The Runic Trilogy: Books I to III (The Runic Series)

by Clayton Wood

  And that was that.

  * * *

  The next day was election day. As Erasmus had predicted, he and Kalibar won the popular vote by a landslide!

  If Kyle had been impressed by the funeral, he was astounded by the coronation of Kalibar and Erasmus; the entire city celebrated in grand style, with citizens dressing in their finest clothes, hanging bright banners out of their windows congratulating their new leaders. Thousands of colorful shapes made of folded paper filled with feathergrass floated high above the rooftops all around Stridon like origami balloons. Parades of men, women, and children marched down the streets toward the Great Amphitheater, a Coliseum-like structure a few blocks away from gates of the Secula Magna. This was where the coronation was to take place.

  Due to security concerns, there was a heavy military presence in and around the Amphitheater. People had to be searched before they could come in, which slowed things down quite a bit. No one seemed to mind, however; most of the city's businesses were closed for the event, save for the hotels and restaurants. Everything went without a hitch.

  Kyle, being part of the “in” crowd for the first time in his life, got front-row seats inside the Amphitheater, right before the stage. Darius sat on his right, and Ariana to his left. Jax and the other Councilmen sat around them. It was quite an honor to sit among them, but a bit awkward as well; he felt out of place among the ruling elite of the Empire.

  It took quite a while for the Amphitheater to fill. Unlike the Coliseum on Earth, the Great Amphitheater had a ceiling, and plush, comfortable seating. Like the Coliseum, the seats completely surrounded a central stage. It was all very rich and elegant, with luxurious red tapestries lining the walls and giant marble statues acting as support pillars. Magical lanterns hung from the ceiling, lighting the stage. A few minutes after the amphitheater had filled, these lights winked out, leaving the stage in near-complete darkness. Moments later, they flared back to life.

  There, standing on the stage, was Jax and the other Councilmen. Kyle frowned, glancing from side-to-side, realizing that the Councilmen had left their seats without him knowing. He looked back to the stage, spotting Kalibar and Erasmus standing with the Councilman. He felt Ariana's warm hand grip his, and turned to see her smiling at him. He smiled back, squeezing her hand.

  Jax stepped forward, raising his arms up to the crowd.

  “Good afternoon, citizens of the Empire!” he shouted, turning in a slow circle to address the entire theater. The audience burst into applause, then hushed moments later when Jax raised one hand for silence. He lowered his hand.

  “We are gathered here to witness the inauguration of the thirty-fourth Grand Weaver and Grand Runic of the New Empire, elected by a vote agreed upon between the people and their Council. Please rise to welcome the return of his Excellency Grand Weaver Kalibar and his Excellency Grand Runic Erasmus!” Jax stepped to the side, while Kalibar and Erasmus strode forward on the stage. The crowd rose to their feet, applause echoing throughout the theater. After a long moment, the applause died away. Kyle noticed that Kalibar was wearing dual golden eye-patches, looking quite regal despite his handicap.

  Jax had Kalibar and Erasmus recant a rather long-winded and tedious oath, undoubtedly the product of centuries of pomp and tradition. He noticed that Ariana had stopped paying attention after a minute or two. When she saw Kyle looking at her, she smiled prettily. He blushed despite himself, turning his gaze back to the stage to hide his glowing cheeks. He was suddenly glad for the dim lighting over the crowd.

  “...and now I pronounce you Grand Weaver Kalibar and Grand Runic Erasmus. May you guide the Empire to peace and prosperity!” Jax proclaimed. Everyone in the crowd stood up, and Kyle hastily stood as well. There was thunderous applause throughout the massive theater, with scattered cheers as Erasmus and Kalibar bowed before the crowd. The applause lasted for quite some time, fading gradually.

  Kalibar stepped forward on the stage then, holding his head up high.

  “I know that some of you fell asleep as we were reciting our oaths,” Kalibar began, his voice echoing powerfully from the amphitheater walls. “Don't worry,” he added with a wry grin, “I have no idea who you are.” There was nervous laughter from the crowd at that.

  “I wanted to take this unique opportunity to force you all to listen to me a little while longer,” he continued. “...and entertain an old man's desire to give thanks for everything he's been given.” Then he paused, lowering his head slightly. “I would hardly be standing here before you today, gifted with the responsibility of serving you all, if it weren't for three special people sitting among you.” He paused, then raised his right hand to the side. “Ariana, please come forward.”

  Kyle blanched, glancing at Ariana. She glanced back at him, her face equally pale. But she stood up, walking up onto the stage. The crowd applauded politely as she mounted the steps and stood at Kalibar's right side. She touched Kalibar's hand to let the Grand Weaver know she was there, then faced the massive crowd, looking enormously ill at ease.

  “Ariana,” Kalibar intoned, “...for bravery in facing a Dire Lurker, for aiding in my escape from the enemy, and for risking your own life to save my life and the lives of your friends, I award you the Tempest Cloak!” Kalibar was handed a gray cloak by Jax. Kalibar offered the cloak to Ariana, who took it, holding it out before herself. It shimmered in the light cast by the lanterns overhead, its edges glowing silver, like the lining of a cloud.

  “This cloak was worn by elite soldiers in Ancient times,” Kalibar stated, “...allowing them to draw lightning from the very heavens to attack their foes. It would also allow its wearer to fall from any height as lightly as a feather. It may be a hundred more years before we can ever hope to create such a masterpiece of runic technology. There are only a dozen left in existence; you will never need fear falling again.”

  The audience exploded into applause, rising to their feet enthusiastically. Ariana smiled weakly, her knuckles white as she gripped the cloak in front of her. Kalibar smiled, and motioned for Ariana to step to the side. Then he lifted his head once more, creating the illusion of staring out into the crowd.

  “Kyle, please come forward.”

  Kyle blanched, feeling butterflies in his stomach. He stood up, a smile frozen on his lips, and forced himself to walk toward the steps leading up to the stage, as Ariana had done. He strode up to Kalibar's right side, then stared out at the crowd, feeling terror grip his throat. He hoped fervently that he didn't look as shell-shocked as he felt.

  “Kyle,” Kalibar exclaimed, “...for showing mercy and excellence of character, for your indomitable spirit in withstanding torture as a prisoner of the enemy, for aiding in my escape from imprisonment by the enemy, and for your willingness to sacrifice your life for your principles, I award you the Aegis of Athanasia!” He produced a gleaming silver breastplate, holding it before the crowd for a moment, then handing it to Kyle.

  “The Aegis of Athanasia,” Kalibar explained, “...was worn by the personal guards of the Ancient Grand Weavers and Runics. Whoever wears it will fear neither heat nor cold, or acid, or the claws of an Ulfar. May it serve you well!” There was thunderous applause, and Kyle bowed slightly before the crowd. Kalibar motioned for Kyle to stand to the side, and Kyle did so, shuffling over to Ariana and giving her a weak smile.

  “Now,” Kalibar stated, his voice suddenly grave, “...I highly recommend that you avoid nodding off during this final speech. Our last honoree will remember who you are, and you do not want to make him angry.” He smiled then, and gestured with one hand. “Darius, please come forward!”

  Darius, wearing his usual golden armor, which was still pitted from his battle with the Dire Lurker, strode up the steps and onto the stage, halting with military precision at Kalibar's side. He faced the audience fearlessly, of course, staring calmly out into the crowd.

  “Darius,” Kalibar began, “...we are all heavily in your debt.” He paused for a moment, putting a hand on his bodyguard's broad armored
shoulder. “For saving my life, and the lives of every award recipient on this stage on countless occasions; for planning and executing our escape from imprisonment by the enemy; for risking your life and limb to slay a beast a thousand times your own size; for defeating the most powerful Weaver I've ever met; and for repeating that performance a few days later, saving the lives of every member of the Council, nearly at the sacrifice of your own, I award you the highest honor that I can bestow upon a citizen of the Empire: the Sword of the Ancients!”

  A loud gasp came from the audience, and they all stood, thunderous applause rolling in from all sides. Kalibar smiled, retrieving a sword sheathed in a scabbard of the purest gold, with a shimmering diamond sparkling in the ornate gilded hilt. He held the sword – still in its scabbard – out before the crowd.

  “This blade was crafted by the Ancients over two thousand years ago,” he explained. “It was given to the greatest warriors of their generation, for unmatched prowess in battle. I leave it in its sheath because its blade can cut through any other substance with ease, and never grows dull.” He paused for a moment, then handed the sword to Darius. “This is one of the last of its kind, one of the finest weapons in existence today. I leave it in your capable hands.”

  The audience exploded into another round of applause, giving the golden warrior a standing ovation. Darius bowed curtly before the crowd, then turned and bowed to Kalibar. Kyle beamed at Darius, feeling a sudden affection for the man who'd saved his skin so many times before. He'd never imagined that he'd end up even liking the man, much less considering him among his best of friends.

  Kyle applauded, bursting with pride for his taciturn friend. The muscle-bound oaf was finally getting what he deserved!

  * * *

  That night, Kyle lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He glanced at the ring on his thumb, twisting it around over and over, thinking about his parents. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd seen them last. He missed them terribly, a part of him hoping that he’d wake up tomorrow and find himself at his Dad's house again.

  He sighed, leaving his ring alone at last, and rubbed his eyes sleepily. So much had happened to him in such a short amount of time, he'd spent the last few nights tossing and turning, trying to process it all.

  Especially Ampir.

  He rolled onto his side, staring at the wall. He still couldn't believe what he'd seen, that night when Xanos had nearly killed them all. A man in black armor, runes flashing a bright blue. Standing before him as if plucked from his dreams...dreams that were supposed to be memories from over two thousand years ago. It had to have been Ampir...there was no other explanation.

  But that's impossible, he thought. He'd be over two thousand years old by now!

  Kyle sighed, rolling onto his other side. It'd been Ampir protecting Kyle all along, not his ring...that much was clear. And if his ring was just a glorified transmitter – as Xanos had concluded – then that meant Ampir had been sending Kyle his dreams all along. Not to mention that, since Ampir was the only man alive who could possibly know how to teleport Kyle from Earth to this planet, it had to be the Ancient Battle-Weaver.

  There was no other explanation.

  But how had the man survived the attack of the Behemoth so many centuries ago? And why would he bring Kyle, of all people, to this planet in the first place, or want to protect him? He felt like Ampir had tried to tell him somehow, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure it out. He knew he had missed something, something terribly important.

  Kyle stifled a yawn, his lids growing heavy. He rolled onto his back, closing his eyes.

  If Ampir brought me here, he reasoned, then he can send me home.

  And that idea – the mere possibility of being able to go home again – made things a little more bearable.

  Kyle yawned, and this time he didn't try to suppress it. His mind, however, refused to stop working. There were so many other questions, after all. Who exactly was Xanos? Was he really a god? Why did he want to destroy the Secula Magna? And when would he strike again? It was only a matter of time, after all. There had to be more Chosen out there like the Dead Man...and they would undoubtedly come for vengeance.

  So many questions, and so few answers.

  You're not going to answer any of them tonight, he reminded himself. You need to get some sleep.

  Still, he found his thoughts turning to his friends. Of Kalibar, Darius, and Ariana...three strangers who had, in the course of a week or two, become the closest friends he'd ever had. They almost felt like a second family...no, they were a second family. Kalibar had signed papers to become his father, after all, as well as Ariana's. And Darius had agreed to serve as the royal bodyguard for Kalibar and his two newest family members. That meant the golden warrior wasn't about to leave anytime soon, for which Kyle was quite grateful. Being Kalibar's charge, Ariana would stay nearby as well. All of his new friends were together for the foreseeable future, sharing a bond that no one else would ever understand. It was a kind of love...not the romantic kind, but something deeper. The love between people who had risked their lives to protect each other, who had gone to hell and back for one another.

  Kyle sighed, closing his eyes at last. He'd lived, and learned, more in the past week than he'd ever thought possible. Learning to sense magic, and then how to use it. Meeting and rescuing a beautiful, brave girl who'd nearly sacrificed her life to repay him. Suffering the cruelty of the Dead Man, and standing up to a self-proclaimed god, helping to defeat him and save an Empire. And last but not least, giving Kalibar a second chance at having a son, and a reason to resume his rightful place as the most powerful man in the Empire.

  Kyle smiled then, picturing a man in black armor, tiny blue symbols glowing across the surface, kneeling down to face him, Kyle's own awe-struck face reflected in the man's silvery visor.

  A perfect coincidence, indeed.

  Chapter 27

  The old man looked very sick.

  He was tall, or at least he used to be. Age had bent his spine into a sharp hump, and long gangly arms hung from his shoulders. His teeth, what few remained, were rotted stumps that protruded at odd angles from his pale gums. He had a large scar running across his forehead, and smaller scars on his neck and arms. Countless warty bumps covered his body, from what little one could see of it. For he wore a thin beige cloak around his bony frame, the fabric torn and caked with mud. His odor was atrocious, making everyone around him – other than the flies – keep their distance.

  The old man hobbled down the street, the worn wooden cane he held clicking on the brick sidewalk underfoot with each step. After a few minutes, he stopped in front of a massive stone building. Broad steps led up to the entrance to the building, a set of huge stone double-doors. Two guards stood at either side of this entrance, their eyes following the wretch as he shambled up the half-dozen steps to reach them.

  “Move along old man,” one of the guards commanded stepping forward to block his path. The guard took a step back as the wretch approached, wrinkling his nose at the foul stench. The old man stopped at the top of the steps, gazing at the guards with cataract-glazed eyes. His lips parted in a revolting smile.

  “Morning gentlemen,” he rasped, bowing his sparse head of dusty gray hair. “I have a bit of business here if you don't mind.”

  Both guards stood there, watching the old man silently. The old man smiled, bowing again.

  “Much appreciated,” he said, limping past the two guards. The double-doors to the building beyond opened before him seemingly by their own accord, and the old man shambled through, his cane clicking rhythmically on the stone below. The doors swung closed behind him.

  The two guards stood perfectly still in the morning sun, their eyes unblinking, long after the strange old man had passed.

  * * *

  The old man hobbled slowly down the narrow hallways of Stridon Penitentiary, passing over a dozen guards as he went. No one moved to stop him. His path was met by countless barred doors, all of whi
ch opened themselves for him.

  Down the maze-like corridors he went. There were bars on either side of the hallways now, small cells holding men in blue and orange uniforms. The prisoners stared at the wretch as he went by, choking on the stench he left as he passed. A few yelled after him, their comments less than kind.

  He paid them no mind.

  The old man made his way through the maze of hallways, stopping at last at a dead end, where a single, iron-wrought door blocked his path. He paused before it, then pulled on the handle. The door swung open easily, and he continued through it, allowing it to close behind him.

  The wretch found himself in a small room. There were no windows, a small lantern providing the only illumination. A disheveled man sat in the center of the room on a small chair bolted into the floor. Chains bound the prisoner, wrapped around his neck on one end, and bolted to the floor at the other.

  The prisoner looked up, staring at the old man standing before him. He had short black hair and a thin black mustache. A week's worth of scruffy beard graced his jawline.

  “Who the hell are you?” the prisoner asked, his voice dripping with disdain. A waft of putrid air reached his nostrils, making him gag. The old man placed both hands on the head of his cane, leaning on it heavily.

  “Now Orik,” the wretch admonished, “show some respect for your elders.”

  Orik frowned, studying the old man.

  “Who are you?” he asked. He glanced at the heavy metal door the old man had walked through. “And how did you get in here?”

  The old man's sunken eyes regarded Orik silently for a moment. Then he smirked.

  “I have a Dead Man's promise to keep,” he replied at last, answering neither of Orik's questions. “A promise that is very important to you, I imagine.”