Authors: B.N. Crandell
Invasion (22 page)
“Then I will return in an hour. Guards, take them to the cage and allow them rest.” Sylestra followed them back to the magical cage and locked them in once more. Pilk laid down and closed his eyes.
He awoke to Sylestra screaming out his name. Slowly he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Orc guards stormed into the opened cage and lifted him to his feet. They once again took them to the gates — aside from a slight difference in their hue, the gates were identical.
“Now comes the time to test it.” Sylestra stared at him. “I think Master Pilk should be the first one to enter just to make sure there is no trickery.”
“But if it is not Aleri and the trip proves fatal, I may not be able to create another gate without Master Pilk’s assistance.” O’tukka’s voice sounded firm and steady.
“That’s a lie.” Grand Master Rotager stepped out from behind Sylestra. “All you need is someone to help you channel the power. Any magic user would suffice.”
“It needs to be someone I trust or the connection may fail. Master Pilk is the only one I trust.” O’tukka cast a hateful stare at the tall thin wizard.
“If you have done your job well than this petty bickering is unnecessary — or are you afraid you have failed again O’tukka?” Sylestra gave O’tukka a sideways glance.
“The new gate has a connection, this much I can tell and therefore I have not failed in that regard. The location of that connection I cannot guarantee. I have already informed you of the difficulty of that task,” said O’tukka.
“Well we are about to find out. Guards, take the little wizard in.”
The guards hesitated.
“Now!” screamed Sylestra.
The guards dragged Pilk to the front of the new Gate. Pilk closed his eyes as they stepped through.
“Stand back,” said Vik.
Cressida, Cali and Trent took a few paces back and Trent pulled Mezz in close. Vik held up the sword in front of his face and then lowered it. After doing a little bow to his captive audience he turned in a rush to the tall log he has set up in the yard and attacked with a memorised routine.
He ducked, weaved and parried imagined strikes and then sliced, feinted and jabbed at the log with his sword. Vigorously he continued his mock battle demonstrating a sword fight between two equally matched opponents.
While remaining focused on his routine, he recited the words of power in a whisper and the magic coursed through his veins. In a soft voice he spoke the cantrip for the Magic Missile spell and the magic transformed within him. After ducking a pretend strike, he took a step away from the log and uttered the release word while pointing a finger at it. The energy shot forth in a rush and hit the log with such force that it split it in two.
“Impressive,” said Mistress Cali. “I’ve never witnessed such a strong Magic Missile.”
“What about Master Pilk?” asked Vik.
“No, Master Pilk has a repertoire of spells like few others I know but not even he can throw a Magic Missile so forcefully. How do you manage such a thing?” Mistress Cali’s brows knitted together and her mouth twisted to one side.
Vik stood taller and pulled his shoulders back. “It seems the more engaged in a fight I am, the stronger the magic I draw.”
“Interesting.” Mistress Cali walked around him examining him like she would an unknown creature.
“You’re starting to sound like my brother now,” said Cressida.
“Oh Master Pilk would find this very fascinating. I think Vik’s magic is fed directly by his pent up adrenaline. Normally the opposite is needed for wizards — a calmer, more focused mind.”
“Clerical magic works much the same way.” Cressida wrinkled up her face as she firmly spoke the words.
“Master Pilk once told me of Warrior-mages, those that were masters of both classes. Do you think I could become one of them?” The prospect caused excitement to course through Vik. He had a mental image of himself being the only such one on Ka’ton — a mighty hero of legend.
“Warrior-mages? Huh, nothing but a myth. Don’t let Pilk’s somewhat misguided exuberance get into your head, Vik.”
The forcefulness of Cressida’s words cut Vik’s dreams to pieces and his shoulders slumped.
“You mean a myth like the great Necromancer Sylestra? I think we need to re-evaluate what we consider myth in light of recent events.” Mistress Cali looked from Cressida to Vik. Cressida offered Cali a narrowed glare and he tried not to smile.
But Mistress Cali’s words perked him up. She was right. A woman long thought of as myth now held Master Pilk captive in a powerful magic cage. Her story about abandoning a world overrun by dragons all but confirmed. Pilk’s stories of Warrior-mages could well be true and the occurrence of the Gate could be restoring such lost powers.
“Myth or not, I intend on continuing my training in both. Will you teach me new spells Mistress Cali while Master Pilk is — ah — unavailable?”
“I sure will. You have me curious.”
Master Pilk opened his eyes. He was alive, which came as a relief, and standing in a barren wasteland. The red ground underfoot was hard and cracked as though it had long been bereft of any moisture and it continued in all directions for as far as the eye could see. The burning afternoon sun had him sweating profusely. Not a cloud could be seen in the dark blue sky.
The guards’ grip on him loosened. He could slip out of their grasp and make a run for it but to what end? He would surely die from thirst on this world before he got too far and his one way back home was the Gate he came through. Not to mention that he couldn’t abandon Great Shaman O’tukka, so he allowed himself to be guided back through the Gate.
“So what did you see?” asked Sylestra.
“Nothing but red dirt in all directions. Not a sign of plant life or anything living at all — not even a hill or a mountain in sight,” answered one of the orcs.
“Could this be Aleri? Could the dragons have destroyed everything and left the world barren?” Sylestra turned to O’tukka with a raised eyebrow.
“It is unlikely. From what I have read on dragons they do not destroy landscapes for the sake of it. They rely on vegetation like any other living thing. That being said I do remember reading about a God Gate being placed in the centre of a wasteland so perhaps I have inadvertently chosen that place.”
“Well I’ll soon find out.” Sylestra marched toward the new Gate and without hesitation entered it. With the exception of the marching feet of the warriors still streaming from the Ki’aranthan Gate, all remained quiet until Sylestra appeared again a few minutes later.
“Nefari is not present on that world. It can’t be Aleri. You have failed again O’tukka.” Sylestra stormed up to the shaman and slapped his face. “Keep this up and your punishment will be much worse than a slapped cheek.”
“It has been many centuries since you fled Aleri and all this time she has had no one to worship her. She could be weak or in a deep slumber. You must not take her absence as the only sign.” O’tukka rubbed his cheek.
“Nefari is a great goddess. She does not sleep or grow weak. Do not presume to tell me what to conclude, O’tukka.” Sylestra turned to the guards. “Take them back to their cage.”
“At once, Supreme Mistress,” replied a guard.
“You, organise a scout party. I want this new world thoroughly explored as quickly as possible,” Pilk heard Sylestra command as they were being dragged off.
One again they were dragged into the magical cage and Sylestra used her wand to seal them in.
“How long until you’ll have the strength to create another Gate?” She looked at O’tukka, her eyes narrowed, her lips scrunched together.
“It will be two days at least. Such powerful magic is taxing on the body.”
“Stalling for time will do you no good if that is what you are playing at. Your friends will have a lot more on their minds than rescuing you soon enough. If you truly desire to be released sooner then you will summon me a Gate to Aleri as soon as you are able.”
“Like I said, that’ll be two days.”
“Very well. Be sure to study up before then.” Sylestra stormed off.
“Is that true what you said about the God Gate being summoned in the middle of a wasteland?” whispered Pilk.
“Yes. There was an orc tribe that dwelt in a cave network underneath the scorching surface. They farmed all manner of underground creatures and vegetation for food while an underground river supplied them with ample water. The Gate was set up to allow this tribe to flee.”
“So do you think this could actually be Aleri?”
“Doubtful. This wasteland was not so flat. Hills and mountains surrounded the large plateau where the Gate stood — and the Supreme Mistress was right, Nefari would not sleep. She would be weakened though, but not to the extent of not hearing the call of her most faithful servant.”
“You seem to know a lot about this underground tribe.” Pilk tilted his head to one side.
“I spent my entire life studying every book I could find about Aleri and paid particular interest to her geography and her inhabitants. The underground tribe piqued my interest as I was fascinated by a race that willingly lived underground and adapted. I thought if I ever needed a means to escape, knowledge of life underground could become very useful.”
“You refer to Aleri as a ‘she’?”
“I do. This is how the world was described in all the books I studied. Mother Aleri was viewed as sacred among all the major races.”
“Fascinating,” remarked Pilk, “I do remember seeing the term Mother Aleri in a book I read but thought nothing of it at the time. Can you tell me anything about life on this world before Sylestra’s reign?”
“I have come across very few books speaking of times before the Supreme Mistress but I’ll tell you what I know.”
Sylestra waited for a gap in between companies before she slipped through the Ki’aranthan Gate. She hurried to her quarters in the camp and pulled out an orb. She placed it in the centre of a square, white marble board and sliced the end of her finger with a ceremonial dagger. With a steady hand she drew a perfect circle around the orb with her blood. Holding onto the orb tightly with both hands, she recited the words to a powerful spell. The orb glowed an eerie purple and her hands became glued to it. Resisting the urge to lift the powerful artefact off the marble surface she recited a chant.
A channel for Nefari I have become,
To the orb through me flow,
Separate from the powerful one,
Into the orb you must go.
A new world awaits,
Protection lies within,
From magical gates,
Remain unseen.
She repeated the chant over and over as she the power of her goddess flowed through her and into the glowing orb. The words continued to escape from her trembling lips as her body shook with the exertion. When she could take no more, she lifted the orb off the marble. Once the last of Nefari’s essence entered the orb, her body relaxed and the bright purple glow of the artefact faded to a barely tangible ember.
Sylestra grabbed a plain black bag from the table, carefully placed the orb within and rushed off to the Gate. When she reached her quarters on Ka’ton she called to her Goddess and was rewarded with a black mist swirling upwards from the orb and forming into the perfect womanly form of Nefari.
“I cannot hide from the other gods for long, my child.” While softly spoken, the words of Nefari still resounded with power.
“I will keep this up for the rest of the day until the power within you resounds and there is no need to hide from them.” Sylestra placed the obsidian black orb back into the bag.
“You will be greatly weakened.”
“You will restore my energy.” Sylestra spoke confidently.
“I may be too weak to do so.”
“Not after tonight you won’t be.” She smiled, turned and left the log cabin to return once more to Ki’arantha.