He moved quickly. It was necessary; he would soon be missed, and he could not bear the strain that it would put on his mother. He decided to go after the start of Alba’rel’s cycle, slipping through the portal under an assault of acidic clouds and frosty air.
Asheron had not yet stirred, and every day the color drained out of his face a little more. Borelean’s mother dressed the wound every few hours, yet each new dressing revealed that the old one was horribly stained. The wound simply would not knit. When his mother slept, Borelean had tried to heal Asheron’s wound using what little life magic he had been taught. It was to no avail. Asheron was dying, and Dereth with him.
Rithwic was silent, save for the peddlers who mostly wept and wondered when Gaerlan’s forces would return. Worse, they pondered where this Harbinger would rise, what it was, and how they would stand against it.
Gaerlan had proven to be unstoppable. His armies had swept across Osteth into the civilized towns and laid siege without effort. Now they held nearly every city across Dereth in an ever-tightening grasp. For every elemental that fell to the blades of the Isparians, another would rise, followed by its brethren. Gaerlan had proven that he was immune to the barriers Nuhmudira had created to shield the Isparians from the Empyrean, so even the sanctity and safety of being within one’s home had become unsure.
In mansions maintained by the richest and most powerful nobles, panicked voices rose to question Gaerlan’s intent. “Is he bringing back the Hopeslayer?”“Is it Bael’Zharon?”“The master Lady Aerfalle speaks of?” All these questions and so few answers. In a time before, his mother had stood by the side of many of these men and women and brought down a Shadow Spire outside Cragstone. Those days were now forgotten. Some muttered now that High Queen Elysa Strathelar was a corrupt noble who had secured her position through her friendship with Asheron. Regicide was never far from their minds. Borelean was young, but he was quickly losing his innocence about the world and the people who would one day be his subjects.
During his mother’s council meetings, he had listened to the councilors and watched the proceedings through a crack in the door. He knew that his mother was the strongest-willed person on this world, and though at times she was overprotective of him, her first duty was the safety of her people. Now, however, she knew that they faced a foe against whom they had no hope–none without Asheron. The Isparians truly were fledglings on this world. The magic at Gaerlan and Asheron’s command was advanced far beyond anything any of them understood. That is, any except Martine.
Borelean remembered when Bael’Zharon had first come to Dereth, how his mother had warned him that she was going to face grave danger and that he needed to be brave for her. He had not understood what she’d meant, until now.
He passed the beleaguered Lugian Emissary speaking to a passer-by. “Have you heard anything about Linvak Tukal? Timaru?” the gray giant asked in a deep gruff voice. The passer-by shook her head and moved on into the night.
Borelean stopped and looked at the Lugian as the first drop of rain fell from the sky. “Linvak Tukal? Are you worried that your home is in danger too?” he asked.
The gray giant kneeled to speak to him. “Of course I am, little boy. Whoever this man is, he will not stop with your race. He does not mean to stop with any of us. He will fight until we are all gone.” The Lugian managed a smile and stood upright once more. Borelean gazed up at the hulking mass of the Lugian for a long moment, then sprinted toward the portal as the rain intensified.
The tunnels were easy to navigate. He wasn’t the only child among those who milled within, so he easily made his way through the crowd without being noticed. He followed the passage upward and looked in on the throne room where Martine sat. Creeping silently across the floor and past the two slumbering forms outside, he pulled himself through a window and looked at the man.
“Why did you try to kill Uncle Asheron?” he asked without fear.
The man’s head, devoid of skin, twisted unnaturally as the masked face seemed to regard him.
“He’s not dead. Not yet. You can make things right.”
Borelean’s words were met with silence.
“It is not possible!” Gaerlan fumed. “I followed the rituals perfectly as they were laid out in the book! How could she have been freed? There is no way. . .”
His ice blue eyes looked out over the horizon. Below him, off at a great distance, he could see the Crater Lake. “Vermin! Freeing a murderer, a seeker of Falatacot ways! A Blood Witch! You are not worthy!” He gripped the hilt at his waist and let out a low growl. “Soon Iasparailaun, soon.”
He tapped the hilt and turned toward the tower. Wind rushed over the edge of the battlements and coalesced into a tangible being.
“Master. We are prepared.”The voice slipped into his mind. Concentrating for a long moment, he saw what his army saw. Each stood ready for the final assault.
Although he still commanded the forces of the elements, the Harbinger could not be summoned without a physical form to contain its power. Undoubtedly the small minds of these Isparians were oblivious to his failing, and the occupation of Osteth would crush their wills and secure his victory. Nevertheless, he needed to act quickly. The vermin must not be given any chance to take advantage of this setback. One example had already been made, and as long as the wreckage smoldered, etched in their memory, he had an advantage over the Isparians. Still, the Harbinger was coming. Unless he stopped it, it would consume everything.
He still had time. Not much, but enough.
“The Lugians delivered the armor to us as promised. But when the storehouses were raided, we lost every last piece. We have had very little luck ascertaining the whereabouts of anything that was taken.”
Ciandra paused and looked across the room, then swallowed hard before she continued.
“We also lost the amulets, all of them. We sent citizens to collect them, but all that have been retrieved are ruined. High Queen Elysa has been more than helpful, her Royal Guard have assisted us at every turn.
“Asheron came to us a few months ago. . .” Ciandra stopped short as her guest lifted a quizzical brow, a lattice of wrinkles joining together in a spider web across her forehead.
Ciandra cleared her throat, then continued. “His assistance proved invaluable in much of our research. We have created a new kind of device, as instructed, that will allow weapons and wands to bite deeper against a chosen entity. Thus far we have only succeeded in altering the focus to deal with the elemental menace, but we continue our research to increase the spectrum of creatures that such items will affect.”
Her guest reached forward and collected a ceramic mug from the table. Carefully, Ciandra lifted the teapot and filled the mug.
“We have also made great strides in tinkering as well. Everything has continued to fall into place.” Ciandra paused. “Nuhmudira?”
Her guest sipped the tea gently.
“How did you escape?”
“There are more important things to attend to than the how of my escape.” Nuhmudira smiled, and placed the mug on the table with a gentle clink. “Please tell me more. . .”
Ciandra obliged as the night slowly gave way to the dawn.
Antius drank from his waterskin. Timaru was fast becoming a second home to him, though Lytelthorpe was only a few portal trips away. He had been upon Marae Lassel since the High Queen had asked that he watch the comings and goings from Martine’s Holding some months before, and he had come to appreciate the free spirit of Timaru. He stayed with the Aun Tumeroks from time to time and listened to the wisdom imparted by Aun Hareltah. He had found them to be an intricate people with a rich heritage far more in tune with the spirits of the world than the Isparians’.
News of recent events on Dereth had reached Aun Hareltah and had disturbed the quiet of the Timaru Xuta. The disquiet was grave enough to call the Shamans from their drumming circles. As Antius watched the discussion being held in the lodge, he wondered what could possibly be so important as to call them from the Menhir Rings. After a few hours, Hareltah emerged from the tent and walked in a slow gait toward Antius.
“The Spirits within the world weep, but their tears are drying quickly,” Aun Hareltah said. A look of concern passed over the elder’s face. “Our duty is to protect Palenqual from Wharu, Ispar Antiusnua, yet the spirits of the land have spoken to us. You will be needed soon by your Xuta. There is a great force coming, one that will lead to the eradication of all that lives and dies. Even Wharu’s children cannot face down this thing.”
Antius looked at the Elder quizzically, then nodded. Magic had fluctuated and not for the better. Everything had changed in the wink of an eye, and though it was possible to adapt, it was nevertheless something that had not been expected.
“Before your people came among us, one like you, but touched by Atua Ngamaru, spoke of a powerful Pale One who had not left with the others. He called that one Asheron. You must seek him. He is needed for this world to survive.” The Elder placed his hand upon Antius’ shoulder and bowed his head gently. Antius repeated the gesture, pondering what Hareltah had said. As the Elder turned back to the tent, Antius withdrew a sapphire orb from his pouch and muttered the words that would take him to High Queen Elysa’s castle.
He arrived to find the castle in utter ruin.
“The same happened in Yanshi.” A voice called behind him. A man in the yellow and red robes of the royal guard stood at attention, looking at him as though he knew him.
“Antius Blackmoor, yes?” Antius nodded. “The High Queen has a new request of you. Please follow me.”
The fever tugged at him again. Elysa pressed the cloth against his burning brow and spoke to him as she had for nearly two months now.
“Do you remember when you told me that you had made a difficult decision, Asheron?” She smiled as she dipped the cloth into the basin. “I know what you meant, and I’ll be damned if you made that choice just to leave us. So you need to fight. We need you. Gaerlan is growing stronger by the day.”
A tiny voice sounded from behind her, distant, almost unreal.
“Mother. . .” She turned and saw Borelean.
In one fluid motion, her left hand grasped the bow as her right hand slipped an arrow from beneath Asheron’s bed. She had nocked and aimed the arrow by the time she was standing. Her eyes were fixed on the eyeholes of the mask of the man standing behind her son. Beneath them, she could see a glint of white, of something not quite human, not quite Virindi. A chill ran down her spine. It was Martine.
“Hello, Elysa.”
An uneasy peace had settled over the town since the final defeat of the Elemental Generals and the appearance of the portal to Gaerlan’s Sanctum. Accounts from those daring enough to enter said the halls of the sanctum echoed with incantations. Strangely, although these brave souls said they heard the words of the spells in another language, the words’ meanings appeared in their minds. Gaerlan seemed to be calling the elemental forces together into one form. Considering his contempt for Derethians, all knew this didn’t bode well for them. However, Gaerlan’s efforts seemed to have been stymied by the loss of his “vessel,” the missing Nuhmudira that he had been planning to use to contain the Elemental force. It was hoped that this obstacle would prevent Gaerlan from completing his work. In spite of that, it appeared now that he had pushed forward, with cataclysmic results for Yanshi.
It began with an earth-shattering explosion violently shaking the people of Yanshi from their beds. Pure mana exploded up from the earth below Yanshi, igniting the buildings of the town and sending the residents fleeing. Those that couldn’t escape were killed in the explosions, but the Lifestones resurrected all–save one. The Jeweler Xao Wu never appeared. The survivors were stunned, for only a few had truly died a violent death since Asheron had perfected the Lifestones. The question was muttered among them: had Gaerlan found a means of breaking their connection to the Lifestones?
Yet the desperate times have brought boons to mages and warrior alike. The Arcanum’s continued research into Empyrean transmutation techniques has resulted in new abilities for Tinkers. Now that they can imbue weapons and wands with abilities unseen before, Tinkers know they will be getting little sleep in the days to come. At the same time, the world’s magical fields continue to shift, giving war mages new spells and increased power. After suffering from the effects of Gaerlan’s tampering for months, these new abilities are a welcome change.
Along with all of this, tales are being told though that Martine has shaken off his stupor, and that the people of Dereth, coupled with the visit of young Prince Borelean, were responsible for helping him. As fantastic as these tales sound, more surprising events have happened. All that the people of Dereth can do is prepare themselves for the battles that are sure to come.
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