by Matt Russell
"Yes, sir," Glavius said with a nod.
Darius pursed his lips. "You're right to be worried about telepaths though. That's why I'm not telling the men any of this. You and I… we're the only ones. It's the best we can do. When this troop sets out for the Northern Temple, you and I are going to have a heated argument. You'll accuse me of not looking hard enough for Kota. Most of the men know how friendly you two were, so it will be plausible. I'll become frustrated with you and send you on some humiliating errand to the Southern Temple, saying that I'm sick of you. You'll sulk and head south for at least an hour, and then turn east. You'll keep to the back roads as much as possible, avoiding all large cities where sorcerers might lurk."
Darius reached into the collar of his shirt and drew out a small, corked vial, which hung from a leather cord about his neck. He pulled it up and off his head and held it out to Glavius. "This is a potion made from elf's blood—one of the last the order has. Otho made me take it before he sent me here on the chance that something might have happened to Kota or Gretis. There's not much, so you'll need to ration it. I've been putting a drop in Gretis's mouth every few hours to try to help along whatever's keeping her alive. I have no idea whether it's doing a damned thing, but I want you to keep it up."
"Yes, sir," Glavius said, accepting the vial. He stared at it for a brief moment, then whispered: "How will I find the elven city, sir?"
"I've already drawn you a map," Darius said. Glavius felt his eyes go wide at these words, but before he could ask, the Legate said: "We've always known where a few of their cities are. The higher ranked members of the order are shown documents with many closely held secrets about our immortal friends." Darius gazed up at the ceiling, a tired look on his face. "We stay away from them out of respect for the treaty our predecessors signed hundreds of years ago. I don't technically have the authority to send a soldier into their lands. You should know… they may kill you on sight."
"I understand, sir," Glavius said, his voice perfectly calm. Of course he would risk his life for Kota and Gretis. They would do no less for him.
"All right then,” Darius said, nodding. He reached into a pocket in his jacket and drew out a small, neatly rolled scroll. "I'm a fair hand at drawing. Hopefully you can follow this." As Glavius took the scroll, Darius patted him on the shoulder and said: "I'm glad you made it here, Glavius." The tiniest of smiles touched the Legate's cold, serious face as he added: "I hope you live. If you do, you'll be the first human to set foot in a populated elven city in over three hundred years."
Glavius smirked. "I’ll try not to die then, sir."
Chapter 36:
Sacrifice
"You do not have to do this," Telemachus said, his expression contorted in pain. The young man’s hand was on Somar's shoulder, clutching tightly. "Cassian would not want you to die."
The air was cold and thick in the vault below the Obsidian Order's headquarters in the capital. It was an expansive room filled with hundreds upon hundreds of books and arcane treasures gathered by the order's many powerful members throughout the centuries.
"Do not dare let him know," Somar said sharply. "You will give me that respect, Telemachus, won't you?"
The Starborn swallowed dryly. "I will, but in return, let me debate this with you once more before you go forward."
Somar smiled at the smooth featured young man. He was so unlike Cassian. Telemachus was averse to making threats or flaunting his awesome power. Rather, he sought out the noblest parts of men and inspired them. Somar had come to respect these qualities enormously, but this was not a time for kindness. Bishop Cromlic had Cassian in a torture cell.
"There is nothing to debate," Somar said with a chuckle, smiling. "This is my choice, without regret. I have outlived many finer men than myself. From peasant to Imperial General to even Senator, and then finally tutor to the most remarkable person I have ever met… My life has been a grand adventure, and I am grateful for all of it, but I am quite old now. No desire burns within me to cling to a few more years when I could use my life to save him."
Telemachus grimaced. "All Cassian has to do is sign a piece of paper and kneel."
"And he never will," Somar sighed, "nor would I wish him to."
"Your life is worth more than my brother’s damned pride!"
"You know this is about far more than that,” Somar said in a gentle voice. “It is principal and conviction. The Nemesai are wrong, and Cassian is doing what no one else in the world is willing to do in standing up to them.”
"And you wish to die so that he can what? The instant my brother steps out of his cell, he will be a criminal—the most infamous one in the world."
"Perhaps," Somar exhaled, "and perhaps not. Some men manage to rise above the law, and I don't think you or I can possibly say what the Emperor will do."
Telemachus frowned but said nothing. This was not the first time Somar had noted that the young man appeared unsettled by the actions and tendencies of his Emperor.
"Please help Cassian as much as you can when this is over,” Somar said. “I believe there is a reason there are five starborn rather than one. You are so many of the things that Cassian is not, and yet he is much that you are not."
Telemachus swallowed. "Well, the person that I am does not approve of this course of action."
Somar gripped the young man's shoulder, and for an instant, he let his mental guard down so that Telemachus could feel his resolve. "This is what I want," he whispered.
The starborn youth stared into his eyes for a long moment and then nodded with a grim expression. He reached into a pocket in his fine silken robe and withdrew a shiny black pill the size of an almond. Somar took it.
"This is smaller than I thought," he whispered as he rolled the cool, smooth mass in his hand. "Are you sure it will be enough?"
"No need to worry about that," Telemachus said with a dejected sigh. "It is unbelievably potent."
"And you're certain Cromlic will not be able to detect the magic inside?"
"The pill is coated with a mixture of amber and lead, which will poison you by the way, though that will be the least of your worries."
"How do I activate it?"
Grimacing slightly, Telemachus muttered: "When the time comes, slip it between your teeth and bite down. You should have two to three minutes before your heart explodes, but I can't be certain of that, given your age."
"I understand," Somar said. He reached up and slipped the little pill under his tongue. It felt strange and unnaturally cold in his mouth, but he knew he would not have to hold it there long.
"Goodbye, my friend," Somar said, practicing speaking with the deathly object in his mouth.
"Goodbye, old man," Telemachus whispered, gazing down at the white marble floor.
Somar drew in a breath through his nostrils and turned around, and as he did, he felt a small thrill. Even now, in his feeble and aching form, he could affect the fate of the world. What he was about to do would be written of for centuries. He scrambled up the white marble stairs and out the great beautifully carved ebony doorway of the Obsidian Guild into the capital streets. His mind was racing faster than it had in years, and he perceived everything around him in vivid, colorful detail. The night was calm and quiet in the wealthy square where the guild's headquarters sat, but to the east, where the Nemesai were holding Cassian, the distant sound of shouting echoed. The peasants were furious that their savior had been abducted, and now that they had learned the Nemesai were too frightened to venture out and face the dragon in the street, many had begun to gather and shout and even throw things at the temple. Cassian was already winning.
Somar walked in a slow gait, his hood drawn back. His movements were likely already being watched. Cromlic was desperate to apprehend him, and the Nemesai had spies and informers all throughout the city. They had been waiting for him to step away from Telemachus, and now he had. Just to be certain he caught his unseen observers' attention though, Somar drew out th
e bottle of wine he had stuffed in the pocket of his robe, pulled the cork, and took a quick drink, making sure not to swallow the pill. Then he shouted: "You bassstards!" in his loudest, most slurred baritone. "Where is Cassssssian?!" He took another sip, purposely spilling wine on his chest, and then bellowed: "NEMESAI S-S-SCUM!" Then he stumbled forward and let loose a string of obscenities loud and horrible enough to get the attention of everyone within several blocks.
He had only to wait a moment before he heard the patter of footsteps behind him, and a fierce, authoritative male voice shout: "Somar Dojinko!"
"WHAT?!" Somar shouted, spinning clumsily around to see five men in dark robes, the closest of which had the distinctive markings of the Nemesai on his face. "Don't come near meee, bastards!” he hissed, taking a defiant sip of the wine and then smashing the bottle on the ground and glaring.
"Take him!" the inquisitor shouted. The other cloaked figures dashed at Somar and grabbed him by the arms and hair, and then the leader stepped forward and leaned into Somar's face. With a smirk, the man said: "You picked a terrible time to wander off drunk, old man." He slapped Somar across the face with a gloved hand. The blow was hard, carrying enough augmented strength to burst several dozen blood vessels around Somar's cheekbone. It might have hurt less if he hadn't been clutching his teeth to keep the pill in place. The inquisitor went on: "I can't believe how foolish you are, Great General of the Imperial Army." He cast a quick gaze around then and then said aloud: "We need to get him back to the church before that starborn realizes what's happing. Tie his hands and search him."
A bag was thrown over Somar's head from behind, and he felt his wrists being bound while strong hands moved around his body in cruel, humiliating ways. They found nothing. As soon as the search was over, Somar was forcibly marched down the street with rough shoves and slaps to the head amidst brief instructions. After a few moments, he was lifted under the arms into the back of what seemed to be a wagon, which promptly began to roll over the bumpy capital streets. Somar knew he was being taken directly to the Nemesai Temple by the increasing volume of shouting in the air from the peasants—shouts for Cassian’s freedom.
"These idiots are going to attack the cart!" a voice said furiously to Somar's left.
"No they won't," the leader’s voice replied. "We have steel and crossbows, and they know it. Don't be such a coward."
The inquisitor was evidently correct, as Somar's cart wheeled through a furious cacophony of threatening screams, but they did not so much as slow down. Somar heard the sound of gates opening and then being closed from behind after they had rolled further. They came to a stop, and a moment later he was gripped by his wrists and brought out of the cart. Without words, his captors led him on a long, cold walk. The ground under his feet seemed to be slick, wet grass at first, then later it became hard stone, and then he was stepping down stairs. Eventually, Somar was halted by a sharp jerk at his right arm.
"Keep him here," the leader said in an excited voice, and Somar heard the man's boots slap across the floor. A door opened some distance away and then closed again. There was the sound of muffled voices for perhaps half a minute, and then the door opened again.
"Lord Dojinko!" Bishop Cromlic's unmistakable voice boomed. It had a tone of cruel delight in it that might have caused Somar to bristle were he not planning to do what he was. Eager footsteps moved toward him, and suddenly the bag was yanked from his head, and he was standing eye-to-eye with Cassian's worst enemy. "I am so very, very glad to have you as my guest, old friend," the Bishop almost cackled, displaying a great many of his yellowed teeth as he spoke.
Somar could not resist returning the grin and saying: "Bishop Cromlic, it is so nice to see you like this—not cowering at my pupil's feet and begging for your life, I mean."
A hard slap came to the back of Somar’s head, and again he nearly lost the pill. A deep voice from behind said: "Shall I cut his disrespectful tongue out, sir?"
"Not just yet," Cromlic said, breathing hard through open lips. He leaned into Somar's face. "Yes, it must have been quite a thrill for you two heretics to attack a Bishop of the church. Unfortunately, all your prideful sinning has come to an end."
Not quite yet, Somar thought but did not say as he met the terrible man's stare. "I suppose you'll want to put me in front of Cassian now, so you can get the most out of torturing me. Shall we get on with it?"
The Bishop’s face lost all its cruel humor, and he said in an icy voice: "Your pupil will see all that defiance crushed and broken. Before I'm done with you, you'll beg him to confess just to bring an end to your suffering."
"We shall see," Somar said.
"Bring this fool," Cromlic hissed. Somar’s lack of fear was infuriating him. The old man huffed and twitched as he walked down a dim hall lit by wall candles. Somar was forced to walk behind. They went together through a heavy steel door at the hall’s end and down a dark, winding stairway until he finally emerged into an enormous room full of cells and torture implements. Along the way, Somar had listened carefully to the footsteps behind him. From what he could tell, there were only two Nemesai in the room other than Cromlic. That was good.
Sweat dripped off Somar’s face as they stepped down the row of cells. In the dim torchlight, he could see frightened souls hiding behind bars, and slowed to look at them. The smell of the place might have been horrible, but his heart was beating far too quickly in his feeble chest for such things to matter. He was in a dreamlike state. Every sense was heightened, and all input blended together. These were his last moments.
"Don't linger!" the Nemesai said from behind. Somar felt the tip of a blade poke him in his back just below the left shoulder, and he winced at a shallow stab into his skin as his captor added: “Hurry up.”
"Certainly," Somar said through gritted teeth, quickening his pace.
Cassian's voice came suddenly into his mind:
Unable to answer in kind, Somar used his voice: "It is all right, Cassian." His words echoed down the dim hall, and he felt another blow to the back of his head in punishment.
"Do not TOUCH him!" Cassian's voice cried through a small grating in a thick metal door.
"Be careful," the Bishop said, his deep voice filled with amusement. "We want our new guest conscious."
"Yes, sir," the inquisitor said, and then Somar felt his hair being gripped from behind. "Don't speak again unless you are told to, old man."
The Bishop walked forward and fished a key out of a concealed pocket in his robes, which he slipped into a hole in the door. Then the old sorcerer brought the door open with a wave of his hand and said: "Good evening, Lord Asango, we have brought you a guest."
Somar heard the sounds of chains clinking along with Cassian shouting: "You smirking idiot! Do you think I cannot attack you even now? I have agents all around this church, as well as my DRAGON! If you hurt him, this place will be burned to the ground in minutes!"
Some of the glee left the Bishop's face, and he glared into the cell. "Always so dangerous. I do not believe you, boy." He made a quick gesture with his hand, and Somar was forcibly marched forward to the cell door. Cassian came into view, covered in leeches, scabs, and bruises. Cromlic’s hand raised in front of Somar's face, and he whispered: "Rahazak!" A swirling ball of blue fire formed hovering above the man’s palm. "I am the one making threats now, Asango, and you will finally listen!"
Cassian rose, chains clinking, and Somar saw in his eyes that he meant to attack. Even now, he had some hidden power, but it would not be enough. The dragon's prophecy had been quite clear. Without Somar's help, the boy would die.
"Wait!" Somar said in a loud, authoritative voice.
For a brief moment, both Cassian and the Bishop froze. Somar looked at his pupil as he slipped the pill between his teeth and bit down. A fiery hot liquid squirted out in his mouth, and he swallowed. It burned and tingled on the way down, and then his body began to feel
terrifyingly hot.
"I want you to know that I did this willingly," he said, staring at his beloved pupil. "Telemachus tried very hard to talk me out of it, but when we went down into the island of death together, and I looked into the Great Dragon's eyes, he told me this moment would come, and I would have this choice to make."
The Bishop moved the flame closer to Somar's face and hissed: "What are you talking about, you blubbering old fool?"
Somar felt the raw magic infusing his decrepit body with raw, tremendous power. It was different than anything he had been expecting. Greater. Every muscle, every nerve was on fire, and it was wonderful!
"What have you done?!" Cassian said, his emerald eyes going wide.
Somar smiled and snapped the rope that had been holding his wrists as if it were thin paper. His body moved more quickly than it ever had in his life. With one hand, he gripped Cromlic’s outstretched wrist, easily overpowering the strength in the shocked Bishop’s body and twisting his arm. Whatever spell the man had conjured dissipated into nothingness as he shrieked in pain. Keeping his grip on Cromlic, Somar whirled in half a second on the men behind him and delivered a closed-fisted-blow to the closer one's face. He felt bone crunch under the force of his knuckles, and the man fell to the ground and began to convulse. The second Nemesai fumbled for his sword, but Somar head-butted him right between the eyes. That one dropped to the ground next to his fallen brother, a limp mass.
Cromlic wriggled and hissed: "Get off me, you—GHH!"
Somar caught the vile man by the throat and lifted him up off the floor. The Bishop seemed as light as a child's doll. He jerked and clutched at Somar’s hand.
"Cassian," Somar said, unable to stifle a laugh. "Is this what you feel like all the time? This power is absurd!"
"It will kill you," Cassian said. His face was a pale contortion of pain.
