Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set

by P. E. Padilla

  “I have not seen anything that I recognize as a location, no,” the seer said, “I’m sorry. I will try to find more information.”

  Dr. Walt cleared his throat. “I have been looking, but have not found anything to help us in this. I too will keep trying. I believe our best chance lies in trying to find the artifact, since I have already found reference to Bruqil, the tuning fork artifact. Perhaps with what we have and any new information we can find, we could figure out where to look. On the other hand, I wouldn’t know how to even start finding our enemy or the army. Unless Lahim has some viewings, going after the artifact seems to be the thing to do.”

  “I agree,” Sam said. “Dr. Walt, has anything in the new library we brought helped?”

  “What?” Dr. Walt said as if he was surprised by the question. “Oh, the new records. Or, rather, the very old records that are new to us. I have been searching through them, looking for clues that will help us in our predicament. Fascinating information.

  “The facility from which you obtained the records was a research facility of sorts. The leader of the group, Magry Andronis, was apparently the heart and soul of the work there. As close as I can tell, they worked on technology that would help them in the war effort. In a sense, I suppose it could be said that they made weapons. Highly technological weapons, though their definition of technology would be different than ours.

  “But anyway, I have found nothing there that relates to the artifacts. There are several books that appear to be biographical in nature, all about this Magry Andronis, but I have more pressing subjects to research. It might be that I will find something in the library, but for now I will focus on the records we already had in the fortress. In fact, it is past time for me to get back to my research. Time is of the essence if we are to find the last artifact. Please excuse me.”

  Dr. Walt left, going back to his library. Lahim Chode left immediately after, saying something about trying to get helpful viewings. The others left also, one by one, until only Sam and Nalia were left with Rindu.

  “We are perhaps at the most dangerous point yet,” Rindu said. “Whoever this imposter is, I do believe that he has the other two artifacts. With all three, he would not need his army. We must get to the last one before he does.”

  “We will do so father,” Nalia said. “We will find it, end his plans, and unmask him for who or what he is.”

  “Yes, I’m sure Nalia’s right, Master Rindu,” Sam said. “I’m sure we’ll be on our way to finding it within a couple of days. We really have no choice, after all. Saving the world is what we do.”

  Epilogue

  Chetra Dal sat in a large stuffed chair in his library. The light from the fireplace mingled with that from the braziers set at the corners of the room, illuminating his face at odd angles, making the shadows leap from line to line in his ancient visage. He held a cup of tea, all but forgotten in the swirling mist of his thoughts.

  He had lived a long time, seen many things. His life, at times, seemed to consist solely of his plottings, of his research and discoveries. There were moments when he felt tired, so tired. There was not much left for him to do. He would ensure that the information he had so painstakingly worked to obtain would not die with him when he inevitably went to the grave. He was old and had little time.

  The death of Ayim Rasaad was a setback. He had been training her for more than eight years and she had been progressing nicely. Now she was gone. To whom would he impart his knowledge now?

  When he had first discovered the little hints that there was power beyond the rohw, he had carefully concealed his dabblings. As his knowledge and abilities grew, it became clear that he must go off on his own to dedicate his full attention, and all his time, to discovering more and more about the awkum.

  In the thirty-five years since he had faked his death and left the Zouyim temple, he had learned much. About himself, and about the power that had been used in ancient times. Rasaad was to be his tool to secure his power on Gythe and then she would be his means of ensuring the knowledge about the awkum would never again be lost. Ah, but now that was impossible.

  When he snuck into the chamber and stole the first two artifacts, he had thought of destroying those who had been hounding Ayim Rasaad and who had succeeded in killing her. He could have done it. Using surprise to his advantage, he could have prevented them from using whatever technique or power they used to defeat his apprentice. He could have killed Rindu and the others would have toppled easily. He should have done so, he thought.

  What had held him back? It was true that he needed another disciple, another to learn the awkum and carry on his work. Rindu would be ideal. Was it for that reason he spared the other, insignificant members of their party? Perhaps.

  There was something about the other one, the younger man with the yellow hair. They called him Sam, he recalled. Yes, he would make a fine tool for his purposes. He was younger than Rindu, with a potential that was probably greater than his old friend.

  But that was not really the reason he did not destroy them all. There was a slight chance they could have rallied, surprised him, defeated him. If that happened, all his work would have been for naught. No, it was better to be safe.

  He would get the last artifact, defeat the new government, and put in place an order that would see humankind rise from the muck in which it found itself wallowing. He would do this, and then they would see. He and his chosen would usher in a new golden age of technology and power that would make the pre-war Gythe look like a group of children pretending to be heroes. All he had to do was to obtain one more powerful artifact and kill all opposition.

  Chetra Dal took a sip of his tea and found it had grown cold and bitter while he mused. He sighed. He was tired, but he had strength enough for this. Strength enough to accomplish what he had been working more than forty years to do. Nothing could be allowed to stand in his way. Nothing would. He set his cup down and got up from his chair. He had work to do, a world to change, to take. His steps, still steady and graceful, took him to the books on his planning table. He opened one where it was marked and began to read, thoughts of the end of Gythe, and the beginning, swirling in his head.

  Intro Quote

  Beware the call of power. It approaches as a thief, a lover, a poisonous serpent, and then it is too late to save oneself from folly.

  Zouyim master Chetra Dal

  Keeping to the Wireh

  Prologue

  Zouyim master Chetra Dal had narrowly escaped death. His fellow monks had not. He was not in the clear yet, though. The creature, some sort of guardian, had found them searching where they did not belong. It hunted him still. Its heavy footfalls shook the stone floor of the passageway, and it sniffed for him with a wheezy inrush of air. Dal was not sure he would survive being found.

  The master monk stopped and drew in a deep breath. He let it out slowly, soundlessly, allowing it to leave his body on its own, not forcing an exhalation. As the breath exited, his body relaxed and his mind cleared. He could not match his hunter in physical combat. His only chance was to outthink the beast. Another deep breath in and another peaceful out-breath, and he was completely calm.

  Dal’s eyes swept his surroundings. The crumbling stone corridor smelled of earth as only a place below ground could. He was not sure of his exact location because of the confusion of the battle and his frantic escape after the monster had killed his three brothers. The creature had destroyed them in so short a time. It should have been impossible for anything to defeat three Zouyim monks so expediently. But he had witnessed it.

  The Zouyim were masters of combat, experts at a martial system that had been developed over hundreds of years. More, though, they were adept at using the rohw, the pervasive vibrational energy that suffused all life and surrounded everything at all times. The monks’ rohw attacks seemed to have bounced off the creature, having no effect at all. How could that be? Nothing should be able to withstand the universal energy like that. The corner of his mind that was always
calm was puzzled, and more than a little disturbed at the thought.

  The stomping grew closer. The grunts of the monster’s breathing rang clearly now. Dal would have to formulate a way to defeat his adversary soon, or he would die as quickly as his brothers.

  The corridor held nothing that could be used as a weapon. As the Zouy began running again, looking back over his shoulder, he cut a turn too closely and struck the edge of the wall hard with his shoulder. Pain shot through his arm as if he had been struck by lightning. So hard was the collision that part of a stone block rattled and moved a few inches, bringing a shower of stone dust down on top of him. Though he suppressed a cough, the sound of the collision itself captured his enemy’s attention. It grunted, and the thump of its footfalls grew more rapid.

  The monk sprinted, not bothering to look behind him any longer, only looking ahead. He took three more turns down random corridors before he stopped short. He was in some kind of chamber. It was twenty feet on either side, square, and had one opening. The one he had just come through. There was no escape, with stone blocks surrounding him and the monster quickly coming upon him. He could not see it yet, but he heard it getting closer. It seemed as if his time in this life was done.

  Deriding himself for thinking so despairingly, the Zouyim master snapped his mind back into focus. He went through all his available options and decided on the one that would give him the best chance of surviving. Without another thought, he ran at top speed.

  Back toward the approaching creature.

  He had barely made it out of the chamber when he caught sight of the greenish-brown scaled beast. Its massive bulk filled the corridor. Close to seven feet tall and at least five feet wide, it moved with a fluidity that belied its squat form. Its feet were thick and wedge-shaped, coming to a point at the toe. Dal had seen what that toe had done to Chilk Triss just moments before. The creature had kicked the Zouy and the toe had acted like an ax, splitting the monk almost completely in two. He had died instantly.

  The tree trunk legs of the beast pumped, moving the barrel-shaped body toward Dal. Its arms, each carrying a multi-bladed weapon, readied themselves to strike when it saw the remaining Zouyim monk. A wicked grin split the fang-filled mouth that took up more than half the bestial face. Yellow, gimlet eyes locked onto Dal and glittered.

  Chetra Dal dove past the creature, spinning in mid-air and barely dodging the blows from the weapons aimed at him. He rolled smoothly to his feet and was running again before his adversary had even turned. Its bellows pursued him down the corridor.

  Dal knew he had only moments to live unless he executed his plan perfectly. Glancing quickly toward the beast, he darted through a short corridor and under an archway he had seen moments before. Here was where he would make his stand.

  His senses told him to duck and he did so, feeling the wind of one of the monster’s weapons pass just above his head. The blades, arranged in a pattern much like the boughs on a pine tree along the main shaft of the weapon, whistled as it cut the air. The Zouyim master knew he couldn’t dodge the next blow. He would have to act now.

  Dal separated himself from the material world, sinking deep into his core. He focused on the center of energy just below his navel and drew up all the power he could muster, both from himself and from his surroundings. With a sharp exhalation, he channeled all the rohw through his hands and struck at the archway with both palms, one over the other, hoping he had acted in time.

  The creature’s other weapon failed to strike Chetra Dal. As soon as the Zouy struck the archway, the massive blocks making the top of the opening began to fall, one of them deflecting the blow that would have ended his life. The world seemed silent and calm for a moment, and then the roar of falling stone surrounded him and the monk dove clear, desperate to escape being trapped himself.

  He landed roughly on his side, pain shooting up through his torso and making his vision narrow at the sides, but then he regained his perception. Peering through the dust filling the air, he let out a sigh of relief. The creature was pinned by tons of rock, only parts of one leg, a shoulder, and its head showing up through the rubble. It wriggled, trying to free its arms, but it was unable to get loose. Its grunts seemed as much from frustration as from anger.

  Chetra Dal knew what he must do. His fellow monks had tried to pierce the creature’s hide with their swords, to no avail. Its skin was too thick to be cut. There was but one thing to be done. He hoped it would be enough. He knew that eventually the beast would free itself, and then nothing would stop it from killing him.

  Dal walked slowly to where his adversary was trapped, eyes scanning the scene for any sign it could actually move to attack. He looked into the creature’s eyes.

  “I am not sure if you understand my language or not,” Chetra Dal said in Ancient Kasmali, a language that had not been spoken in hundreds, if not thousands, of years. By the cessation of its movements and the narrowing of its eyes, it seemed that the monster did understand.

  “I know you are performing your task, your duty. You are to be commended for your commitment. However, I cannot allow you to kill me. I have work still to do in this life. Please know that I respect your task and honor you.” The monk saluted the beast, right fist cradled inside the left hand, both held out in front of his chest as he bowed.

  The Zouyim master breathed deeply for a moment, generating as much energy as he could. His body warmed and his hands began to glow. The creature’s eyes widened at first, and then it relaxed. It let out a huff of air and its sad eyes dropped to the cavern floor. Failure, the Zouyim master thought, was something felt by all intelligent creatures.

  Dal made a few motions with his hands, concentrating his energy even further. Then, with lightning speed, he struck the top of the beast’s head with the open palm of his right hand. The monster’s eyes became unfocused, but still held the light of life. Three more strikes to the same spot, alternating the right and the left hands, did more damage. Finally, the last strike broke through and the monster’s head caved in, its eyes glazed over, and it ceased moving altogether.

  It was done. The monk regretted causing the creature pain, but using his energy to the full could still not kill it in one blow. He had done the best he could.

  Chetra Dal bowed weakly to the corpse once more and looked around. It would take quite a bit of exploring to regain the chamber in which they had first found the creature, but he would persevere for as long as it took. The guardian was obviously left to protect something of great value. Now that it had been defeated, the monk would see what it was.

  Three hours later, Master Chetra Dal found his way back to the small chamber in which the bodies of his fellow monks still rested. Sadness radiated through his body like a winter chill. If only they had thought more quickly, perhaps one or more of his friends would still be alive. There was a lesson there. He would meditate upon it when he returned to the temple, and he would make sure to note it in one of his books of wisdom for the temple disciples. Wisdom was hard-gained, and the honorable man shared it with whomever would accept it.

  Master Dal turned to the end of the chamber, where they had first spotted the guardian. On a simple shelf carved into the stone wall itself, he found a box. He ran his fingers over it, the carvings smooth under his touch. He was not sure what they depicted, whether words or simple designs. It had once been wood but had fossilized. Only three hand spans wide and perhaps two high, it seemed a small thing for the death it had caused. Grasping the cover, the monk opened the lid. As he raised it, there was a hiss of air escaping.

  Within were five scrolls rolled upon wooden cylinders, which also felt as if they had turned to stone. The scrolls were exquisitely made from some natural fiber, but it seemed to be woven of many fine threads, tight and perfect and in the same condition as the day they went into the box.

  The Zouy began to skim the scrolls to get a general sense of what secrets they revealed. They were written in Ancient Kasmali, which made him recall that the guardian had understood
him when he spoke that dead language. He was only part-way down the first scroll when his eyes widened and his heart began to beat faster. The scrolls explained an energy, related to the rohw but superior.

  He had never heard of this energy, called awkum, before. He would have to study these scrolls carefully. Perhaps he would be responsible for expanding the Zouyim Order’s understanding of universal energy. He would study them in secret, master the knowledge written there, and then he would share it. Until then, he would not tell anyone about what he had found. He would, most of all, have to make sure it was safe for others. He was a master, with the experience and wisdom to investigate things such as this. If it was safe to use, then others would benefit from what he had learned, but not until then.

  Bowing to his fallen brothers, Chetra Dal put the scrolls into his pack and navigated the twisting corridors to the outside world. He would have much to study when he got back home to the Zouyim temple. Anxious to begin, he forced his weary feet to speed him home.

  Chapter 1

  The bhorgabir assassin Vahi scrutinized Chetra Dal, who had just returned from Iboghan. The old man held in his hands the two artifacts his apprentice Ayim Rasaad had been hunting.

  Chetra Dal spoke. “I am afraid Ayim is no more. She was defeated by those who were hunting her.”

  Dal’s face was wrinkled, but his thick body seemed much younger. He was old, in his late eighties, but he still moved with the grace of someone decades younger. Head swiveling toward Vahi, yellow eyes locking onto the assassin, he held the bell and drum artifacts in his withered, vein-covered hands.

  “I retrieved the artifacts Azgo and Orum, so all is not lost,” the old man said. “We have but to obtain the last artifact, Bruqil, and our success will be complete.”