As they approached Brue Village the next morning, they could see plumes of a grey smoke billowing into the air. Marta gasped.
“Let’s hurry,” Markas said. The other quickly picked up the pace.
They could see a young man staggering towards them. His clothes were torn and his face bruised.
“Marta!” he cried and then sunk to his knees as the approached him.
“Henri!” Marta cried as she rushed forward and threw her arms around him, “What happened?”
“Must hurry,” he gasped, “Raiders…the village…everyone is locked in the inn…I escaped…the fortuneteller…he…he…”
Henri’s eyes rolled back and his body went slack. Marta shrieked. Markas ran over and used his holy symbol to heal Henri. Henri’s eyes rolled back and he groggily shook his head.
“Stay here with him,” Markas said to Marta as he stood up. He mounted Kirin and started toward the village. Emily and Ian quickly followed, but Jonathan paused.
“Perhaps, I should stay…” he began.
“You’re coming,” Markas cut him off tersely. Jonathan quickly followed.
“Stop!” yelled Markas.
The thirty or so raiders stopped, stared at Markas for a second, and then dropped whatever they were carrying, pulled out their weapons and charged towards the small group.
“Crap,” Ian muttered, sword ready.
Instinctively, Emily reached into her pouch and pulled out a handful of fine, silvery threads and slammed them into the ground.
“Impedementia!”
Fluffy, silvery webbing floated up from the ground underneath the raiders’ feet. The silvery tendrils that made up the web began to wrap themselves around the raiders’ legs. As they tried to free themselves, they only became more and more entangled in the webbing. Some tried to hack at it, but their weapons and arms became entangled as well.
“Good job,” Ian said to Emily, then turned to help Markas handle the eight or so who had managed to avoid Emily’s spell.
Emily felt a small surge of pride but she didn’t dwell on it, instead casting ghost arrows to help Markas and Ian. She glanced over at Jonathan expecting him to be shooting his own real arrows, but he just stood there, mouth open.
“Jonathan!” she yelled.
“Oh…sorry,” he said his face pale white. He reached for his bow and started shooting arrows, though he seemed to be hitting few of his marks.
*****
Ian and his sword were one as he finished off another raider. He turned around to see Markas on Kirin chasing the remaining few down He was about to go help Markas when he heard a voice boom behind him.
“What’s going on here?”
Ian turned around and saw him, kobold at his side.
Krumar.
Ian charged and quickly as he could and with one blow knocked the kobold as hard as he could. The kobold went flying and Krumar, still surprised by the attack, let go of the chain.
“Emily!” Ian cried, “Keep that kobold busy. Krumar is mine!”
Ian faced the large man. Krumar smiled and grabbed his sword.
“Am I supposed to be afraid of you?” he grinned.
“Yes,” Ian replied and charged at Krumar.
Krumar was ready and tried to parry Ian’s sword but Ian broke through Krumar’s defense and elegantly turned around and landed his blow.
“Hmm,” Krumar said as he swung at Ian, “You’re better than you look.”
Ian parried the blow, “I have a few questions for you. Surrender now and I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt too much.”
“Ha ha. So confident. I like that, makes it so much more fun when I gut you.”
“Well, then I’m sorry to disappoint you, but,” Ian smiled and in one swift move, he disarmed Krumar, sending the large man’s sword flying. Ian pointed his own sword squarely at the large man’s chest.
“Now, like I said, I have some questions for you. If you surrender now, I promise I won’t make this hurt too much.”
*****
Emily cheered silently inside. The raiders had been subdued. She took the extra step of casting a sleep spell on those who had been entangled in her impednmentia spell. Markas and Ian had taken down the few who had managed to avoid the web. She had frozen the little kobold. And now Ian had defeated the leader of the raiders, Krumar. The only one they had to find was the fortuneteller.
Just then, a sinister laughter echoed through the village square. An elf dressed in ornate black scholar robes materialized behind Krumar. He tossed his long, golden blonde hair back carelessly as he continued to laugh.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” he said, turning to Ian, “Krumar still has his uses.”
The elf extended one of his long, slender fingers and tapped Krumar on the shoulder, causing him to suddenly disappear.
“No!” Ian screamed, “Bring him back!”
The elf raised his hand and a large blast of red energy threw Ian back several feet.
“Ian!” Emily and Markas yelled as they ran over to him. As they approached, Ian groggily stood up.
“He’s fine,” the elf drawled, “I didn’t kill him. I still might, but I haven’t yet.”
“Who are you?” Markas demanded.
“A Golden Gryphon?” the elf said, amused, “Now I was pretty certain that I had wiped you all out.”
“What?” Markas replied.
“Fool. It was my army of undead that destroyed the Golden Gryphons. I was certain that I had killed you to the man.”
“Well, you didn’t,” Markas said, gritting his teeth, “I’m still here.”
“Hmmm,” the elf mused, “Well, we’ll see how much longer I allow that. I am curious how you survived. What’s your name?”
“Sir Markas Tau.”
“Well, Sir Tau, how did you survive? If I had to guess, I’d say you’d have to be a bit of a coward. Is that it? Did you go and hide while my army annihilated your comrades?”
“No,” Markas growled, “And if you call me a coward again, I suggest you be ready to defend yourself.”
The elf laughed. He laughed so hard he doubled over. Markas brandished his axe and started to step forward, but Emily grabbed his arm.
“What?” Markas said, “Someone has to stop this fool.”
“That fool is casting spells without verbalization,” Emily whispered, “It takes a very advanced degree of magic to do that. There are maybe three, four wizards in all of Carsonia who can do that.”
Markas lowered his axe and whispered, “What do we do then?”
“I don’t know,” Emily whispered back.
The elf finished laughing and looked up. His silvery blue eyes fell on Emily. Emily felt as if her heart had suddenly turned to ice.
“Who are you?” the elf said, slowly.
“Emily Rosewood,” Emily replied, just as slowly, unsure what the elf was up to.
“Rosewood,” the name dripped off his tongue. He looked her over once more, “A scholar, I see. And judging by your age, maybe out of university, what a year?”
“No,” Emily replied, feeling a resolve she didn’t know she had in her.
“No? Then how long?” the elf quizzed her.
“I did not attend university. I have been apprenticed to Ivanus Arcanus of the Tower of Secrets since I was an infant,” Emily replied. Every scholar worth his spellbook knew who her uncle was. She hated to rely on his name but maybe if she could bluff him, make him think she was more powerful than she was, maybe she could buy them a little time. She knew why she went cold when he looked at her, at her friends. He meant to kill them, there was no reason why he wouldn’t. He was just toying with them. She could see it in those cold, cold eyes.
“Interesting,” the elf mused, “The resemblance is remarkable. Who are your parents?”
“I’m an orphan,” Emily replied, her stomach turning, “I told you that Ivanus has raised me since I was an infant.”
“Hmmm,” the elf said, taking a step closer to Emily, his eyes suddenly gleeming, “You have very beautiful eyes. The green in them, it’s very unique. I’ve not seen eyes that sparkle like that in some time. They make me feel like I know you already.”
“Yes, but we still don’t know who you are,” Ian interrupted, clutching his side.
The elf bowed, “I am Darklore, Lord of Decadris. And since Sir Markas and Miss Emily have been good enough to introduce themselves, who are you?”
“Ian.”
“Just Ian?” Darklore asked, smiling.
“Yes.”
“How appropriate,” Darklore replied, “No name for a nobody.”
“Nobody or not, you terrorized this village and helped a known criminal escape,” Ian said, up righting himself and lifting his sword, “You have a lot to answer for.”
Darklore laughed again. His laugh was cold, hard, and sharp. A chill ran up Emily’s spine.
“My, my. You are just as amusing as Sir Markas,” Darklore finally said.
Ian and Markas readied their weapons. Emily had a spell ready, her fingers ready to trace the sigil. But her spell wasn’t for Darklore. It was shield that would hopefully protect Ian and Markas if they had to fight. But even then, Emily wasn’t sure how effective it would be. Darklore was powerful; she could practically feel the magical energy emanating from him and it was beginning to make her feel a little dizzy.
“And where are you going?” Darklore said suddenly, turning to Jonathan who had been backing away, “That’s very rude. You haven’t even introduced yourself yet.”
“Jon..Jonathan…Silver..r..r..th..thorn,” he stammered.
“A dirty half-human,” Darklore sneered, “Well, the others have given me reasons not to kill them on the spot. I offer you the same chance.”
“Emily’s…a…a half-elf too,” Jonathan faltered.
Darklore grinned, “Yes, I suppose technically she is. But she is a far better quality one than you. Pathetic. Death, I guess then…”
A large silver ball or energy appeared in Darklore’s hand.
“No!” Emily cried out.
“No?” Darklore paused, looking at Emily, “He really is pathetic and I so feel the need to kill something. I’ve really been showing quite some restraint. Why shouldn’t I relieve the world of this waste of space?”
“Because he is our friend,” Emily said, her whole body shaking, “If you try to harm him, we will be forced to fight you.”
“I could kill you all,” Darklore said, smiling sinisterly.
“You might have to if you try to kill Jonathan. We could not just stand by and let you kill him,” Emily replied bracing herself.
Darklore stared at her intently. Emily could feel his gaze trying to intimidate her, to break her. Finally, he smiled a sort of queer smile that was not threatening but not warm either. There was a smugness about it Emily couldn’t place.
“Very well, m’lady,” he said, bowing to Emily, “I’m afraid your eyes have me enchanted. I cannot harm you, so I suppose I cannot harm your ‘friends’ either.”
Emily sighed. He wouldn’t kill them; she saw it in his eyes. Something about her, he didn’t want her dead. She didn’t understand why, but she still got a sick feeling in her stomach as he looked at her.
“Well, my dear,” he continued, “I would like to stay and chat some more but I have quite a busy schedule. My army is about to lay waste to the Temple of Sylva. And of course I want to stop by and have a chat with Ivanus. I haven’t spoke with him in ages. And I should probably destroy this village before I go. It’s served its purpose.”
As the last words left his lips, Darklore’s skin began to melt. Quickly, it fell off in large fleshy lumps to reveal an ebony skeleton. He held up his skeletal hands and a sphere of glowing green energy began to form between his hands.
“I must be going my dear,” he said turning to Emily, “You and your ‘friends’ might want to start running before this hits the ground.”
And with that, Darklore vanished. Emily quickly ran forward and caught the ball of energy incasing it in a silvery sphere of her own.
“Hurry…warn the temple…evacuate the village…” she said, straining to contain the spell.
“Emily?” Ian asked.
“Please…I won’t be able to hold it very long.”
“Jonathan, come with me,” Markas said, mounting Kirin, “Ian, you evacuate the village.”
*****
Markas felt Jonathan squirm behind him. He had never flown with someone else and he knew that Jonathan’s weight was probably slowing Kirin down, but he didn’t want to leave Jonathan and Ian alone together if he could help it.
They quickly soared over the quiet forest below, quickly approaching the temple. They landed and Markas jumped off Kirin and ran inside. Standing in the temple’s main chamber was a solitary druid.
“You there,” Markas called out, “Where is everyone? You’re all in great danger. You must leave.”
“I am sorry visitor,” she said softly, “But I am the only one who is available to help you. The conclave has begun and may not be disturbed.”
“An army of undead is heading for this temple,” Markas said, “You all have to evacuate.”
“We can’t,” the young druid pleaded, “We are in conclave.”
“Look, you don’t have to interrupt the whole conclave, just Silnas. Tell him Emily’s friend Markas is here. Tell him what I said about the army of undead.”
The druid paused as if she was about to say something then nodded and ran off. A few second later she returned followed by Silnas.
“Sir Markas, I hope this is not your idea of joke,” he said.
“I’m afraid not. An evil lich by the name Darklore has raised an army of undead. It’s the same army that wiped out the Golden Gryphons. It’s on its way here. You have to evacuate.”
“I’m afraid we can’t,” Silnas said, “The druids of Sylva are sworn to protect this forest. If such an army approaches, we will have to stay and defend the forest and this temple.”
Markas sighed. He looked around at the plant walls and wondered how they could be defended.
“Thank you, Sir Markas, for your warning,” Silnas continued, “You should get going before the army arrives.”
Jonathan turned to leave, but Markas grabbed his arm, “We’re staying. You’ll need all the help you can get.”
“Thank you,” Silnas said, “Follow me.”
They followed Silnas out to a large open air amphitheater filled with hundreds of druids who began to whisper as they entered. They walked down to the stage where a beautiful elf with pale green skin stood.
“Silnas, what is the meaning of this?” she asked, “What has happened that would require interrupting the conclave?”
“My lady Oleria,” he said, “Sir Markas brings news of an army of undead that heads toward the Temple of Sylva as we speak.”
“An army? Is this the great disturbance we have felt? How is this possible?”
“My lady,” Markas said stepping forward, “It is possible. This army has already annihilated the Golden Gryphons. It may arrive at any moment. I would advise that you all evacuate, but Silnas has told me you are sworn to defend the temple.”
“Yes, good sir knight,” Oleria replied, “We are. We shall defend her to the very last.”
“My lady,” Silnas said, “If Sir Markas is correct, it may be prudent to send the neophytes away.”
“Yes, it will be,” she replied, “But the rest of us will be required. The Archers and the Guard shall assemble in front of the temple to face this challenge when it comes. The rest of us shall see to reinforcing the walls of the main chambers in order to protect the temple. The neophytes will go to Brue Village.”
“My lady, I’ve just come from Brue Village. It has been attacked by raiders and the lich who leads this army, Darklore, left powerful magic to destroy the village. Send them to Carsonia. There they can get word to other officials of other temples of what has happened. Furthermore, it would be futile for your guard to take Darklore’s army head on.”
“Well, then what do you suggest, Sir Markas?” Oleria asked.
“Is it possible to get to the roof of the temple?”
“The temple is a living, breathing entity. We can shape it into whatever we need. We can make stairs to the roof if need be.”
“Then reinforce the main chamber as much as possible. Have your guard and archers on the roof with myself and Jonathan here. I will create a beacon of my god. This will weaken the undead. Then we will barrage them with arrows and whatever druidic powers you have available. The beacon will only last a few minutes but, hopefully, that will be adequate. If we can hold out long enough, perhaps we can get reinforcements from Carsonia.”
“Very well Sir Markas,” Oleria replied, “I will take your council in this matter and ask you along with Silnas to lead our forces. You all have heard the plan. Archers and Guard of the Seer, prepare for battle. Neophytes, prepare to make haste to Carsonia. The rest of you follow me into the temple. We have much work to do.”
*****
Ian watched as Markas and Jonathan flew off. He looked over at Emily. Her skin was very pale and large drops of sweat were beginning to drop of her forehead.
“How long can you hold that?” he asked.
“Twenty minutes…maybe thirty,” she said through gritted teeth.
Ian looked around and saw Marta and Henri walk into the village. He ran over to them.
“Quickly! Your village is in danger. We need to evacuate everyone as quickly as possible.”
“A merchant ship stopped in the docks yesterday to re-supply,” Henri said.
“Perfect,” Ian said as he started to run over to the inn. He cleared the debris away from the front of the door and threw it open. The villagers cheered but Ian quickly tried to quiet them.
“You are still in grave danger. There is a spell that will destroy your village. Right now, my scholar friend is keeping the spell from happening, but she won’t be able to do it very long. You all must hurry to the merchant boat at the docks.”
“Where should we go?” one man asked.
“Go to Carsonia,” Ian said, “And report to the Captain of the Guard what happened here. Now hurry!”
Ian watched as the people of Brue village as they rushed down to docks. He had to stop a few who wanted to run back and get some possession. But otherwise it went very smoothly. As the boat was preparing to leave, Ian saw Henri walk towards him with three horses.
“I don’t think they’ll be room for those on board,” Ian said.
“They’re not for us, they’re for you. Miss Rosewood and yourself will also need to make a quick retreat,” Henri said, handing him the reigns, “The third one is for your other companion. Marta wanted to make sure we repay you all in some way.”
“Thank you,” Ian said, “But we didn’t do anything. We couldn’t save your village.”
“You saved our lives,” Henri said.
“I’m just sorry we couldn’t do more,” Ian replied, “You better hurry. I’m not sure how much longer Emily can hold out.”
“Farewell, then,” Henri said as he ran out to the boat.
“Farwell. Take care of Marta,” Ian called out.
He turned back to the square. Emily was ghostly white now, soaked in sweat, her entire body shaking.
“Emily, can you mount this horse?”
“Not…without….putting….this down…”
Ian reached down and carefully picked her up. Her body quivered violently in his arms but he managed to get her up on her horse. He then mounted his own horse.
“On the count of three let go of the spell. Then ride like mad to get out of here. Ready?”
Emily nodded her head.
“One, two, three,” Ian counted. On three, Emily dropped the spell. Neither of them paused to watch it hit the ground. Instead Ian urged his horse into a fierce gallop and could hear Emily doing the same. He held his breath until he heard a large explosion. Suddenly, there was an intense heat coming from behind him. It grew warmer and warmer, until a large force slammed into his back.
As he tumbled from his horse, Ian looked around.
Damn, where is Emily?
*****
Markas stood atop the Temple of Sylva. He could not quite see over the canopy of the trees, so he could not see if the army approached. His instinct was to jump on Kirin and scout out to see if he could locate the army. However, he fought that instinct—he was not prepared to loose another sacred place because he was out patrolling.
He looked around at the Archers and the Guards of Sylva. Neither group were actually soldiers, none of them had been trained for battle. He looked around at their anxious faces and could sympathize. He, at least, had been trained for this. He had his training he could fall back on; he could use to stabilize himself as they waited. The Archers, however, had been trained as elite hunters. They usually worked alone, hunting down a single abomination that might wander into the forests’ protected boundaries. The Guard of the Seer was a select few druids who had been trained to use the awesome powers of nature in combat. Their main job was to protect the Seer, sometimes running her errands in the world at large. Neither group had any training in large scale war or battle tactics. Their fear was palatable, though they all did their best to hide it.
Markas turned towards them and said, “Remember, wait for me to release my beacon. That will be your signal. The beacon will weaken them greatly and make your own attacks more effective.”
Several of them nodded mutely in reply.
“Yes,” Silnas said, stepping next to Markas, “Follow Sir Markas’s plan. Remember, you have been trained to fight undead. I know it was not an army of undead, but still, you know their weak points. Use your training. And remember, you fight for our great mother, Sylva. She is with you now—in the trees that surround you, in the air you breathe, in the sunlight that beats down on your skin. Feel her. Harness her power. She will be with you when you go into battle. Blessed Sylva!”
“Blessed Sylva!” the Archers and the Guard cried in return.
“You aren’t a rank and file druid, are you?” Markas asked as he turned to face Silnas.
“No,” Silnas said, “I am an elder. One of five who oversee all the druids of Sylva.”
“How come you didn’t tell us this? Emily didn’t even know, did she? And I assume she’s known you for quite some time.”
“Amongst the druids, my rank has little meaning other than the extra responsibilities I assume. I am of the same importance as the newest neophyte. We all serve Sylva. We all do our duty to the best of our ability.”
“I understand.”
“I thought you would,” Silnas said smiling, “You are…”
But Silnas stopped, his eyes growing large.
“What’s wrong?” Markas asked.
“The forest is silent.”
Markas listened. It was silent—no birds, no crickets, no leaves, no wind. The vacuum of noise unsettled him.
Then he heard it. It started out as a light whooshing noise. Then grinding and clanking noises followed. Then he heard the noise he had been dreading—the low, murmuring moans of the undead.
“Ready!” Markas shouted, “They come!”
As the noise approached, it grew louder and louder, like a large wave. The wave crashed and suddenly the undead army came swarming through the trees.
“Wait for the beacon!” he shouted.
Zombies with their rotting flesh, skeletal warriors clad in rusty armor, animated corpses—they all came oozing out between the trees as if they were one large mass of decay. Markas looked over at Jonathan who had turned a sickly shade of green.
“Don’t worry,” Markas said, smiling, “You get used to the smell.”
That really didn’t seem to comfort Jonathan any, but Markas had more important things to worry about. The undead were almost at the temple wall. He placed his hand on his holy symbol, raised his other hand into the air, and cried out, “By Torus’ will I denounce you, foul creatures of Decadris!”
A bright gold light appeared above the army causing them to crouch and shriek in agony.
“Now!” Silnas yelled.
The druids let forth a torrent of arrows and nature. Fire fell from the skies. Lightening crackled into the army below. The air was so thick with arrows that a fly couldn’t have flown between them. When they were done, piles of undead lay at the base of the temple. A cheer went up from a few of the druids, but quickly faded as they watched more undead surround the temple, completely covering the mass of fallen corpses. Quickly, they began tearing and slashing at the temples living walls.
“Again!” Markas shouted. The druids began their assault again. Even though they were taking many down, more would just pour through the trees to take their place.
“Quickly, downstairs!” Silans called, “They will break through any minute!”
Everyone rushed down to main temple chamber where they joined the other druids who were concentrating their energy into maintaining the temple walls. Around them, they could hear crack after crack as the undead relentlessly continued to tear at the temple walls. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for what seemed to be inevitable.
“Children of Sylva,” Oleria said as she stepped into the center of the room, breaking the silence.
“My lady,” Silnas said, interrupting her, “You must go hide. You must protect yourself.”
“No Silnas,” Oleria said gently, “This is the sacred temple of Sylva, my mother and goddess. I, like any other of her faithful, will defend it to the last. For the great mother!”
“For the great mother!” the other druids cried.
The cracking grew louder and louder. One by one, undead soldiers began to poke through holes in the walls. The druids would attack them and try to patch the hole. But the undead were like water behind a dam, going to break through at any second.
Was this what is what like at the citadel before it fell? Markas thought, Were my comrades inside, waiting for their last battle? Is this my last battle?
Suddenly, large holes broke open on three sides of the temple and the undead came massing through.
Whatever your will, Torus.
“For the Glory of Torus and the honor of the Golden Gryphons!” Markas shouted as he charged at the undead, battle axe raised.
*****
Ian stood up. He hadn’t been harmed in the blast. His horse was standing nearby and next to it was the other horse and Emily’s horse with Emily slumped on top.
“Emily! Emily, are you ok?” Ian shouted as he ran over.
Groggily, Emily sat up.
“Yes, I think so,” she said weakly, “The villagers got away?”
“Yes,” Ian said, as he helped down off her horse, “The villagers escaped by boat.”
“Good. I’m sorry I couldn’t dispel that magic,” Emily said, “It took everything I had to contain it as long as I did.”
“Don’t worry,” Ian said as unrolled his bed roll, “You saved those peoples lives. If it weren’t for you, we may have never even gone there. Now get some rest.”
“But the temple…Markas…” Emily said wearily, “We need to…we have to go help them.”
“We will,” Ian said as he lifted Emily off her horse and set her on the bedroll, “But you’re in no condition for another battle. We have horses so we can get there rather quickly. So rest.”
“You should at least go,” Emily said as she collapsed on the bedroll, “You aren’t tired.”
“I can’t leave you here defenseless,” Ian said as he sat next to the bed roll, “Now rest. The sooner you rest, the sooner we can be on our way.”
“I’m sorry,” Emily said as drifted off to sleep, “I’m sorry I’m so weak.”
“You are probably one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” Ian whispered as Emily drifted into unconsciousness. He grabbed his flask and took a sip.
*****
Pain seared through all of Markas’s body. His axe felt so heavy, but if he put it down, if he stopped, he was certainly dead. The undead continued to swarm around him. He couldn’t see anyone else—Oleria, Jonathan, Silnas, or even Kirin.
I can’t stop now. If this temple falls, Darklore will push his army on—on to Carsonia, to Argenault. It must end here.
A surge of skeletons and zombies knocked him down. He tried to get up but they were covering him, holding him down. This was it.
Torus, I seek your mercy. Do not let me become one of them.
As he awaited that final blow, he thought he heard a trumpet sound.
“By the Shining Light, I banish thee retched creatures,” a strong voice bellowed.
A sparkling light filled what was left of the temple. The zombies and skeletons shriked and writhed on the floor. Markas stood up and saw a knight on a large grey horse.
“Hurry!” the knight called, “While they are weakened!”
Markas looked around and saw about thirty knights and several elven soldiers, as well as many of the druids. Quickly, he took up his axe and began dispatching the undead. With the new reinforcements help, they began to drive back the army of undead. They would have completely wiped them out but, as if listening to an unheard voice, the undead retreated back into the forest as quickly as they had attacked.
As the knights prepared to chase down the remaining undead, Markas saw Kirin who was about to go along for the chase. He whistled and Kirin turned her head and bounded towards him. She cawed loudly and nuzzled him with her beak.
“Yes girl, I’m glad to see you too,” he said as he patted her side, “But we still have work to do.”
Markas mounted Kirin and was about to ride off and join the other knights when the knight on the grey horse rode over.
“Sir Markas Tau?”
“Yes?” Markas replied, puzzled.
The knight removed his ornate helmet. He had a strong face and flawless dark skin. Only the grey at his temples and depth of his brown eyes revealed that he was probably a lot older than Markas.
“I am Sir Crispin Tiberius of the Order of the Shinning Light. I was afraid I was going to miss you when I left to come here, but it seems that the gods have brought us together anyway.”
“Yes, sir,” Markas replied, “I was on my way to Argenault when I received a request for help from Brue Village.”
“I see,” Sir Tiberius responded, “Well, let’s hurry and finish up with these blighted. We have much to talk about. Very much to talk about.”
“Well, what was I supposed to do? Drag your unconscious body back to the temple of Sylva?” Ian asked, arms crossed.
“They might have needed our help.”
“I’m sure Markas got there in time and they were able to evacuate the temple before the army even arrived,” Ian said grabbing his bedroll from Emily and putting it on the back of his horse.
“You don’t know that for sure,” Emily said, mounting her horse.
“Look,” Ian said as he mounted his own horse, “If it had been just me I would have ridden straight through to the temple. But I had you and you were ghost white and barely conscious. It would have been foolish on my part to drag you in that condition into a potential battle.”
Emily looked as if she were going to say something but stopped.
“Fine,” she finally said, “Let’s just get going.”
They rode on in silence. Ian kept trying to convince himself that he was right, that Markas got there in time and warned the temple. After an hour, he had himself convinced that not only had Markas got there in time, but if he and Emily had pressed on as she wanted that they would have come across nothing but an army of undead. By the end of two hours he was convinced that Emily was just ungrateful, that he had saved her life twice now—once from the blast at Brue Village and once by not going into the army of undead.
As they continued along in silence, Ian wondered if they should continue to the temple as the undead army still might be there. It was growing dark and the undead would be more powerful in the dark. And the two of them were hardly a match for an army of undead.
“Look, up ahead,” Emily whispered, breaking his train of thought.
Ian looked ahead and saw several lights. As the soft blue orbs came closer, Ian could make out several draped figures, many of whom were carrying torches lit with the same magical blue light he had seen at the temple. Six of the figures carried a stretcher of some kind. Walking next to the stretcher was translucent greenish figure of an elf woman.
“Oleria,” Emily gasped. She jumped off her horse and ran over to the ghostly figure.
“Oleria!”
Ian dismounted and quickly followed.
“Ah, my child,” the ghostly figure said, “It is good to see that you are safe.”
“Yes, but Oleria,” Emily said, clutching her arms, “What happened to you?”
“I fell in the battle to protect the Temple of Sylva,” Oleria said.
“Then Sir Markas didn’t make it in time?” Ian asked.
“Sir Tau did indeed arrive in time to warn us. Because of his bravery, the temple, though tattered, still stands.”
“You stayed, even after he warned you?” Ian asked.
“We sent the neophytes away as a precaution, but yes we stayed and fought. As the servants of Sylva, we are sworn to defend her sacred sites.”
“But Oleria, what happened? Are you?” Emily asked, hesitantly.
“Yes, my child. I have died. There was no Seer trained to take my place, so the Goddess binds my soul to this world until another Seer can be trained. Once there is one to take my place, I will be able to pass on in peace to the other side.”
“Oleria, I’m so sorry.”
“Do not worry, my child,” Oleria said, “I will be at peace with the Lady Sylva soon. Do not mourn me, for I have lived an honored life and had an honorable death in the service of my Goddess.”
With that Oleria turned away and the somber processional continued down the forest road. Emily and Ian stood in silence and watched them walk away.
“I’m sorry,” Ian said, finally breaking the silence.
“It’s all right,” Emily replied, “Oleria said not to mourn her. I barely knew her even.”
“Still,” Ian said, “You were right. We should have pushed on to the temple.”
“No, you were. I would have just made things worse,” Emily said and then turned to mount her horse, “Come on. We should probably meet up with Sir Markas and Jonathan.”
“Yes,” Ian said, as he mounted his own horse.
Once again I failed and once again, because of me, someone lost their life.
*****
The sky was turning orange and pink with the setting sun as Ian and Emily finally approached what remained of the Temple of Sylva. As they approached, a horrible smell overtook them. Ian watched as Emily quickly pulled out her handkerchief and covered her nose and mouth. Ian just did his best to hold his breath. As they entered the clearing where the temple had stood, Ian silently took in the devastation his hesitance had helped caused. All the outbuildings of the temple complex were gone, completely destroyed. The temple itself still stood, but barely. What had once been an intricate display of the druids’ magic was now a ragged pile of branches and sticks.
The ground was littered with rotting bodies and skeletons—the remains of the undead army. Several druids, elves, and knights were already in the process of cleaning up, finding the wounded and tending to them.
Knights?
There were at least forty knights around the battlefield. Ian looked at the insignia on their armor. These were knights from the Order of the Shining Light, the most prestigious order in all of Crolis, perhaps all the world. Ian, like every other young boy, had grown up hearing tales about their brave heroic deeds, dreaming that one day he might join them.
“There they are!” Emily suddenly cried, jumping off her horse and running towards five figures that were standing near the temple ruins. Ian dismounted his own horse and quickly followed.
“Thank goodness! You are all all right!” Emily said as she ran up and hugged Silnas, “I was so afraid. We ran into Oleria on the way here and I was so worried that you…”
“I know,” Silnas said, warmly returning Emily’s embrace, “I was very worried about you too. Thankfully, Sir Markas did arrive in time to warn us; otherwise I’m afraid none of us would have survived.”
“Of course,” Emily said, moving her hug to Markas who awkwardly hugged her back, “Thank goodness you’re all right too. I’m afraid I’ve caused you nothing but trouble since I asked you for help.”
“It’s my duty to protect others,” Markas said, “I didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done on my own. And I’m very glad to see that Ian and yourself survived as well. You managed to evacuate the village?”
“Yes,” Ian said, stepping forward, “Luckily, a merchant ship had stopped for supplies. I had the entire village board the ship and head for Carsonia.”
“Ahem,” Jonathan said, clearing his throat.
Emily let go of Markas and wrapped her arms around Jonathan who seemed to squeeze Emily too tight for Ian’s tastes.
“Of course I’m glad to see you too,” Emily said, “I was worried about everyone.”
“You need not have worried about me, fair Emily,” Jonathan said, “I would survive a hundred armies of undead just to see you again.”
Ian snorted.
“We had lucky break as well,” Markas said, as Emily stepped out of Jonathan’s embrace, “The Order of Shining Light and a regiment of Sylvari elves arrived in time to change the tide of the battle. Emily, Ian, this is Sir Crispin Tiberius, First Council of the Order of the Shining Light.”
“The..the Sir Tiberius?” Ian stuttered.
“It’s an honor,” Emily said, curtseying.
“The honor is mine, Miss Rosewood,” Sir Tiberius said, as he took Emily’s hand and kissed it. Emily cheeks turned a bright scarlet. He then turned towards Ian.
“And you must be the mysterious Ian,” he said.
“Yes sir,” Ian replied, bowing, “It is an honor to meet you.”
“And this,” Silnas said indicating a handsome elf with long brown hair, “Is Prince Nathienas of the Sylvari elves.”
“I must thank you all,” Prince Nathienas said stepping forward, “The Sylvari obviously place great importance on the Temple of Sylva. We are very luck that you all uncovered this plot, that Silnas managed to send word to our capital Del’oreintias, and that Sir Tiberius and his knights just happened to be visiting us at the time.”
He turned and bowed to each of them, ending with Emily whose hand he grabbed and kissed.
“Miss Rosewood, it is a honor to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you,” said in elven.
“You have?” Emily said, surprised, “But how?”
“Well, certainly it is because,” Nathienas started, but was suddenly interrupted by a glare from Silnas, “Well, Ivan is perhaps our most notable human resident. The ruling house of Del’oreintias tries to keep informed of the comings and goings of the Tower of Secrets.”
“Oh, of course,” Emily replied, a little flatly.
“Sir Tau has been filling me in on your journey so far,” Sir Tiberius interrupted the elven interlude, “Your encounter with Darklore is only the latest in a continuing trend of disturbing events. There is this army of undead of his that attacked the Golden Gryphons as well the temple. Dragons have been spotted everywhere. Silnas said that the Temple of Sylva have been facing increasing numbers of monsters in the Forests of Sanctuaries and Silence. The raiders have been relentless on all the main roads, making travel all but impossible for most. There are reports of hordes of Hellspawn to the north. Every underground guild seems to have increased their crime rate. Strange storms have spawned off all the coasts. And there have been strange sightings of ghosts from the borders of the Wastelands. The resources of the Shining Light have never been stretched so thin.”
“What does the king think?” Markas asked.
“The king thinks nothing of it,” Sir Tiberius replied, “He accuses the Order of trying to create a panic. He is in denial. So we have no help from the throne. Carsonia supports us, but will not move its own troops to help because it is afraid of retribution from the king.”
“What about St. Ridgestone?” Ian asked.
“The Knights of St. Ridgestone are at our side in this at least,” Sir Tiberius responded, “Many of my order had their origins there. However, whatever is happening is much larger. If our world is to survive, we must unite everyone. Not just humans, but the elves and dwarves too.”
“Well, after this you can count on the support of the Sylvari Elves. An attack on the Temple is the same as attacking them,” the prince said.
“Yes, but the Qualari to the east still keep their borders shut to us,” Sir Tiberius said.
“I cannot believe the king does not believe you,” Markas said.
“It is sometimes hard to see the larger picture,” Sir Tiberius said, “Especially, if that picture is not pleasing.”
“That’s what my uncle said before I left,” Emily said, “That things were happening but not too many people were putting the pieces together.”
“He did?” Sir Tiberius said turning to Emily, “Who is your uncle?”
“Ivanus Arcanus of the Tower of Secrets.”
“Ah” Tiberius said, “I should have realized that he at least would understand what’s going on.”
“Emily, your uncle!” Ian said, “Darklore said he was going there next!”
“That’s right, he did say he wanted to talk to him,” Emily replied calmly.
“Sir Tau,” Tiberius said, “I have your next mission. Travel to the Tower of Secrets as fast as you can. Miss Rosewood, I assume you will wish to accompany him?”
“Of course,” Emily said.
“Good,” Tiberius said, “Sir Tau, report back to me in Argenault when you are finished.”
“Yes, sir,” Markas replied, saluting. He then turned to Ian, “Well, I guess this is farewell.”
“How so?” Ian said. “Look, I have unfinished business with Krumar. And he is apparently working for Darklore. So it seems for now my best course of action is to continue to assist you and Emily.”
“If that’s what you wish,” Markas said, “I appreciate your assistance and will help track down this Krumar too in the process. Jonathan, are you staying behind?”
“Certainly not!” Jonathan piped up, “I will continue to offer my assistance to the fair Miss Emily in anyway that I can. Besides, the Tower of Secrets sounds like a most fascinating place.”
Ian scowled, but Markas ignored him and said, “Well, then lets make preparations and be off.”
*****
They set out within the hour. Markas felt more at home, riding on Kirin. They couldn’t fly, but since the others had the horses from Brue Village, he could at least ride her. He wasn’t sure why, but it was simply more reassuring to be sitting in her saddle.
The Forest of Sanctuaries was quiet and peaceful, much like the temple had been. That was strangest thing, the temple had been ruined but the surrounding forest was still perfectly intact. The same was true when it had attacked the citadel. They had come with no warning and left with no trace—a stealth army.
He pulled Kirin up along side Emily.
“Emily, I’ve been thinking,” he said, “You said Darklore is very powerful, right?”
“Yes.”
“Is he powerful enough to create an army of undead and teleport it around wherever he wants?”
“I don’t know that any one scholar is that powerful,” Emily said thoughtfully, “It would take a lot of Darklore’s energy just to control the army. I imagine that’s why he does not attack along with them. To create a portal big enough to transport an entire army would take an enormous amount of energy, just one way. Even he might find himself over-taxed from it and lose control of the army in the process.”
“Then how is he doing it? How is he moving his army without anyone noticing?”
“Hmmm…” Emily mused, “There are a couple of possibilities. The most obvious is that he has help. If he had other scholars to create the portals that would free him up to control his army.”
“Who in their right mind would help him?” Markas asked.
“There are many scholars who dwell in the darker arts, even thought its illegal. I’ve seen them come to the tower to do research,” Emily said in a hushed tone, “My uncle always said that once a scholar starts down that path, there is no turning back. The need for power becomes all consuming and they loose sight of the true nature of magic. To embrace the darkness with no light is the path to self-destruction.”
“Speaking of your uncle, aren’t you worried about him?”
“No,” Emily smiled, “I’ve only seen one scholar more powerful than Darklore and that is Uncle Ivan.”
“You think it’s possible that your uncle already defeated Darklore?” Markas asked hopefully.
“If Darklore tried to attack him,” Emily replied, “Then yes. It would be no match. Unless…”
“Unless what?” Markas asked.
“Well, one of the other possibilities,” Emily said uncertainly, “If Darklore got his hands on an Archeon…well, then…”
“What’s an Archeon?” Markas asked.
“An artifact from the beginning of the world. There were some powerful magics in existence in that time, powers we can barely begin to comprehend today. If he had gotten his hands on one of those…”
“What?”
“Well, just as a scholar can imbue an object with magic, they can just as easily siphon off power from one. Most objects would just be quickly destroyed this way. But an Archeon, well, that would be like an endless source of magic. A scholar could siphon off power and never run out,” Emily said, and then added, “In theory anyway.”
“Theory?”
“An obscure work by Algeris Estanallo,” Emily said, “Highly theoretical and a bit controversial. But then much of Dr. Estanallo’s work is. Last I heard, he was let go from University D’Insolite because his work was becoming too dark for the regents’ tastes.”
“So no one has actually done it before?” Markas asked.
“No,” Emily said, “Most people would be crazy to do it. It would cause all sorts of imbalance around the person doing it. The physical cost alone would be very high. And it’s not like he could just go down to local marketplace and just barter for an Archeon. They’re extremely rare. Only three are even known to have ever existed.”
“So Darklore probably hasn’t tried it?”
“Well,” Emily hedged, “Any normal scholar wouldn’t. But Darklore is a lich. The process to become a lich is complex, horrible, and dark from what I understand of it. You would have to be crazy to become a lich, to go so into the darkness that you wouldn’t care who or what you hurt. Especially an elf. They’re normal life span is hundreds of years; they are seldom interested in immortality. If Darklore is crazy enough to become a lich, well then…”
“He’s crazy enough to try to siphon magic off an ancient artifact full of unlimited power,” Markas finished, disinheartend.
“Still,” Emily said, “That particular theory is rather obscure and most people don’t know about it. Its quite possible Darklore has never heard of it. The only reason I have is that my time at the tower left me with an inordinate amount of reading time.”
“Where are these Archeons at?” Ian asked, interrupting. At least he was paying attention, which was more than could be said for Jonathan who was merrily singing.
“No one really knows,” Emily said, “Any information that may have existed on them was destroyed in the Burning Times.”
“What about the races that didn’t try to destroy all magic, the elves, the dwarves?” Ian asked.
“If they know, they aren’t telling the humans about them,” Emily said, “Not that I entirely blame them.”
“Darklore was an elf at one point,” Ian said.
“Well, that is the form he chose to appear to us as,” Emily said hesitantly.
“You think he knows where one of the Archeons is?” Markas asked.
“With our luck, he probably already has all three,” Ian said grimly.
******
Emily had never really realized how out of the place the Tower of Secrets seemed. A traveler could be going through the old growth of the forest, and then out of no where they would be in this huge clearing with this massive grey stone tower. Even more out of place was the country out buildings and modest farm that seemed to surround it.
As they approached, a portly older woman in a plain dress came running out from the tower.
“Emily!” she cried.
“Mama Greta!” Emily cried as she dismounted and ran towards her. Mama Greta swallowed Emily up in a huge hug.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away long,” Mama Greta said as she released Emily from the hug, “I knew you would come home eventually.”
“I’m only home for a visit,” Emily said, “We need to consult with Uncle.”
“We?” Mama Greta said, then turned towards everyone else, “Oh my, company. Are these friends of yours?”
“Yes,” Emily said brightly, “I’ll introduce you as we go in.”
*****
Mama Greta led them into the tower’s parlor, a large spacious room filled with a mismatched assortment of chairs. A fire flickered in the large stone fireplace but the magical lights had not been lit as the sun streaming through the leaded glass windows illuminated the room sufficiently.
“Have a seat dears,” Mama Greta said, as she went to leave, “I’ll bring up some tea.”
“Emily,” Markas whispered, “Where’s you uncle?”
“Don’t worry,” Emily said, as she settled into her favorite chair, “He knows we’re here. No one can enter the tower without him knowing.”
“Oh,” Markas replied, as he sat on the fireside bench rather stiffly.
Emily wondered what was taking her uncle so long. It seemed unlike him to not be waiting for them in the study. Ian sat down in the worn oak chair in the corner, sipping on his ever-present flask. Jonathan settled down on rather cushy damask chair and absent-mindedly tuned his mandolin. Markas sat there as if was waiting at attention. Emily just sat there and twisted her fingers, wondering what was taking Uncle Ivan and Mama Greta so long.
“Emily,” Jonathan said, finally breaking the silence, “This tower is absolutely amazing. It must have been extraordinary to group up here.”
“I suppose,” Emily replied, “Honestly, it was somewhat routine. Everyday the same—chores and studying.”
“Still, this is an impressive holding,” Jonathan said, “Exactly how much of the surrounding land does your uncle own?”
Ian snorted.
“Well,” Emily said, ignoring Ian, “We use about fifteen of the surrounding acres for our farm. The tower’s completely self-sufficient.”
“Impressive,” Jonathan said, “How many servants does he have to help run the farm and the tower?”
“None, just Mama Greta and myself,” Emily smiled, “Well, now I guess its just Mama Greta.”
“Just the two of you?” Jonathan asked, lowering his mandolin.
“Well, there’s a lot of magic involved,” Emily replied.
“Of course,” Jonathan said, chuckling softly, “This is a scholar’s tower of course. There must be tons of magic and treasure here.”
“Oh, this isn’t just any ordinary tower,” Emily said, sitting up, “This is the Tower of Secrets, the largest repository of magical knowledge in all of Crolis. Scholars from all over come here to do research. None of the universities libraries can begin to rival the depth of knowledge contained within these walls. We’ve even had elves from Qualari.”
“Impresive,” Jonathan smiled, “It must be very exciting to think that you will inherit this someday.”
“Me?” Emily said, “I never really thought that I would.”
“But surely, as his ward, you are his only heir?”
“I suppose,” Emily replied, hesitantly, “I’ve just always assumed that Uncle would pick the most qualified scholar he could find to assume his role, if he passed on. And I would never presume that I would ever be worthy of such a position.”
“You do yourself a great disservice, Emily,” Jonathan replied, leaning towards Emily, his voice dripping with honey, “Ivanus handpicked you to be his apprentice, when you were only an infant. Surely, he must have seen something special in you.”
“The only reason he took me in is because of a promise he made to my mother,” Emily sighed, “I’ve managed to learn that much at least.”
“But still…” Jonathan began.
“Leave her alone,” Ian interrupted, “She’s made it pretty clear she isn’t heir to this tower.”
“I was trying to make polite conversation while we wait,” Jonathan said huffily.
“Where I come from,” Ian said, taking a sip from his flask, “It’s not polite to ask your host about their inheritance.”
“That’s interesting,” Jonathan said, his lips pressed into a tight smile, “Considering we don’t know where you’re from. I mean where I come from belligerent drunks are not consulted for etiquette advice.”
Ian stood up and put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Go ahead,” Ian hissed, “Say that again. I dare you.”
Jonathan rose slowly, “I called you a belligerent drunk. And quite frankly, I’m not sure why we’ve kept you around as long as we have. You are obviously not fit to be around quality people like Sir Markas, Miss Emily, or myself.”
“You wouldn’t know quality if it were standing a foot in front of you,” Ian spat back.
“Stop!” Emily cried, “You can’t!”
“My former apprentice is quite right,” said a grey-bearded scholar who had suddenly appeared next to the fireplace, “No act of violence may be committed here. The tower will prevent you in any way it can.”
“Uncle!” Emily smiled.
“My pardon,” Jonathan said, gracefully returning to his seat. Ian nodded to Ivanus and then returned to his own seat. Ivanus walked over to an ornately carved chair and sat down and folded his hands in his lap.
“It is good to see you too, Emily,” Ivanus said, “But I doubt you are here to stay as Greta wishes. So introduce your companions and we can get on to what business brings you here.”
“This is Sir Markas Tau, the last surviving member of the Golden Gryphons, the bard Jonathan Silverthorn, and the swordsman Ian. Everyone, this is Ivanus Arcanus, Master of the Tower of Secrets.”
As Emily finished her introduction, Mama Greta entered with a tray with tea and biscuits.
“You’ve barely been gone a week,” Ivanus said, “So what brings you back here so quickly?”
“Darklore,” Emily replied, “A lich. He said…”
“I know Darklore,” Ivan interrupted, “And he was here.”
“So you’ve defeated him?” Markas asked hopefully.
“No,” Ivan replied, “He was here and then he left.”
“But you said he was here,” Markas said, “And you’re still alive, so it only stands to reason…”
“Emily, you didn’t explain to them the laws that govern the Tower very well, did you?” Ivanus sighed.
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” she replied, then turned to Markas, “The Tower is open to any who come seeking knowledge. As long as Darklore came seeking knowledge, with no intent of causing harm to the Tower or any of its occupants…”
“He could come and go as he pleases,” Ian finished, “Which means he could waltz in right now and there wouldn’t be a thing we could do about it.”
“Exactly,” Ivan replied, “I’ve known Darklore for quite some time, but it has been ages since he came to the tower. I wonder what he is up to, and I wonder, dear Emily, how you came to be involved with him?”
“Well,” Emily said squirming in her seat, “I was in Carsonia and stopped to eat before I went to the University d’Estoric when a big brawl broke out. Ian, Sir Markas, and Jonathan were all there. Some raiders caused some trouble and I may have used my magic to assist Sir Markas in stopping them. Well, this girl named Marta saw me and asked me to help her because Darklore was causing trouble in her village, Brue Village. Of course, we didn’t know it was Darklore until we got to the village. And I was certain that he was going to kill us. I mean he tried to destroy the whole village—he could have easily dispensed with us.”
“I see,” Ivan said, and then calmly took a sip of tea, “Why don’t you all help yourselves to some tea and then we can discuss your adventures in detail.”
*****
“Hmm…” Ivanus mused after listening to them recount the events of the past few days, “Very interesting.”
“Is that all you have to say?’ Ian asked.
“No, I have a few questions for you all,” Ivan said, “First, Emily, Sir Markas mentioned a prophecy you received from Oleria. It is important we know exactly what it was.”
“Uncle,” Emily said, looking down, “I don’t think it’s important…”
“Emily,” he said sternly, “Let’s hear it and then we can make the decision.”
“The dusk of innocence is at hand,” Emily recited dutifully, “Four stars converge in the land of the ancestors to fight the darkness. The heart beats in the hand of death. The blood of Rosewood spilt; it will destroy the heart, unseen.”
A sharp silence filled the room as Emily finished, all eyes staring at her.
“Emily, my poor Emily,” Mama Greta cried as she ran over and wrapped her arms around Emily.
“It’s all right, Mama Greta,” Emily said, “It’s just a prophecy. We have no way of knowing what it predicts.”
“I’d say pretty clearly,” Ian said, “That it predicts something bad is going to happen to you.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in prophecy?” Emily asked.
“I don’t. It’s our own choices that make our destiny,” Ian said, as if he hoped that would cancel out the prophecy entirely.
“Exactly,” Ivan said, “Oleria’s prophecies are not condemnations of fate. Rather they are precious clues that will only make sense when the time comes. It does us little good to discuss it now.”
“So, why did you bring it up?” Markas asked.
“Because it may be important when the time comes and its better you all know it,” Ivan said, “And I think it may help Emily to not be burdened with it on her own.”
Emily had to admit that it did feel better to let everyone know, once they had got past the initial worry.
“Ivan! How can you say such things after hearing something so horrible? It is clearer to me more than ever that she must stay in the tower!” Mama Greta yelled.
“Greta,” he said softly, standing up, “I can no longer keep Emily safe here.”
“But surely Ivan, you…if anyone, this place,” Greta sobbed. Ivan placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Greta,” he sighed, looking in her tear filled eyes.
“I know,” she said wiping away her tears, “I knew when we took her in, I’d have to let her go someday. I just didn’t expect it so soon. But, she’s grown into fine young scholar, like I knew she would.”
Mama Greta wiped away the last few tears, smoothed her apron, and turned to rest of them and said, “Excuse me dears, it’s just bit shocking to hear something like that about…about your own…”
“Daughter,” Emily finished for her.
Greta smiled, “Yes, my daughter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get dinner ready.”
Greta left the room, while Ian and Markas exchanged looks. Emily felt a little warmer inside.
“What about Darklore?” Markas asked, “What can you tell us about him? What exactly did he want here?”
“I hadn’t seen Darklore in some time,” Ivan said, “He took up residence in Decadris some time ago. I thought perhaps he was content to surround him with his ‘precious undeath’, but given recent events I’d say I was wrong.”
“Precious undeath?” Markas asked, grimacing.
“Yes,” Ivan said, “At one time, when Darklore was known as Leovan Lightlore, he was perhaps the most brilliant Elven mage of his age. The Qualari thought he would do great things. But as with many who are great, Leovan had a touch of madness. No one is sure why, but he became obsessed with achieving immortality. It is a pursuit that has driven many men mad, but elves because of their longer lives usually find such pursuits uninteresting.”
“But Darklore did?” Ian asked.
“Yes,” Ivan said, “The magical arts are all about pushing the constraints on the mortal world. But there are lines that can’t be crossed, except through the use of the darkest magics.”
“And immortality is one of those lines,” Markas said, “Only the gods can be immortal. And they are the only ones who can grant it to mortals.”
“Essentially,” Ivan smiled at Markas, “Leovan thought he found a loophole. He believed that the secret to immortality lies in undeath.”
“That’s insane,” Markas blurted out.
“Quite. But I said that Leovan was a bit mad to begin with. His delving into the dark arts completely pushed him over the edge. The Qualari, worried, sent him away to contemplate in solitude. They believe he was grieving the sudden death of his wife. A method the Qualari often use to help those they find troublesome”
“But he didn’t just go and contemplate,” Ian said.
“No. He returned as what you saw. A lich. But unlike most lich, he found a way to maintain his elven appearance. He claimed he found immortality for the elves. That they would be immortal gods like Adori once were.”
“Adori?” Markas asked.
“The first race of beings in Crolis,” Emily said, “They existed millions of years before the elves or the humans or even the dwarves. Not much is known about them except that they destroyed themselves. A great magical explosion. It’s what created the Wastedlands.”
“Why would he want to be like the Adori if they blew themselves up?” Jonathan asked.
“Because it’s said they were immortal. And they were powerful magic users on top of that, more powerful than even Qualari Elves,” Ivan said, “I believe the Adori may have been the source for his interest in immortality. If he could achieve their greatness, then he would achieve something truly amazing. However, upon realizing their secrets had long been destroyed, he turned to darker means to achieve his goals.”
“You said he returned to the Qualari Elves. I’m sure they weren’t happy to see him,” Ian said.
“No. They weren’t. They drove him out of Qualantari forever. He roamed the world for quite sometime, his powers ever growing. Then he eventually settled down in Decadris.”
“But he’s up to something now,” Markas said, “What did he want when he came here? What books did he want to look at?”
“He didn’t want to look at any books. He wanted to know about Emily.”
“Emily?”
“Me?”
Ivan sighed, “I was hoping I would never have to tell you this Emily, but it does seem unavoidable. You are one of the last Adori in the world. Perhaps the very last.”
Emily felt everyone’s eyes fall on her. She reached up and touched the tip of one of her pointed ears.
“But I’m a half-elf,” Emily said, “I…I can’t be an Adori. You said they were powerful and immortal but…I’m…I’m just….”
“A child,” Ivan said, “By Adori standards. Just over a century and a half. Of course, the Adori aren’t truly immortal but have an impressive life span…nearly 5000 years.”
“Just how old are you?” Ian asked.
“163,” Emily replied but then turned her attention to her uncle, “But the Adori died out.”
“No. Some survived,” Ivan said, “They spread out into the world. Your parents and a few others lived in the village near here. The others died out. And when your parents had to leave, they left you with me to keep you safe.”
“But what would he want with Emily? It’s not like she knows the secret of the Adori,” Ian said.
“No,” Ivan said, “But the Adori did leave several artifacts in the world that can only be used by those with Adori blood. Which means that anyone, whose elf, human, or half-elf can use them…but an Adori could use them to their full potential.”
“What do you mean? How can both elves and humans have Adori blood?” Markas asked.
“After the destruction of their home, what we now call the Wastedlands,” Ivan said, “The surviving Adori went and settled in other places. Some rejected magic entirely—seeing it as the cause of their downfall. Others tried to immerse themselves in it to try and understand what happened. But both groups changed over time, their life spans shortened. Their physical features changed. The anti-magic groups became humans, the over-magic groups became the elves. Only the few who remained neutral on the matter remained unchanged.”
“That’s a blasphemy!” Markas said jumping up, “Everyone knows that the human gods created the humans and the elven gods created the elves.”
“Theology and history are different subjects” Ivan said, “But let’s not stray too much from the topic at hand. If Darklore has gotten a hold of one of the Adori artifacts, he may want Emily in order to activate its full power.”
“Well, what are these Adori artifacts?”
“The Archeons,” Emily interjected.
“You mean, like the ones you talked about on the way here?” Markas asked.
“Yes,” Emily said. Ivan threw an inquisitive look at Emily.
“Well, Darklore seems very powerful, even more so than one would expect for a lich. I remembered an obscure theory I had read on tapping an Archeon for its power and thought that might be what Darklore is doing.”
“Ah, Estanallo’s Theory of Proportionate Transfer,” Ivan said, “Insane. Brilliant, but completely insane. And that would explain his express interest in you…with you he could not just control an Archeon but release all its power, the power of a god.”
“A god?” Markas asked.
“Yes. And not any god—Archeos.”
Jonathan laughed, “Archeos, the god of existence? Ha, he is so weak he can’t even grant his own priests power. Hardly anyone worships him anymore.”
“You would mock a god?” Markas said jumping up. Ian also stood up, glaring at him.
“Calm down, Sir Markas,” Jonathan said nervously, “I didn’t think Archeos was a real god. Just some crackpot cult that had faded from existence.”
“Well, I can see your confusion as there was a rather dubious cult that worshiped Archeos,” Markas said, “But Archeos is real and as far as anyone knows, the oldest god. Though a matter of theological debate, there are many who believe that he is the Elder God responsible for creating the world.”
“And the Archeons are said to be artifacts created at the beginning of the world,” Emily continued, “Hence the name.”
“Did you tell Darklore any of this?” Ian asked.
“Most of it he already knew,” Ivan said, “But I did confirm his suspicions that Emily is indeed an Adori.”
“What! Don’t you realize that you’ve sealed her fate!” Ian yelled jumping up.
“No,” Ivan replied calmly, “Darklore did not even need to come to me to find out such information. There are other, quicker methods.”
“Then why did he bother coming here?”
“I thought it was rather obvious. How did you know to come here?” Ivan asked.
Emily’s face fell.
“He told us where he was going,” Emily said, “And we followed.”
“Wait,” Markas said, “You mean he wants us to follow him?”
“But why?” Jonathan asked.
“Because it will be easier if I go to him than if he tries to come after me,” Emily said.
“That’s insane,” Ian said.
“We followed him here, didn’t we?” Emily asked.
“Yes,” Markas said, “But now that we know what he wants, we wouldn’t be so foolish as to keep playing his game.”
“But if he has an Archeon, which he most likely does,” Ivan said, “You will need to chase him to get it.”
Ian glanced at Emily and said, “Well, we can chase him down while Emily stays here.”
“I’m afraid that will not work. Just as Emily can unleash the full power of an Archeon, she is the only one of you who can destroy it.”
“Well, once we find it, we can bring it back here,” Ian replied, “Then Emily can destroy it.”
“No,” Emily said, standing up, “I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t,” Ian said, “It would be too dangerous.”
“And it will be too dangerous for you if I don’t go. The only reason he didn’t kill us all back at Brue was because of me. If you show up without me, he will kill you all, as you will no longer be useful to him.”
“So you suggest we just hand you over to him instead?” Ian asked, jumping to his feet.
“No,” Emily said, “But if we want to get close enough to get the Archeon, I have to come.”
“This is insane,” Ian said, glancing over at Markas, “We can’t let her put herself in such danger.”
“He’s right Emily,” Markas said, “It’s too much of a risk. None of us could ask you to do it.”
“I would gladly stay behind to help protect you Miss Emily,” Jonathan interjected.
“That won’t be necessary,” Emily said, “Because I’m coming.”
“Emily,” Markas sighed, “We’ve been through this. We can’t ask you to put yourself in such danger.”
“You’re not asking me too. I’m volunteering myself. And if you don’t take me with you, I’ll go on my own.”
Ian shook his head, “Emily, I appreciate that you want to help but getting yourself killed isn’t going to help anyone.”
“He won’t kill me,” Emily said, “He needs me alive.”
Ivan cleared his throat, “Emily will either accompany you or she will go on her own. I will not attempt to keep her here.”
Emily cocked an eyebrow and smiled at Markas and Ian. Ian sighed exasperatedly and looked at Markas. He then turned to Ivan.
“How can you let her do this? You could keep her safe here.”
“I could, but this is Emily’s choice to make, not mine. After all, I had hoped to hide her among the scholars in Carsonia. I gave her a letter of introduction and instructed her to go straight to the university but she apparently became a little sidetracked.”
Emily grinned sheepishly.
“She is welcome to stay if she chooses,” Ivan said, “But I know her fairly well and can reasonably guess what her choice is.”
“I choose to go,” Emily said.
“I suppose we better take her with us, though I don’t think we can guarantee her safety either,” Markas said.
“So do you want to go get yourself killed now or can we at least wait until tomorrow?” Ian said acidly.
“I do not believe that the matter is that imperative,” Ivan said, “I’m sure Greta has put forth her best effort for dinner and you’ve all earned at least one night in a good bed after all the rushing around you’ve been doing.”
The rain came in torrents from the stone grey sky as they set off the next morning. Markas watched as Emily hugged Ivan and Greta good bye. Part of him desperately wanted to make her stay here, to insure that she was safe. He wasn’t sure what it was about this peculiar red-headed girl, but in the short time he’d known he’d become rather fond of her, like the younger sister he never had.
And whatever Ivan said, it still seemed very foolish to play Darklore’s game this way. He couldn’t see what could be gained by giving Darklore exactly what he wanted, especially if it meant sacrificing Emily. And he could tell the Ian agreed with him. Though he hadn’t said a word all morning, the scowl on his face let everyone around know that he wasn’t pleased with the situation at all.
Emily mounted her horse and turned to wave one last time at Ivan and Greta.
“Send word home often!” Greta called out.
“I will,” Emily called back.
They set off down the small forest trail on their way to Argenault. After much discussion the night before, the consensus had been that the capital city seemed the logical place to go. Markas had to report to Sir Tiberius and Ivan had sent his own missive for the Order of the Shining Light. Markas suspected that this was Ivan’s way of supporting Markas. Emily had wanted to go to Decadris, Jonathan thought it might be best to stay at the tower until they get wind of what Darklore was up to, and Ian, oddly, seemed to have no opinion and just said he would go wherever they wanted, then stormed off.
An hour into their journey, Markas was cringing thinking about the oiling he was going to have give his armor after being out in the rain for so long. Ian, Emily, and Jonathan were all hunched over, cloaks pulled over their heads. Emily sneezed loudly.
“Gods bless you,” Ian said.
“And you were worried about Darklore,” Emily smiled, at Ian, “At this rate, we’ll all catch our deaths from the rain.”
“No, we’ll drown in it before then,” Ian replied.
Emily sneezed again.
“We should have waited this out at the tower,” Jonathan whined.
“I don’t believe we have the luxury of waiting,” Markas said, glancing at Emily, “Right now, we have the one thing that might let us stop Darklore.”
Emily sneezed once more.
“Oh, this is ridiculous! My cloak is already soaked through,” she said. She reached into her pouch, pulled out a small piece of glass in her hands, and chanted some strange words. When she opened her hands, a burst of sparkles flew out, hovered over everyone for second, and then formed a clear dome over each of them.
“Brilliant!” Jonathan exclaimed, “Emily you certainly know how to take care of a man, don’t you?”
Emily blushed, “Well, it’s not that impressive. Rain bubbles are pretty common in Carsonia, aren’t they?”
“True,” Markas said, “But unless you can cast it yourself, the charm is expensive and only temporary.”
“Don’t worry,” Emily said, “I can use my magic to keep these up as long as we need them.”
“That won’t tax you too much?” Ian asked.
“It shouldn’t,” Emily said, “And if does, I’ll dismiss them.”
They continued on, the rain pounding down. Markas watched as the drops stuck the bubble forcefully and then dribbled down the dome. It was if the rain was angry at Emily’s domes and was trying unsuccessfully to break through them. Suddenly, a red rain drop hit the dome. Then another and another. Soon, they were surrounded in the crimson mist of the downpour..
“What’s going on?” Emily gasped, “Is that?”
Ian reached a hand out under the dome, let some rain fall on it, and then smelled it.
“Yes, it’s blood.”
Suddenly, a hard, shrill laughter echoed in the woods around them. The horses stopped and Markas halted Kirin.
“Ah, I thought you might never get here,” Darklore’s voice rang through the woods. Suddenly, he stood on the path in front of him. The domes above them burst and the rain stopped immediately, thought the sky remained grey and cloudy.
Ian’s hand went to the grip of his sword and Markas reached for his lance.
“Please gentlemen,” Darklore smiled, “You’d already be dead if I wanted it so. I’m just here for a friendly chat.”
“So that’s why you rained blood down on us?” Ian asked.
“I like to make an entrance,” Darklore said, “Especially when there is a lady to impress.”
“I’m not impressed,” Emily said.
Darklore smiled, “Well, I won’t give up, so easily fair Emily. I intend to woo you with everything I have. I daresay that if I had a heart, you would have captured it Emily.”
“What do you want?” Markas asked.
“Oh, I want many things, knight,” Darklore sneered, “Many things that you would probably find distasteful. But for now, I only wish to inquire about Emily’s destination.”
“Like we’d tell you,” Ian said through clenched teeth.
“I assumed as much. After all, when you are in competition for a fair maiden’s heart, you don’t assist your rivals,” Darklore smiled mockingly.
“What in the Void are you talking about?” Ian asked.
“Please, I’m sure you’ve all been telling yourselves that you are following Emily around for some noble reason,” Darklore taunted, “But I’m so familiar with how mortals work. You all desire her on some level.”
“You’re insane,” Markas exclaimed.
“Many have said that to me,” Darklore said, “However, I’m still around and they are not. Anyways, I have other matters to attend to, so Emily, if you will be so kind as to tell me your destination?”
Emily paused for a second. She then smiled a very forced smile and said, “Argenault.”
“Most excellent,” Darklore said, “It just so happens that my next business is taking me there as well!”
“What kind of business?” Emily asked, almost sweetly.
“Well, an associate of mine is having a bit of problem with King Rathbyrn. So, I’m on my way to see if I can use my power of persuasion to change the king’s mind.”
“Like anyone would let you within a mile of the king!” Markas exclaimed.
“Oh, I don’t think a personal audience will be necessary,” Darklore replied calmly, “Though I’m sure if I wanted to, I could be in Rathbyrn’s personal chambers right now.”
“If you think any of us are just going to stand by and let you harm the king,” Ian began, but Darklore cut him off.
“I’m not concerned with anything any of you do,” Darklore said, “But I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much time with you. My dear, Emily, until we meet again. Tel’me atene yedone.”
And Darklore was gone.
The rain returned, but it was only a light drizzle.
“Emily, what did he say to you?” Markas asked.
“It’s elvish,” Emily said, “My love, think of me.”
“How could you tell him where we are going?” Ian asked, exasperated.
“I told him because I knew if we were going somewhere he didn’t want us, he would tell us where he would want us to go.”
“So, he wants us to go to Argenault?” Jonathan asked.
“Definitely,” Markas said, “And more importantly, Emily got him to tell us what his next move is. If he’s planning to attack the king somehow, it’s ever more urgent we get to Argenault to warn him.”
*****
They continued on well after nightfall, when it was agreed that they needed to stop to let the horses rest. Emily impressed them all with a small cottage she summoned for them to spend the night in, out of the rain. It wasn’t very large, but contained two bunk beds on the inside, a small table, and a small fireplace.
“Why didn’t you use this spell when we traveling to Brue?” Ian asked.
“I didn’t know it then,” Emily replied, as she pulled a candle out her bag and lit it with a magical blue flame, “It’s one of the spells I looked up before we left. Thought it might be useful.”
“Most definitely,” Jonathan said, as he plopped down onto one of the bunks.
“Well, let’s not get too used to it,” Markas said, as he began to remove his armor, “I want to get up as early as possible so we can make good time to Argenault. I wish I knew what he was planning.”
“He said something about wanting to change the King’s mind,” Emily said thoughtfully, then a look recognition spread across her face, “Marta…”
“What about Marta?” Ian asked, as he took a sip from his flask.
“Not Marta herself, but something she said,” Emily said, thinking hard, “That everyone important in her village started acting strange, as if they were in a trance…or being mind controlled!”
“Mind controlled? Can Darklore do that?” Markas asked.
“Not easily,” Emily said, as she started pulling books out of one her saddlebags, “It’s dark magic to be sure and we know he’s not above that. But, well, the strength of the soul is very powerful. The magic required to suppress it is phenomenal. Darklore’s definitely powerful enough to do it to one person, but Marta made it sound like several people in the village were under his control. Combine that with all the other magic he was performing and he should have seemed more exhausted than he was.”
“Then how? An archeon?” Ian asked.
“Maybe,” Emily said thoughtfully, staring at the pile of books in front of her, “But I’m thinking it might a more mundane magical object. Still, I’ve never read about one that could control more than one person at a time.”
Emily started paging through one of the books, shut it, and picked up another.
She sighed, “These are all useless. I brought spellbooks really, not research tomes. Even if I had access to the tower, it’d take forever to search without knowing what type of object to look for. I didn’t see Darklore wearing any talismans or carrying a staff, so we might be able to eliminate those….”
Emily paused, “He came to Marta’s village as a fortuneteller, with a crystal ball!”
Emily reached into her bag, pulled out a piece of parchment, quill, and ink and began to scribble furiously. She flung open the door to the cottage and whistled. Soaring out of the blackness, TiTi flew towards the cottage and landed on Emily’s arm.
“Listen, this is very important,” Emily said, as she attached the parchment to TiTi’s leg, “Make sure Uncle Ivan gets this. And bring his reply back as fast as you can. Understand?”
TiTi cawed and then flew off into the inky blackness. Emily turned around to Markas and Ian’s quizzical expressions.
“I sent a note to Uncle Ivan to look up mind control orbs. Hopefully, if we know more about it, we can stop Darklore,” Emily said.
“We may already be too late,” Ian said.
A silence fell across the room as Ian, Emily, and Markas looked at each other.
“The King is well protected,” Markas said, “Hopefully, well enough that it will even take Darklore some time to get to him. We’ll need to report this to Sir Tiberius right away.”
“Well,” Emily said, “How about I make some dinner and then we all get a good night’s rest, so we can set off early tomorrow.”
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