer talkin' strange, Brian. I've not time for this." Fergus signaled the archers. "Ready, lads. Arrows away!"
Several dozen arrows hissed through the air toward the Darga, but the small, steel tipped shafts bounced off the thick scales of the flying lizard. The few that hit the creature's leathery wings were of no effect either and the Darga kept coming, with his brethren now leaping into the air and not far behind.
"Please, Fergus, get the people out of here," Brian pleaded. "Make sure Diller is safe."
"And what will you do?" Fergus asked.
"We will defend the keep until you and the others have reached the sanctuary. You must go, now," Kroma replied, as Brian pulled the jeweled axes from where they rested upon his shoulders, then he stepped atop the parapet and, summoning the strength of the armor he wore and the knowledge of the god within him, he leapt through the air, rushing toward the first of the Darga.
Fergus stared in amazement as Brian collided with the lizard man, cutting him with his axes. Surprised by the attack, the Darga dropped the sack he was carrying and it fell open spilling a ball of burning pitch down into the river. Wounded and off balance, the creature began to fall from the sky. Brian leapt back to the wall, landing so hard that the stone walkway shook beneath him.
"Go, Fergus! They carry fire!" Brian yelled as he knelt down and began to rip a chunk stone from the walkway. He lifted the large rock, which melted and formed in his hand, from the power that Kroma fed into it, changing its composition into something much harder than rock.
Fergus stood atop the battlement, dumbfounded for a moment as Brian threw the large rock at another one of the Darga, sending it flying through the air almost impossibly fast. The rock smashed into the creature and knocked it back towards the other creatures, and Fergus shook his head in wonderment then he regained his senses and rallied the men from the walls, all of whom were just as surprised as he was at Brian's newfound strength. Brian ripped another chunk of rock from the walkway and sent it flying toward the Darga, but they expected another such an attack, and they managed to dodge it.
Fergus heard a clamor from the riverbank as the mass of soldiers began to rush across the log bridge and he knew there was no way that the much smaller number of fighters would be able to defend the walls.
"Fall back!" he yelled. "To the tunnels."
They hesitated for a moment, surprised at the order to retreat, but even though they were willing to fight, they all knew that there was no chance against this enemy, especially the flying Darga, who were almost at the walls. The first lizard man lobbed a leather sack of burning pitch into the keep, which burst into flame as it spattered onto several buildings, then he landed atop the wall and the defenders realized just how large the creatures were. Fergus, who was considered a big man by just about everyone, stood barely up to the neck of the Darga that stalked toward him, and he turned his head and looked at the men, with a worried look in his eye.
"Get the people to safety, lads," he yelled, then he turned and faced the Darga. "I'll take care of this one."
Fergus picked up a large, battleaxe from where it leaned against the parapet, hefting it in his big hands and he advanced as the Darga drew a glittering sword. Fergus found it strange that such a vicious looking creature would carry such a blade, and he noticed that it looked a lot like the weapons that Brian had found in the secret armory under the keep. He swung his axe in a wide arc, and the Darga stepped back, dodging it easily. With a speed far greater than would be expected from such a large creature, the Darga leapt forward, la
shing with his blade, striking like a snake. Fergus barely managed to block the sword with the handle of his axe, then the Darga was upon him, shoving him to the ground.
Fergus spun around as he dropped, getting his feet under him, catching his balance and shortening his grip on the haft of the axe. He drove it upward, jamming the head of the weapon hard into the bottom of the creature's chin. The Darga hissed and coughed, its sharp teeth flashing as it stumbled backward.
"You will suffer for that, little man," the creature rasped.
"I'll be takin' your head," Fergus responded, then he swung his axe.
The Darga reached out and caught the blade of the axe in its clawed hand. Black blood spilled across the grey steel and the metal began to smoke and sizzle. Without even so much as a flinch, the creature thrust his sword forward, slamming the blade deep between Fergus' ribs, and the Darga laughed as the magic of the sword began to drain the life from the big man.
