Magic's Genesis- Sword of Wilmamen

by Rosaire Bushey

  Lydria opened her eyes from her vision at the same time Haustis came back from her spirit journey. “The spirits fade, Lydria. Drae Ghern said they would, and even now the voices of the Haustis’ before me fade away into forever silence. But some remain, and to my question they show a knight without a sword. The knight still fights but he has no weapon, and so he can make limited use of the skills he possesses.”

  “What would happen if he should regain a weapon?” Hokra’s voice was still and formal and was echoed by Relin, both of whom had raised themselves to their feet to hear the answer, as if they might be away at once to find and defeat the former wielder.

  “That is not for the spirits to know, but we must assume that if he regains a stone, he regains his sword.”

  “Where would he find a stone?” Pars was attentive now, listening to a story that he would create a history from, as if he was realizing his purpose as part of the group, and determined to make amends for giving Wynter information.

  “He has dragons with him,” Lydria explained. “The dragons all wear collars.”

  “Certainly, he cannot best a dragon – even with magic, it would be foolish to attempt, would it not?” Relin’s voice practically pleaded with Lydria to be confirmed correct.

  “I pried a collar from Wynter’s neck with a small Farn’Nethyn blade,” Lydria told them all with no hint of pride or arrogance in her voice. “If the Sword of Wilmamen that we saw Relin take from the river is what Wynter searches for, and what he finds, I may not say that he can’t take a collar from a dragon.” Lydria moved her eyes slowly from person to person, judging quickly how much she should tell them of what her and Grettune had guessed about the dark stone and its relationship to magic. When she reached Hokra, she felt a sympathy for he and his people that she had never felt before and decided they needed to know. In the same way the stones needed to be in more than a few hands, people needed to know that there was a way to fight magic.

  “The Farn’Nethyn, as Grettune and I surmise, but cannot yet be sure, seems to have the power to repel magic. If I stood in the presence of an amount of the ore, greater than the small blade I held, I think doing even simple magic would be difficult – or perhaps it would just not appear to work at all. In the face of a large blade of purified Farn’Nethyn like Wilmamen’s sword, even the magic of a dragon might not suffice if Wynter were able to catch it off guard.”

  Seeing how her words caused the heads around her to hang low, she tried to lift their spirits somewhat by suggesting dragons were never off guard. “Even without their magic, you’ve all seen a dragon. Tell me, how far do you think you’d get putting a blade to one’s throat?”

  Lydria smiled, but neither she nor the others were convinced by her argument.

  18 - Nethyngal

  The path to Nethyngal was quiet. Moving through the woods quickly but quietly, using magic to conceal their passage, the group made haste to the dark valley where they knew Nethyngal must lie. Throughout the morning they saw no evidence of the Qorghal. Signals that something was amiss began as the sun neared its peak and Kimi reported animals running away from the valley.

  Soon afterwards the ground shook and a tremendous sound like thunder rent the air around them, causing leaves and small branches to fall from the trees over their heads. “It is a dragon.” Pars’ words were the first from anyone in hours, and Lydria nodded. She had heard the voice of dragons and called the company to stop and shelter on the north side of small rise.

  For long minutes the ground rumbled as if something very large were near. They stayed low and quiet as the dragon noise continued and when it stopped, they waited again until they thought it was safe to move. When they began a slow and careful march toward the valley, they stayed under the tree canopy and moved quietly. It was Kimi who interrupted Lydria’s thoughts.

  “The dragons have gone.”

  Several hundred yards later they met the cat on a small hill where they saw a spiral of dark, greasy smoke from the valley below and the smell caused Lydria to remember her time helping as an army surgeon. The amputated limbs and enemy bodies would be piled and burned, and she knew the acrid odor that assaulted her nostrils now was the same. From her position, she could just make out the sharp corners of stone buildings between the trees, their shapes obscured by the dark smoke that drifted through the remnants of streets. She pointed them out to Pars and Hokra who merely nodded.

  The hike down from the hilltop was retched as the stench of burning overpowered their senses and the smoke drifting through the trees. Kimi found the remnants of a road and the group followed the broken stones and disrupted cobbles through the trees. As they neared the city, the roads became more apparent, and less dilapidated though they were still more path than road. The first buildings they found were crumbling shacks, with waste and the remains of animals piled past their knees. The piles had been there so long they held no further interest even for flies – that or the flies had found something newer to feast upon.

  In the road ahead Lydria spotted a Qorghal, bent in half and lying in a pool of his own innards. Spreading out, the company moved cautiously among the ruins flanking the street. Dead Qorghal were in doorways, on roofs, and in the alley. Lydria thought nothing remained alive in the town until a guttural scream erupted ahead of them, and a small band of the creatures charged at them only to be met by a wall of stone that rose from the ground and encircled them. The walls were twice the height of a man and Lydria turned to see Hokra sitting on the ground smiling, his chest heaving with exertion, while Relin climbed the new mud and rock tower, waving his sword as he dispatched the first Qorghal who climbed his way to the top. The Eifen waited for the next enemy to show himself before casually cutting him down and when only one remained, Lydria pulled down the tower and the Qorghal was captured, tied and set near Hokra.

  The carnage increased as they made their way toward a large complex in the center of Nethyngal. The buildings here were more well maintained, and the vines and plants kept clear. In the architecture, Lydria could see hints of the style evident in Hokra’s home but much of the beauty had been lost to vandals, neglect, and time.

  Turning west from the central complex Lydria, Haustis and Relin were met with a gust of wind that brought a fresh wave of the foul smoke that had been with them since they entered the town. At the bottom of a small flight of steps and in the middle of what was the town’s center, lay a smoldering pile of dead Qorghal that had been stacked like wood and set ablaze. Wooden shacks, benches, tables and everything else in the square had been brushed aside leaving the area as the only place relatively free of debris.

  Walking in a careful circle around the pyre, Lydria noticed small depressions in the stone like footprints and knew dragons had been here. But where were the rest? Surely Nethyngal held more Qorghal than those piled up before her and the few they had seen in the town?

  “They’ve left.” The sound of Kimi’s voice filled Lydria with relief and happiness. “There are tracks leading south and the scent of these creatures is overpowering. They move quickly, and they are scared.”

  Calling Kimi to come into the town with them, Lydria told Relin of what the cat had smelled, and they all moved back to Hokra to see what answers they could extract from the Qorghal they had captured.

  The Qorghal was in animated conversation with Hokra and when Lydria stopped short of their position the Chag Ca’Grae indicated she should continue and join them.

  The Qorghal stopped talking when she arrived and looked up, flinching slightly. “He seems talkative. What does he say?” Lydria never took her eyes from the small creature before her. He was small and dangerously thin, his hunched body huddled over bones she was surprised could carry his weight. Although he walked on two legs and had two arms like a human, that was where the similarities ended. The Qorghal had very little body hair and the hair on their heads was pulled back severely, ending in a tight knot or a long, tied tail of hair from the back of their heads. Their eyes were small and close set, nearl
y touching on either side of a nose that was flattened against their face with wide nostrils. Their ears were disproportionately large, nearly filling the side of their skulls with rounded flesh that stayed pinned to their heads. Where the Eifen could move their ears in nearly any direction, the Qorghal were barely able to cup theirs. The suddenly quiet Qorghal scraped his calloused and hard hands uselessly against each other.

  Hokra, who Lydria noticed had hardly moved since he was set down with his back to a ruined house, was in discomfort but did his best not to reveal the weakness to his prisoner. “He says we are too late, that their savior has come as promised, on wings of viridian, and offered to them a chance to fulfill their nature.”

  “What is their nature?” Lydria was sure she knew the answer but was interested to see how the creature reacted to the question. Hokra spoke in a low, mumbling drawl that she couldn’t understand and the Qorghal raised his head and responded in the same manner.

  “To destroy. That, he said, is their purpose.” Hokra relayed the information without judgment. “He says that the more youthful and impetuous of his people attacked the dragons when they landed among their town – those are the ones you have found burning around the corner.”

  “And why is he still here?” Relin’s question was tinged with a hint of anxiety and he scanned the street in all directions waiting for the response. Hokra delivered the answer quickly after it was presented to him.

  “The job of his company was to kill the prisoners and then join his people.” Hokra paused for half a second before smiling at the slender Eifen. “Yes, my friend, at least one of your people still live. He was on his way to carry out his mission when he heard us coming up the street and turned aside.”

  The Qorghal, who seemed eager to speak, continued talking to Hokra, who held up a hand to stay Relin who was impatient to find Wae Ilsit and the others. “He says that if you seek the midnight blade, then you are too late. His lord reached into the bowels of the city and plucked it from its place deep beneath the ground. When he drew it forth and held it aloft, his wings unfurled in darkness and he shrieked with glee. The midnight blade rose up and drank the light of the sun. It matters not, he says, if your friends live or die now. With the midnight blade in the hands of the Viridian Lord, the time of the Qorghal has come to Eigrae.”

  As Hokra finished his sentence, Pars leapt up and tackled the Qorghal, driving a small blade deep into the creature’s chest. Almost at once the others reacted to remove Pars but as he tumbled off the Qorghal, they could see the sharp bone blade the small creature had in its hand, how it had cut free of its bonds, and how it was preparing to stab Hokra.

  “They do not behave as humans or Eifen or even Chag Ca’Grae,” said Pars, reiterating something he had told them before. “They are here to destroy, and you cannot think that they will sit still to be prisoners or accept parole or follow any rule of war that you may know. If you are not Qorghal, then you must die, it is that simple for them.” Pars rose to his feet and dusted himself off and offered a hand to Hokra who accepted being helped to his still unsteady feet. “I think we should find the Eifen while we can.”

  Starting where the Qorghal had begun their headlong rush down the street, Lydria and the others followed Kimi who had picked up a scent he likened to a fragrant flower standing tall on a beach of dead fish. “There are Eifen this way,” the cat called to Lydria as he loped past them and into the largest building overlooking the smoldering pile of carcasses.

  Inside the building it was evident the Qorghal had left in a hurry. Sacks of food, weapons and supplies had been gathered quickly and what had fallen on the floor was left for the insects and scavengers that scattered at the bobcat’s approach.

  Inside it was also very dark, and even a light conjured by Lydria did little to lessen the feeling that they were walking through a grave. “The inside of the buildings here are covered in onyx,” Hokra explained, his voice giving way to something approaching awe as he studied the building. “If this were clean, the walls would reflect the light so that the illumination the wielder has summoned would be more than sufficient to see many yards down these halls.”

  Kimi continued leading the group down stairs and through empty rooms, larders, halls, kitchens, dormitories – all of which looked like they had just been sacked. Relin pulled up short at a weapons rack and inspected the blades still standing there. The weapons were roughly made, heavy and with crude protrusions designed to tear apart anything they touched. They were rusted and dull even though they had evidence of recent use. “As crude as these are, I am surprised we have not yet seen anything resembling a device used for torture.” Relin’s comment resonated his growing loathing of the Qorghal.

  “There is no need for them to torture,” Pars added. “They seek only to kill. I do not think they take any special joy in it, and certainly would find none in inflicting pain. In some ways, friend Relin, you must admit, their brutality while merciless is in some ways more palatable than our own.”

  Relin looked at the woodsman/scholar but said nothing and continued following Kimi’s lead without further investigation of the items around him.

  As they continued downward, the air became cold, and Lydria could see her breath through her faint light. All along the hallway small puffs of vapor formed and dissipated and formed again as the breath of the company closed in upon a final set of steps with a door barring their way forward. Reaching into the rock wall surrounding the door, Hokra simply removed the locking mechanism and pulled the door from its casing startling a lone guard who immediately started to run down a single hallway.

  Lydria made a small motion with her hands and the Qorghal screamed out in surprise almost at once and so she sent her light floating down the hall in front of them. The Qorghal was suspended a hand’s breadth off the ground, his hands still clutching two long knives, but his arms and body trapped by an enormous web. The Qorghal barked out in his guttural tongue but Hokra didn’t even provide a translation. The kind of contempt the creature showed was common enough that everyone could understand he wished them all to die in a fiery pit of some chosen hell.

  With another swipe of her hand, Lydria rolled the web to the side with the Qorghal in it and pinned to a wall. The passage forward was clear, and they walked past his snarling threats as if he didn’t exist.

  “Wae Ilsit, do you hear us?” Lydria shouted down the hall and was almost at once greeted by a faint noise Haustis recognized at once as her father, and she ran until she stood outside another locked door which Hokra was happy to rip from its hinges as well.

  The Eifen chief was weak and pale, his skin clinging to bones which were bruised and caked with dried blood. “Daughters, it is good to see you again.”

  Codex of the Prime Wielder

  On Life as a Wielder

  Perhaps more difficult than any other aspect of magic, is learning to accept the change among those you are close to. For Perryn, as the owner of a tavern, and for Grettune, as the leader of Brookfield and Governess of the Western Reach, a title which King Keldon has allowed her to maintain, the isolation that comes with the collar is a stressful change.

  To help them both, I spend as much time as possible in Brookfield or with Grettune on her travels. The more often people see the collar, the more comfortable they will feel with Wielders, or so we hope. Unfortunately, we come in Wynter’s shadow and so there is an inherent distrust among some people.

  Still others have mimicked the collar and children can be seen painting their necks blue and playing at being Wielders themselves. This kind of childish playing, I believe, should be encouraged. Should Wielders ever see their role as being above the common person, then the power structure of Wesolk will change. Above all, Wielders must work with the people for the benefit of the people.

  It is odd to say, but Wynter perhaps embodied the ideal of working for the benefit of the people more overtly than any yet in the short age of magic. Unfortunately, he also embodied the arrogance of power and much of his work on
behalf of the people came at murderous cost.

  Lydria

  19 - The Gates of Dar’Ahlmon

  In the chill morning air, the city of Dar’Ahlmon slept quietly, with the dark spaces in the night sky providing the real evidence of the massive towers and spires of the city rising from the desert floor to block the stars. That was how Perryn found her, a dark silhouette against the star-scape on a small dune, sitting with her knees up and her arms wrapped around them, hugging herself and her unborn child at the same time.

  “You’re up early,” Grettune said to her husband as she leaned her face over to accept his kiss on her cheek. “Could you not sleep?”

  “I sleep well enough, but not so well when you’re not nearby.” Perryn’s knees cracked as he sat beside her and handed her a cup. He poured some water into the container and made a stirring motion with his index finger and almost instantly Grettune smelled a deep, exotic smell she hadn’t thought she would come across in the desert kingdom.

  “Is this…?” Grettune didn’t finish her sentence but instead lowered her head and made a noise as she drew the hot liquid between her lips and almost immediately responded with a drawn-out sigh that earned her another kiss.

  “I’ve been practicing this in the tavern for more than a year now, and while it’s more difficult to do without the ingredients nearby, it’s not impossible.” Grettune saw that as he spoke, Perryn had produced another cup and filled it with water and was repeating the stirring motion, and almost immediately began a third.

  “I know it’s early and I’m old, but I know that’s not chocolate I smell!” Krieger stumbled up the sand as if in a trance and made a beeline to Perryn who was holding out the third cup he had made. The older man put his nose so deep into the cup Grettune was scared he would burn himself, but he didn’t move until he was sure he couldn’t smell it any more clearly than he had and said quietly, “I love magic,” before taking a lingering sip of the dark liquid. Lowering himself carefully to the ground, Krieger sat opposite Perryn on Grettune’s left, and together the three of them watched Dar’Ahlmon as the stars faded and were replaced by the first strands of dawn.