Invasion

by B. N. Crandell

  Sylestra laughed. “Oh you do, do you? Well I’m glad to hear that.” She turned to her guards. “Get them out and keep a firm hold on them.”

  Four guards came into their small cage; two grabbed hold of O’tukka and two gripped Pilk firmly. They pulled him from the cage. Pilk scanned his surroundings and sure enough there were orcs with crossbows levelled in their direction and a number of shamans.

  Behind the walls of Fort Dega was a hive of activity. Not construction works so much but more like the army preparing to march. When he came into view of the Gate it increased his suspicions as a continual stream of warriors emerged. Pilk wondered where they were planning to attack but it didn’t bode well wherever it was.

  “You will create the new gate right alongside this one.” Sylestra pointed to the chosen spot while looking at O’tukka. “All the shamans that helped you create the first gate are at your disposal. Begin at once.”

  O’tukka barely acknowledged her as she walked away. They had both been studying hard since getting all the books and discussed at length the highest likelihood of establishing a gate connection with Aleri. If their calculations were correct the three worlds, 'Aleri, Ki’arantha and Ka’ton, formed an equilateral triangle which would mean that if O’tukka conducted the spell as he did previously, the new gate would no doubt form on Aleri since a connection already existed between the other two.

  “According to my calculations the three worlds form an isosceles triangle with Aleri being at the furthest point from the other two worlds,” O’tukka lied. “This means that when I channel the energy to begin creating the gate I will need to direct a substantial amount more to increase our chances of targeting Aleri.”

  If they were right then doing it this way would overshoot Aleri and target some other unknown world. Pilk hoped that this world didn’t contain some other threat.

  “How much more will merely be a guess. The other problem is, as I’m sure you are all aware, I scarcely controlled the energy last time. To get around that, Master Pilk and I will need to link together in mind, body and spirit so that together we can have the required control of the forming energy.”

  “Why Master Pilk?” shouted a shaman.

  “Because he is the only one I trust.” O’tukka stared down the shaman and Pilk was once again reminded of the unnatural power in the Great Shaman’s eyes. “When I give the command I want you all to feed your power into us at a slow and controlled rate. Once the new gate is formed, begin feeding your power into it to strengthen the connection.”

  Without waiting for a response, O’tukka linked arms with Pilk, forcing the guards to hold them both from the shoulders, and recited his spell. Pilk relaxed his mind and let the conjured magic flow through him. It penetrated every inch of his body. Pilk felt so exposed and vulnerable. It was not easy for him to let down his guard in such a way but he had little choice and he was excited to see what happened.

  In return O’tukka had to let down his guard and the shaman’s thoughts and feelings flowed through Pilk’s mind. He saw O’tukka as a young orc being commanded by Sylestra, his mother, teaching him about the Black Skull — their customs, history, god, magic and particularly about the creation of the Great Gates. It was to become his life, she told him, his mission and he was to report all that he discovered to her.

  Pilk experienced first-hand O’tukka’s emotions and feelings of betrayal as he was dragged away from his mother and given over to a strange family. He grew up with that family, constantly being bullied and taunted by his older siblings due to his smaller size. He soon learned that retaliation was futile and so he often hid away and threw himself into his studies believing that if he learnt enough to please his mother then she would take him back.

  As a teenager O’tukka had more control over his Gaze of Hopelessness and his weak-minded siblings left him alone, not wanting to be paralysed with fear. However, while practising his magic he heard them conspiring to kill him. They spoke of luring him to the edge of Black Rock Canyon and pushing him over the edge.

  The scene played out in his own mind as clear as if it were a memory of his own life. O’tukka wiped tears out of his eyes as he neared the edge of the canyon and peered down. He whispered the words to his spell and picked out his location. When he heard the rushing footsteps behind him, he didn’t even bother to turn around. He whispered the release word through trembling lips and a gate formed behind him. He watched the far edge of the canyon where the exit to his gate formed as the bodies of his three siblings went tumbling down the rock face to their deaths — blood curdling screams coming to a sudden end as they impacted with the bottom of the canyon.

  O’tukka dispelled his gates and sat on the edge of the cliff, staring at the lifeless forms of his foster brothers and sister and let the tears flow for the first time in his life. Pilk became almost overwhelmed with the strong emotions flooding through him as the scene unfolded.

  A hand tapped the young O’tukka on the shoulder and startled him. A Lightning Bolt spell tipped his lips as he turned around in a hurry. When he noticed the coloured ribbons of the General he cancelled his spell. The two mighty falchions hanging from the belt of this massive orc gave away his identity before O’tukka even noticed his face.

  “You did what you had to do.” General Krak’too offered O’tukka his hand. O’tukka reluctantly gripped it and the General pulled him to his feet. “It was either them or you. Would you like to learn how to deal with the pain?”

  O’tukka nodded.

  “If you could please focus, Master Pilk.” Great Shaman O’tukka’s shrill voice brought Master Pilk back to the matter at hand. The many shamans were feeding all their power into the united pair. The immense power flowed through him and he tried to harness it as quickly and as densely as his little body would allow. He sensed O’tukka doing likewise.

  They both shook as the power threatened to overtake them and burst forth from their mortal bodies. Pilk’s hair stood on end, first on his arms, then the rest of his body and finally on his head.

  O’tukka held his spell.

  Master Pilk thought the shaman must have been going out of his mind. Pilk’s knees knocked together and his teeth chattered as more power streamed into them.

  Still O’tukka did not cast.

  Pilk turned his head toward O’tukka to make sure he was still conscious. The Great Shaman’s eyes were open and focused but his body shook as much as Pilk’s.

  O’tukka lifted up his free arm and pointed to a spot to the right of the existing Gate. Power surged out of them, exiting from O’tukka’s pointed finger. A stream of dark purple energy, almost black, shot forth from it and formed into a swirling circle which hung in thin air. A loud crackling noise rent the air as bright white bolts exploded among the forming gate.

  Pilk slowly regained control of his body. The shaking stopped and his hair settled. Fatigue overtook him and if it hadn’t been for the orc guards holding onto him and O’tukka’s arm linked around his, he would have collapsed.

  Finally all of the pent-up energy was gone. Pilk watched through bleary eyes as the surrounding shamans continued to pour their magic into the still forming Gate.

  “Now we must separate.” O’tukka turned his head toward Pilk and uttered a cantrip. All the thoughts, feelings and memories that Pilk had experienced earlier rushed out of him and he once again became one being.

  “Is it ready to use?” Pilk had not even heard Sylestra come up behind them.

  “No. It needs strengthening at this point. Its connection is currently as fragile as one strand of string. It will take an hour or more and almost every ounce of energy from the shamans to make the connection secure.” O’tukka’s eyes were half closed, his shoulders slumped and he didn’t even turn to regard his mother.

  “Then I will return in an hour. Guards, take them to the cage and allow them rest.” Sylestra followed them back to the magical cage and locked them in once more. Pilk laid down and closed his eyes.

  He awoke to Sylestra scre
aming out his name. Slowly he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Orc guards stormed into the opened cage and lifted him to his feet. They once again took them to the gates — aside from a slight difference in their hue, the gates were identical.

  “Now comes the time to test it.” Sylestra stared at him. “I think Master Pilk should be the first one to enter just to make sure there is no trickery.”

  “But if it is not Aleri and the trip proves fatal, I may not be able to create another gate without Master Pilk’s assistance.” O’tukka’s voice sounded firm and steady.

  “That’s a lie.” Grand Master Rotager stepped out from behind Sylestra. “All you need is someone to help you channel the power. Any magic user would suffice.”

  “It needs to be someone I trust or the connection may fail. Master Pilk is the only one I trust.” O’tukka cast a hateful stare at the tall thin wizard.

  “If you have done your job well than this petty bickering is unnecessary — or are you afraid you have failed again O’tukka?” Sylestra gave O’tukka a sideways glance.

  “The new gate has a connection, this much I can tell and therefore I have not failed in that regard. The location of that connection I cannot guarantee. I have already informed you of the difficulty of that task,” said O’tukka.

  “Well we are about to find out. Guards, take the little wizard in.”

  The guards hesitated.

  “Now!” screamed Sylestra.

  The guards dragged Pilk to the front of the new Gate. Pilk closed his eyes as they stepped through.

  Chapter 24

  Nefari's Orb

  “Stand back,” said Vik.

  Cressida, Cali and Trent took a few paces back and Trent pulled Mezz in close. Vik held up the sword in front of his face and then lowered it. After doing a little bow to his captive audience he turned in a rush to the tall log he has set up in the yard and attacked with a memorised routine.

  He ducked, weaved and parried imagined strikes and then sliced, feinted and jabbed at the log with his sword. Vigorously he continued his mock battle demonstrating a sword fight between two equally matched opponents.

  While remaining focused on his routine, he recited the words of power in a whisper and the magic coursed through his veins. In a soft voice he spoke the cantrip for the Magic Missile spell and the magic transformed within him. After ducking a pretend strike, he took a step away from the log and uttered the release word while pointing a finger at it. The energy shot forth in a rush and hit the log with such force that it split it in two.

  “Impressive,” said Mistress Cali. “I’ve never witnessed such a strong Magic Missile.”

  “What about Master Pilk?” asked Vik.

  “No, Master Pilk has a repertoire of spells like few others I know but not even he can throw a Magic Missile so forcefully. How do you manage such a thing?” Mistress Cali’s brows knitted together and her mouth twisted to one side.

  Vik stood taller and pulled his shoulders back. “It seems the more engaged in a fight I am, the stronger the magic I draw.”

  “Interesting.” Mistress Cali walked around him examining him like she would an unknown creature.

  “You’re starting to sound like my brother now,” said Cressida.

  “Oh Master Pilk would find this very fascinating. I think Vik’s magic is fed directly by his pent up adrenaline. Normally the opposite is needed for wizards — a calmer, more focused mind.”

  “Clerical magic works much the same way.” Cressida wrinkled up her face as she firmly spoke the words.

  “Master Pilk once told me of Warrior-mages, those that were masters of both classes. Do you think I could become one of them?” The prospect caused excitement to course through Vik. He had a mental image of himself being the only such one on Ka’ton — a mighty hero of legend.

  “Warrior-mages? Huh, nothing but a myth. Don’t let Pilk’s somewhat misguided exuberance get into your head, Vik.”

  The forcefulness of Cressida’s words cut Vik’s dreams to pieces and his shoulders slumped.

  “You mean a myth like the great Necromancer Sylestra? I think we need to re-evaluate what we consider myth in light of recent events.” Mistress Cali looked from Cressida to Vik. Cressida offered Cali a narrowed glare and he tried not to smile.

  But Mistress Cali’s words perked him up. She was right. A woman long thought of as myth now held Master Pilk captive in a powerful magic cage. Her story about abandoning a world overrun by dragons all but confirmed. Pilk’s stories of Warrior-mages could well be true and the occurrence of the Gate could be restoring such lost powers.

  “Myth or not, I intend on continuing my training in both. Will you teach me new spells Mistress Cali while Master Pilk is — ah — unavailable?”

  “I sure will. You have me curious.”

  Master Pilk opened his eyes. He was alive, which came as a relief, and standing in a barren wasteland. The red ground underfoot was hard and cracked as though it had long been bereft of any moisture and it continued in all directions for as far as the eye could see. The burning afternoon sun had him sweating profusely. Not a cloud could be seen in the dark blue sky.

  The guards’ grip on him loosened. He could slip out of their grasp and make a run for it but to what end? He would surely die from thirst on this world before he got too far and his one way back home was the Gate he came through. Not to mention that he couldn’t abandon Great Shaman O’tukka, so he allowed himself to be guided back through the Gate.

  “So what did you see?” asked Sylestra.

  “Nothing but red dirt in all directions. Not a sign of plant life or anything living at all — not even a hill or a mountain in sight,” answered one of the orcs.

  “Could this be Aleri? Could the dragons have destroyed everything and left the world barren?” Sylestra turned to O’tukka with a raised eyebrow.

  “It is unlikely. From what I have read on dragons they do not destroy landscapes for the sake of it. They rely on vegetation like any other living thing. That being said I do remember reading about a God Gate being placed in the centre of a wasteland so perhaps I have inadvertently chosen that place.”

  “Well I’ll soon find out.” Sylestra marched toward the new Gate and without hesitation entered it. With the exception of the marching feet of the warriors still streaming from the Ki’aranthan Gate, all remained quiet until Sylestra appeared again a few minutes later.

  “Nefari is not present on that world. It can’t be Aleri. You have failed again O’tukka.” Sylestra stormed up to the shaman and slapped his face. “Keep this up and your punishment will be much worse than a slapped cheek.”

  “It has been many centuries since you fled Aleri and all this time she has had no one to worship her. She could be weak or in a deep slumber. You must not take her absence as the only sign.” O’tukka rubbed his cheek.

  “Nefari is a great goddess. She does not sleep or grow weak. Do not presume to tell me what to conclude, O’tukka.” Sylestra turned to the guards. “Take them back to their cage.”

  “At once, Supreme Mistress,” replied a guard.

  “You, organise a scout party. I want this new world thoroughly explored as quickly as possible,” Pilk heard Sylestra command as they were being dragged off.

  One again they were dragged into the magical cage and Sylestra used her wand to seal them in.

  “How long until you’ll have the strength to create another Gate?” She looked at O’tukka, her eyes narrowed, her lips scrunched together.

  “It will be two days at least. Such powerful magic is taxing on the body.”

  “Stalling for time will do you no good if that is what you are playing at. Your friends will have a lot more on their minds than rescuing you soon enough. If you truly desire to be released sooner then you will summon me a Gate to Aleri as soon as you are able.”

  “Like I said, that’ll be two days.”

  “Very well. Be sure to study up before then.” Sylestra stormed off.

  “Is that true what you said abo
ut the God Gate being summoned in the middle of a wasteland?” whispered Pilk.

  “Yes. There was an orc tribe that dwelt in a cave network underneath the scorching surface. They farmed all manner of underground creatures and vegetation for food while an underground river supplied them with ample water. The Gate was set up to allow this tribe to flee.”

  “So do you think this could actually be Aleri?”

  “Doubtful. This wasteland was not so flat. Hills and mountains surrounded the large plateau where the Gate stood — and the Supreme Mistress was right, Nefari would not sleep. She would be weakened though, but not to the extent of not hearing the call of her most faithful servant.”

  “You seem to know a lot about this underground tribe.” Pilk tilted his head to one side.

  “I spent my entire life studying every book I could find about Aleri and paid particular interest to her geography and her inhabitants. The underground tribe piqued my interest as I was fascinated by a race that willingly lived underground and adapted. I thought if I ever needed a means to escape, knowledge of life underground could become very useful.”

  “You refer to Aleri as a ‘she’?”

  “I do. This is how the world was described in all the books I studied. Mother Aleri was viewed as sacred among all the major races.”

  “Fascinating,” remarked Pilk, “I do remember seeing the term Mother Aleri in a book I read but thought nothing of it at the time. Can you tell me anything about life on this world before Sylestra’s reign?”

  “I have come across very few books speaking of times before the Supreme Mistress but I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Sylestra waited for a gap in between companies before she slipped through the Ki’aranthan Gate. She hurried to her quarters in the camp and pulled out an orb. She placed it in the centre of a square, white marble board and sliced the end of her finger with a ceremonial dagger. With a steady hand she drew a perfect circle around the orb with her blood. Holding onto the orb tightly with both hands, she recited the words to a powerful spell. The orb glowed an eerie purple and her hands became glued to it. Resisting the urge to lift the powerful artefact off the marble surface she recited a chant.