The Keystaff Chronicles - Chapter 13

Chapter 13

“I do not trust them,” Gubriel glared ferociously at the companions. “For hundreds of years, we’ve not seen any sign from the outside, and all of a sudden a so-called apprentice of an Archmage would come, bearing the honored crest of the Great Lady and tales of servants?”

“But the Wise One did send us because she sensed an evil presence,” the leader replied quietly.

“And we have found that evil presence!”

“We should not be so quick to judge,” the leader turned to Ofeera. “We have all seen with our own eyes the lady healer’s power, and it comes from the Ancient One.”

“He forsook us centuries ago,” Gubriel replied, though he sounded a little more subdued by his leader’s logic.

There was a pause, and then the leader turned to Luthien, “I am Hazuriel Wyndarun. You will come with us to see the seer as our guests, for now. If you do us no harm, then no harm shall befall you.”

The implied threat hung thickly in the air, and the companions exchanged looks amongst one another. Still, having guides in this wretched place was far better than blundering around without no clear idea of what dangers lurked around the corner, and Luthien quickly thanked Hazuriel for his kind offer. And so, it was with an uneasy peace that they set off with their new found ‘companions’.

* * * * *

In the blasted wasteland that was Aztur, time held no meaning. To Theredoniel, the brief moments they had spent walking towards the Everstar Spire felt like eternity. It was as though they had become like the damned ghouls that they would occasionally stumble across, wandering aimlessly across this vast, dead, wasteland.

And so, when he first laid his eyes upon the stand of tall trees, he thought that his eyes were playing tricks on him. As they drew closer, he waited for them evaporate into red-orange tinged air like a mirage. To him, it was unimaginable that there could be anything alive in this damned place. How could anything, even a tree, breathe in this poisoned air year after year and still live? Even now, as he stood in the shade of these towering, ancient sentinels whose thick boughs seemed like the arms of giants that held up the sky itself, he wondered if he wasn’t hallucinating.

“The Everstar Spire – the wonder of wonders of great Aztur. Magnificent, isn’t it!” Lucien, who had come up beside him, said.

Despite the sickly sunlight that filtered through the vile air, the Everstar Spire’s many crystal facets still glittered brightly as it stood tall and proud, its peak overlooking even the tallest of trees that stood as its eternally faithful guards. Theredoniel had seen paintings of this breathtaking structure, but no elf, not even Azariel Gwenevar, had laid eyes upon this awe inspiring form since his great grandfather, Gordaniel.

“Father Heaven be praised! How was this built?! How has it stood in this cursed place for so long!” exclaimed Dao, the leader of the mages that had been a gift from Prince Yue.

When Theredoniel didn’t answer, Lucien replied, “It is said that the greatest mages of House Gwenevar pulled this crystal out of the earth in one single piece and over the years, its subsequent masters of crafted it with their arcane gifts. The Everstar Spire stands as a tribute to their ‘Eternal Father’, and legend has it that so long as the sun shines upon Faearth, the spire will stand.”

Dao shook his head, “It is not surprising that Aztur once boasted that it was the cradle of the arcane arts. We must bring a piece of this place back for the glory of his highness.”

Theredoniel spun around and glared at the man, “You will do no such thing! I will not allow you to despoil my House for the curiosity of your vile prince!”

“You dare speak ill of his highness?! I…”

“Oh come now, let us not fuss like little boys,” Lucien admonished, shaking a finger at Theredoniel and Dao. “Dear Theredoniel, please don’t aggravate our new friend so. The Rising Sun Empire is very much about pride and all, and comments like ‘vile’ are not particularly conducive towards the strengthening of our friendship. And dear Dao, please do respect our elven friend’s sensibilities. Saying that you are going to take a piece of his pretty spire is like saying that you will take a piece of his mother’s burial treasure. Besides…well… I think a demonstration would explain things better. You there, good sir, would you so kindly as to come over?”

The young man that Lucien gestured towards took a step back and looked at him suspiciously, knowing quite well that the pale-haired prince had nothing good in mind.

At this, Lucien chuckled, “Now, don’t be shy my friend.”

The man that Lucien gestured at suddenly felt cold, dark power pouring into his body and realized that he was not quite in control of his body. His legs moved on their own, propelling him towards the trees. He braced himself for a hard impact with the tree trunk, but what he did not expect was the sudden hair-raising, fiery power that crashed over him.

It was a warning that he was not welcomed, and the young man tried to stop himself from moving further. But the cold power that controlled his legs moved them forward relentlessly. He let out a desperate, horrified yelp and threw every ounce of his will into making his feet stop to no avail. As the men watched, he ran into an invisible barrier, sending thin, spidery lines of power flowing outwards from the point of contact and into him. The unfortunate fellow collapsed to the ground in an undignified heap, smoke rising from his senseless body.

Dao opened his mouth and glared fiercely at Lucien, who merely laughed and replied with, “Do relax, dear Dao. He’s quite alright, I assure you, just taking a little nap. You and I would share the same fate as him if we tried to pass through this charming little grove. And I would highly recommend that you don’t try and dispel the shield. I am quite certain the shield would get a lot nastier if you tried because it would recognize the ‘taint’ in our power. This was, after all, created by the great archmage, Elucielle Gwenevar.”

“Then how do you propose we pass through here?” Dao demanded. “You must have some sort of a plan.”

Lucien smiled and glanced at Theredoniel from the corners of his eyes, “I am afraid my meager abilities is quite unequal to the task of bringing down a shield created by the Great Lady, but fortunately, it would not be a difficult thing for our Theredoniel. Now, if you would call the staff, hold it up to the forest and will this troublesome shield out of existence, it would come to be.”

Theredoniel looked at the human prince with furrowed brows, “I can no more bring down a shield created by Lady Elucielle than you can, nor would I be able to use the staff.”

“Oh, you are not using the staff. You are simply allowing the shield to recognize the fact that you are in possession of it, and wish to enter. You see, the Great Lady knew that when she was gone, it would be quite some time before another with her power could defend the people and the land she loved. So, she devised a method to allow those in possession of one of her heirlooms to work the arcane creations she left behind. Well, at least that is the gist of it. She did put other conditions, but for our purposes, we are fine.”

“Now, that might seem like quite a lax thing, but Elucielle made it so that only those of her bloodline or those who have been gifted by her bloodline can touch the items she left behind, believing of course that non of her bloodline would ever turn away from her beloved ‘Eternal Father’.” Lucien smiled sardonically, his lips curving upwards ever so slightly at the corners as he glanced at Theredoniel from beneath thick, silver lashes.

Theredoniel felt himself stiffening, knowing what it was that looked implied. How he wanted to destroy his wicked companion, to rid himself of this insidious darkness that led him further and further away from Abihayil. Lucien had come to him when he held his beloved Eowyna’s body, after the plague had rendered her almost unrecognizable, and offered him her life in exchange for his assistance. Really, he had traded away his soul; he had betrayed his friends, his House, and even Abihayil.

But Abihayil had betrayed him first! Abihayil had allowed his kind-hearted and beautiful wife to die, to fall prey to a terrible sickness that she, a healer, had gone to save others from!

Gritting his teeth, Theredoniel spoke a quiet word and summoned the staff to his hand. Its rune-inscribed shaft felt cold to his touch, and the crystal that topped the staff was a dull amber color. If he had not known what it was that he held in his hands, he would have thought of this item as nothing more than just a fancy, overly-long walking staff. He could feel no powers stirring within this artifact, but then again, the staff was purported to be something that only an archmage could wield. It would not come alive unless it was in the hands of one with the power and will to be an archmage.

With the staff held horizontally in front of him, he willed the shield to come down. Because he could not even sense its existence, he felt rather silly standing there and simply thinking at an invisible barrier. If Azarielle was here, she’d most certainly make some crass comment about him looking positively constipated and follow up with a suggestion some herbs that act as laxatives to help him find relief.

The small smile that formed on his face died quickly though.

If Azarielle was here, she’d give him a good hard knock on his head and drag him off to a healer to have his brain examined. And if he persisted, he was certain that his friend would fight him. The prospect of fighting an archmage’s apprentice was not a pleasant one. But even worse, the thought that he would be fighting one of his and Eowyna’s dearest friends, was one that filled him with dread and sorrow. He did not ever want such a battle to come to pass, but it was inevitable.

“Nothing happened,” Dao remarked, quite unimpressed.

“On the contrary,” Lucien smiled like a cat about to swallow a bird. He stepped past the fallen mage and walked, unhindered into the trees. Shocked and horrified by what he had wrought with his own hands, Theredoniel trailed the pale-haired prince mindlessly.

A few short moments in the densely populated forest and it was almost as if they were no longer on accursed Azturian soil. The air smelled fresh, and the sound of birds and other small creatures scurrying for cover was all about them. Here was a miraculous oasis of life and hope that had somehow survived in this desolate wasteland.

“This is most unexpected,” Dao shook his head as he looked about. “We had no idea such a place still existed… People can actually live here.”

Lucien stopped in his tracks and cocked his head for a moment before smiling, “And they do.” He murmured a few words and then snapped his finger. There was an almost blinding flash of light, and all of sudden, they found themselves surrounded by a group of startled high elves, and all dressed in cloaks that changed colors like a kaleidoscope.

“What…” Theredoniel began, but he never had a chance to finish.

Dao said something unintelligible to his companions, and without a further word of warning, they all started to chant. They acted so quickly that Theredoniel barely had time to process the arcane words he was hearing before deadly bolts of life flew from the Rising Sun mages’ fingertips and struck the elves.

The strange elves, apparently disoriented from the blinding flash of light, had no defense against this swift attack. Those who were struck by the deadly bolts went down with pained and frightened screams. Only a few managed to aim their bows and fire back. But this counterattack was futile, because Lucien, smiling pleasantly, had already created a shield around them that incinerated upon contact.

“Stop it!” Theredoniel yelled at the Rising Sun mages, “What are you doing?” When Dao and his companions paid him no heed, the enraged young elf pointed his finger at them, intent on destroying these mages intent on killing his kinsmen. Power flowed through his veins, surging from the core of being and filling him with warmth. The air around him began smelling of ozone.

And then, suddenly and very abruptly, something icy and impenetrable stopped the flow of his power. He felt cold, vice-like grip on his writs and heard a low voice speak into his ears, “And what, pray tell, are you intending to do, dear Theredoniel? I assure you that these long lost kinsmen of yours will quite happily slaughter us the moment they learn of our intentions.”

Theredoniel tried to jerk his hand free of Lucien’s grasp, “There’s no need to kill them! We can simply incapacitate them!”

“I am afraid we can’t really take chances with such an important thing,” the human prince smiled. “You wouldn’t want to take chances on whether the lovely Eowyna successfully recovers from her current… state, would you?”

The young elf felt his entire body go cold and stiff at this implied threat. He turned to his wife, who stood still and unmoving, staring unseeingly at the massacre happening around her – a beautiful, lifeless doll.

Lucien watched the young elf with a slight smile, knowing that his silence was his tacit agreement. Dismissing Theredoniel from his attention, he turned to regard the surviving high elves who were now organized enough that they were seeking shelter behind the tall trees to hide from Dao and his companions’ attacks. Though his expression did not show, it was quite a strain to defend against the elves arrows. They were enchanted to break arcane weaves, very much like the weapons of a mage slayer, and he had to expand quite a great deal of power to protect himself, the rather useless Theredoniel, and the Rising Sun mages. If it weren’t for the fact that Yue’s ‘gifts’ would become useful later, Lucien would have happily let them become pin cushions.

Sighing at this unfortunately circumstance, Lucien lifted his wrist and drew a thin line of blood with a black-stained nail. Blood flowed from the wound and he let it drip on the ground. Then, he spoke words in the Arcane tongue, and the sounds that crawled out of his throat was a terrible, inhuman sound that coiled around those around him, making them shiver.

The power he wrought was even more unspeakable. When his blood drops touched the earth, the bodies of the slain elves instantly began to spasm violently. Like marionettes, they climbed to their feet, the movements of the limbs still retaining the fluidity that they had in life. As one, they began to charge their living brethren.

* * * * *

The Azturian high elves set a quick pace, loping through the dead forest with the swiftness and silence of a jungle cat. They had vanished again, fading into the surroundings with a swirl of shimmering colors immediately after the group set off. Only Hazuriel remained visible, jogging just ahead of Luthien as he led the companions toward Everstar Spire.

“Impressive,” Azarielle remarked as she kept pace with Luthien. “The arcane weaving in these cloaks basically bends and reflects light in such a way as to make the cloak blend into the background so as to render the wearer invisible. It’s basically the same principles applied to invisibility cast upon an individual person or object, but whoever made these cloaks just did it with far greater skill than anybody I’ve ever met. I wonder if we could barter for some of them? Actually, a more important question is this – if you have someone powerful enough to create cloaks like this for you, why haven’t the lot of you left this cursed place yet?”

Hazuriel glanced at the young woman from out of the corner of his eyes, “Not many could survive such a trip, mage. It is a rarity for the Fog to lift from some of these areas, and then to have to travel such great distances upon a land cursed with monstrous beings and the walking dead.”

“Well, I was thinking you could fly…”

Whatever Azarielle might had intended to say, she did not bother to finish. The young woman stopped very suddenly in her tracks, her eyes staring into the distance. Both Luthien and Ofeera stopped as well, with the young knight’s face turning dark, and the young healer’s hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

“What is it?” Hazuriel inquired.

“Lucien,” Luthien squeezed his brother’s name out from between his teeth.

“The servant of the Abyssal Ones, and he is raising the dead,” Azarielle’s eyes flashed dangerously. “The newly dead.”

The Keystaff Chronicles - Chapter 12 (May)

Chapter 12

The companions fled through the pathway that the young mage had created, the stench of burnt flesh tainting their every breath and the menacing gurgles of the ground chasing closely behind. Luthien took the lead, running as fast as he could and blasting away the ghouls that had somehow escaped Azarielle’s firestorm. Following closely behind, gliding gracefully over any obstacles as if he was following a pre-charted route, was Breaker ran with Ofeera clinging to his back. The deadly elf had his arcane breakers drawn, and made short work of any ghoul that wandered close.

“Azarielle…n…not following us!” Ofeera stuttered, trying not to bite her own tongue from the constant jostling she received as the elf performed gravity defying leaps.

“The mage is in no danger,” Breaker replied, not breaking his stride. “None of those creatures could lay a hand on her with the power she commands.”

“But…”

Before she could finish her sentence, Breaker abruptly plastered himself to the ground, making her words disappear in a gulp of air. She smelled a putrid odor and felt a gust of wind just above her back. Then, the elf was up and moving again, spinning around with such a tight turn that Ofeera was instantly disoriented.

She caught sight of the creature he had dodged from then. It resembled the thing that had attacked Luthien while they were still aboard Azarielle’s flying contraption, with a mummified body and large bat wings. The gray elf’s arm blurred in motion for a moment, and then he was suddenly holding the large throwing star he had used against the troll pirates. As he drew back to throw, Ofeera could feel his entire body growing taunt like a bent bow, and then the throwing star was airborne, cutting a silvery arc through the air.

Spinning so rapidly that it looked like a disc, the throwing star tore a hole in the creature’s wings. The thing let out a wail of pain that was surprisingly human and female sounding as it plummeted onto the ground. Almost immediately, the creature began struggling to its feet, but Breaker was faster. The deadly elf was upon the winged fiend in a blink of the eye, and plunged his arcane breakers through the creature’s skull.

Black liquid flowed out from the wound, but the wretched creature did not die! It reached out its skeletal hands and grasped the startled elf’s legs. Then, it unhinged its jaws and spat fat white maggots at the elf.
Sensing a sudden rise in dark power, the young healer reacted purely out of reflex. The words of a prayer tumbled from her mouth and a soft blue light fell upon the wretched creature and its terrible spawn. The creature was instantly stilled, it spindly limbs becoming as dead tree limbs. As for the maggots, they burst into flames almost instantly. And as they burned Ofeera thought she spotted a shadowy form dissipating into the air like black smoke.

“A priestess of the Ancient One in the flesh!”

Breaker spun around at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, and though his expression remained unchanged, the elf was shocked by the sight that greeted him.

A dozen elves, cloaked in capes that shifted in color to match their surroundings every stood around them, with cross bows aimed at them. They had hair that ranged in color from wheat to melted gold, suggesting that they were High Elven by descent. But unlike most of high elves he had come across, these ones had a pale, almost sickly complexion that was very much unlike the sun kissed bronze of Azturoth’s denizens. And, the inflections and emphasis of their words were so different that Breaker barely understood their High Elven.

“Idiot! Why did you speak!” one of the elves with a hawkish nose glared viciously at his companion. “We should have slain them and be done with it!”

“Who are you?! Are you… minions of the Abyssal Ones?” Luthien demanded, anger and shock evident on his face.

“Silence, faithless knight! It is we who will ask the questions!” the elven speaker snapped back, glaring at Luthien. “Why are you here?”

“Oh well, just trying to stop a minion of the Abyssal One from doing something nefarious, the usual,” a voice responded cheerily.

This time, it was the high elves that were surprised by the sight of a young woman dressed in a flamboyantly red coat, standing casually in their midst.

“Azarielle!” Ofeera let out a gasp, part surprise and part relief.

“I have to say, I am impressed,” the young woman shook her head at her companions. “You people can really run. I mean, I knew the elf, being an elf, could run. But Luthien in all that clanking armor? Do the Knights of Elad get trained on how to make a hasty retreat or is that an innate ability?”

Before Luthien can answer, the high elf who had been speaking had aimed his crossbow at Azarielle, “Silence your nonsense, mage. Why are you here?”

Azarielle rolled her eyes and whispered conspiratorially to one of the other high elves standing next to her in flawless High Elven, “He’s not that bright is he? Didn’t I just tell you that we were here to stop the minions of…”

Apparently losing patience with the young woman’s rather meaningless rants, the first elf let loose his crossbow bolt.

“Gurbriel, no!” someone else yelled.

The bolt stopped a breath away from the young mage’s heart and hung suspended in the air. Azarille glanced at the bolt with an unimpressed expression and then arched her eyebrows at the elf that had shot at her, “A crossbow bolt, really?”

The high elf was suddenly surrounded by a giant pink bubble, which Luthien immediately recognized as the similar to the ones she had used on his men, and bounced up and down in it like a ragdoll.

“Witch! Release him or you shall die!”

Half of the crossbows that had been aimed at her companions were now aimed at Azarielle, who responded, “How much do you want to bet that none of your bolt things are going to hit me, and I am going to polymorph him into a… chicken?”

“Azarielle, stop this nonsense,” Luthien spoke up, frowning at the mage. “She spoke verily. We hunt servants of the Abyssal Ones who are headed to Everstar Spire.”

“Lower your bows,” a voice commanded as a tall elf stepped out from the crowd. Turning to Azarielle, “We acted hastily mage, but it has been a very long time since we have seen living beings in Gwenevar City. Will you release our companion?”

The pink bubble popped, dropping a very disoriented elf onto the ground.

“If we are the first non undead things you’ve seen in a couple of centuries, and assuming you are more fond of living things than dead or undead things, why would you try to kill us right away? High elves always boggle my mind so.”

“How do we… know… speak truth?” the elf Azarielle had released was climbing wobbly to his feet, and looking decidedly more than a little green in the face.

In answer, Azarielle drew the short sword hanging at her side, “Do you recognize the crest?”

“The Gwenevar crest!” the elven leader’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you…”

“I didn’t steal it,” Azarielle gave the first elf, Gubriel, a disapproving look, interrupting him before he could start. “Azariel Gwenevar, its previous owner, would probably polymorph me into a rat and feed me to a cat if I tried.”
“That name is not known to us,” the leader said turning to Azarielle.

“He’s the second son Terciel Gwenevar who is the youngest, and only surviving son of the last lord of this city, Gordaniel Gwenevar,” Azarielle replied. “May the Everstar light your path, brother… or something to that extent.”

“And your name is Azarielle?” the leader asked, cocking his head to the side. “If this Azariel is truly who you say he is, and you bear his name, then that makes you his heir.”

“And elven nobility… weird, I know,” Azarielle shook her head. Glancing around as if she was worried her teacher would appear out of thin air, she continued. “It’s because no sane woman, elf or not, would marry him and bear him children. And since he’s quite old, practically a fossil really, he figured he had to make somebody his heir before he returned to the Eternal Father. And, good sir, I am his one and only apprentice, so I became Azarielle.”

The elven leader looked as if he didn’t quite know how he should properly react at this overflow of information. Luthien, who has heard of Azariel Gwenevar, was aghast, “You are Azariel Gwenevar’s apprentice?! The Archmage, Azariel Gwenevar?!

Azarielle gave a shudder and nodded, “Yeah, that Azariel. And let me tell you, he’s totally horrible. He had me do these calming exercises or whatever nonsense and nearly drowned me. And then, to teach me more about dragon behavior, he left me in the den of this big black dragon… actually Obsidian Star turned out to be a very intelligent and interesting dragon… but to leave his only apprentice at the mercy of a dragon without so much as a word of warning? I mean…”

“You are Archmage Azariel Gwenevar’s apprentice?!” Luthien seemed quite stuck on the idea and looked at the young mage as if she had sprouted a third head.

“Oh come now Luthien, it can’t be that shocking. I already told you I am not Wenriel’s apprentice. Theredoniel is only a few decades older than I am, which in elven terms is like nothing. Raphthanniel, Wenriel’s father, is the Revered Teacher to the Azturothian princes and princesses, so he doesn’t have time to take any other apprentices, besides which he’s got idiot Wenriel’s attitude about humans being slightly above cows in the grand order of things. That leaves Zuriel, Theredoniel’s father, who has been… um, quite dead for the last few decades. Oh, and Queen Illiendarielle… but she’s the queen. I hope you don’t think any of the other fluff balls were my teachers. Well, I suppose Parindielle isn’t a fluff ball, but anyhow, she’s not my teacher either.”

Luthien could not began to make his way through the tangle of elven names and relationships Azarielle had been spouting, but the one idea that was beginning to solidify in his mind was that the often confusing young woman before him was the apprentice of a mage many consider to be amongst the most power to ever walk Faearth. And, as Azarielle has so succinctly stated, he supposed that he should not have been that shocked. He had seen what she was capable of… had known from the beginning that she was strong.

And knowing what he faced in his brother, having someone like the apprentice of an archmage around was definitely reassuring.

“It would seem that much has changed in the world outside of Aztur,” the leader of the strange high elven band remarked, with a hint of bitterness in his voice. “We do not know of this new Archmage of yours. But, we do recognize the crest of the Gwenevar family.”

“World outside of Aztur,” Ofeera, who had been mostly silent throughout the exchanged, gasped. “Good sirs, you mean to say that you have lived here, in these accursed Forsaken Lands?”

“Forsaken Lands? Is it what the outsiders call this place now?” the elf Gurbriel sneered. “A fitting name, I suppose, for we have been forsaken by your people.”

“We did not know that there were survivors! The plague killed everyone!” Ofeera shook her head.

“Well my lady, your people were wrong,” the leader smiled sardonically. “Some did survive the plague. In fact, they have left descendants.”

“And some of you at least have been camping out at Everstar Spire,” Azarielle finished. “Doriel’s curse couldn’t overcome Elucielle’s power so her home and its surrounding area didn’t fall victim to the plague.”

The lead elf frowned ever so slightly at the mage’s comments, but it was Gurbriel who confirmed Azarielle’s hypothesis, “And how would you know of this?!”

“Hmm, well, because I am a mage,” she replied with an infuriatingly serene smile. “That’s what Azariel used to say whenever I asked him a question. It’s pretty annoying isn’t it?”

Gurbriel let out a very un-elf like growl and took a menacing step towards Azarielle, who shook her head at him. “Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the little bubble so soon.”

“Azarielle, you are not helping,” Luthien glared at the mage. Then, turning to the leader, he said, “I am Luthien Delynd, a knight of Elad, and a prince of the Achienda Empire. I have been sent by my Order to apprehend two servants of the Abyssal Ones who murdered Archmage Patel, who was also a member of my Order. The ones we seek are Theredoniel Gwenevar and… my twin brother, Lucien Delynd. They are headed to the Everstar Spire and we must not let them retrieve whatever it is they hope to get from the Spire!”

Now it was Azarielle’s turn to be surprised, “Did you say a prince of the Achienda Empire? That’s why Delynd sounded so familiar!”

Luthien gave Azarielle an exasperated look but turned to the elf leader, “If, as my companion has stated, you do live at the Everstar Spire, I pray that you will take us there. My brother… Lucien, is cruel of heart and capable of great evil. He would not hesitate to kill anyone there that gets in his way.”

“Yes, entirely unpleasant fellow,” Azarielle agreed. “He is all about the dark arts, you know animating the dead and all, which I assure you is very nasty stuff. Anyhow, Luthien, since you are a prince, do you think you can help me through the whole beauraucratic stuff about obtaining citizenship for the Empire? I am already a legal resident, but the wait…”

Deciding to completely ignore Azarielle, Luthien turned to the leader of the elves again, “What say you?”

The Keystaff Chronicles - Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Breaker gritted his teeth in pain as he pulled a piece of tree bark out of his arm. The flesh around the wound was slightly swollen, and from the unusually painful sting, he could tell that the tree bark was poisonous. But since his race had high natural resistance to toxins, Breaker was not too concerned. And for having fallen out of the sky, he supposed that things could have been a great deal worse. For one thing, if they hadn’t bee flying so low, he would have ended up a greasy spot on the hard earth when Azarielle’s flying contraption exploded.

Rising to his feet and drawing his arcane breakers, the gray elf glanced around for his companions. He was surrounded by the diseased trees that they had glimpsed from above, and the blood-colored sap that flowed from the trees stank of rotting refuse. And that unholy red haze floating all around this cursed land made it difficult to see very far into the distance.

Still, the small change in the air current behind him warned him that he was no longer alone, and his body moved before his mind was even conscious of issuing a command. He spun around to face his foe, and found himself wryly amused at his earlier concern for the lack for ghouls. He needn’t have worried for the wretched creatures, for indeed they were faring quite well. In fact, four such creatures were now sprinting towards him, their arms outstretched and quite obviously intent on snapping his neck.

Ghouls were damned creatures whose bodies were held together by insidious Art and animated with evil intent. They could not be killed, if that was the right word to use, by normal weapons. But Breaker’s knives were crafted with the sole purpose of severing Arcane weaves, and when he sank his blade into the first ghoul’s heart, he had the distinct sensation of something seeping out of the creature’s body before the wretched thing fell over and became quite thoroughly dead.

The second ghoul sung at him wildly with one arm, the other having rotted away ages ago, emitting a strange gurgling sound from vocal chords that had not completed failed. It was accompanied by a third ghoul who must have been a warrior in life, for the creature struck at his vital spots repeatedly with a rusty sword. Breaker blocked the overhand chop from the third ghoul with his knives crossed, and sent the second ghoul stumbling backwards with a powerful kick to its face. Then, he pushed the third ghoul back, and slashed open the creature’s throat.

Apparently, having its windpipe severed was not enough to stop the ghoul, for it promptly struck Bracer a glancing blow to the side of the slayer’s shoulder, entirely unfazed by the new smile it now sported across its neck. Breaker took the hit with a grimace, so that he could plunge his other weapon through the creature’s temple and straight into its brain.

Before he could pull his weapons out, he felt hands wrap around his ankle. Leaving his one knife still buried in third ghoul’s hand, he dropped to the ground and buried his knife into the head of the fourth ghoul just as the creature was about to bite him. Though he was not as familiar with the history of Aztur as his other three companions, he did know that ghouls could spread the Bleeding Rot Plague with their bite. If he had been bitten, he would die horribly at best or become a ghoul himself. The thought of his soul, even though he didn’t know if he believed in the existence of a soul, the possibility of being trapped in a rotting body forever was... unpleasant.

By this time, the second ghoul was coming at him again, swinging wildly with its one arm. He ducked the frantic but unpracticed blows and finished off the creature with a quick thrust to the heart.

A sudden, familiar scream sent him running through the forest full speed. Like a shadow, Breaker slipped between the trees, sailing over exposed roots and ducking under low-hanging branches as if it were all an intricate, choreographed dance. That terrified scream had been from Ofeera, and from the light humming of his knives, he knew that either she or something else was using Arcane power.

Ofeera was not far from where he had fallen, and Luthien was with him. The knight was not faring well though, doubled over and clutching at his at his wound, blood flowing from his mouth. Ofeera stood over him with her hands extended, her lips moving in prayer, obviously trying to sustain the glowing blue shield that separated the two of them from the monsters.

She hadn’t fared too badly, all things considered. There were no wounds no her body, but the unmoving remains of several ghouls lay scattered about her. She’d taken care of them with her holy power, no doubt, because from the look of things, Luthien did not look quite capable of doing anything.

When she spotted him, Ofeera practically sobbed with relief, “Breaker! Luthien’s poisoned!”

The ghouls, who had been focused solely on the healer and knight, turned around to look at him. With a wry smile, Breaker launched himself at the nearest creature, aiming straight away from the heart. “I will keep them off you, my lady.”

Ofeera prayed for the cleansing power of Abihayil and hurled it, in the shape of two bolts of pure blue light at the ghouls closest to her. The wretched monsters toppled over without so much as a whimper, and after ascertaining that they would not move again, Ofeera quickly rushed over to where Luthien lay doubled over.

The knight thrown a shield up around them when they were falling, but the power that had destroyed Azarielle’s flying contraption had wreaked havoc with his power again. Halfway through the trees, the shield had simply disappeared, and because he had been trying his best to shield her with his own body, he had been cut open by the branches.

And, the diseased trees were poisonous.

The moment she had come to her senses, she had felt the toxins invading her body. Immediately, she had begun to pray, and because the scratches she received were relatively minor, it had not been long before she was able to cleanse and knit her wounds. Luthien, who had landed beside her, had not been so fortunate. One of the branches had pierced his side, digging deep into the flesh, and though she could sense the knight trying to heal himself as she had been doing, she knew that he was struggling.

And when she had gone to help him, the ghouls had come out from between the trees.

For just one moment, when she first beheld the horror of the lumbering dead and sensed the tortured souls trapped within the decayed bodies, she had screamed. She had almost fainted in fact. But, a strange calm had overcome her along with the knowledge that she had to protect Luthien, and instead of cowering, she had found her lips moving in prayer.

The cursed ghouls had proven to be very weak against her holy power, and within only a few moments, she had been able to bring several of the creatures down. And now, she had to help Luthien less he died.

Her limbs trembled like leaves in the wind as she knelt down next to the knight. It was a miracle from Abihayil himself that she was still able to function. Her mind was in turmoil, and she didn’t really know how she could help Luthien when she could barely concentrate. Surrounded by ghouls, in a forest of diseased trees…

Luthien’s forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his face was twisted into a grimace of pain. He clutched at his side, which oozed a putrid black substance from a long jagged wound. The flesh around the wound was swollen and discolored, and despite the flickering glow of Luthien’s own healing power, she could feel that the poison was spreading.

All thoughts of ghouls fled her mind, and the sound of battle became no more than a background noise as she laid her hands on his wound. His eyes opened just a crack, and he gave her a weak nod of thanks as her cool blue power flooded into his body. Ofeera smiled back faintly and turned her attention inwards. Though their features were identical, Luthien and Lucien had such different expressions. She had never seen Lucien in pain, or Lucien sad… really, she had never seen Lucien wear any expression other than a carefree smile.

Closing her eyes, Lucien’s charming smile still floating in her mind, Ofeera sent Abihayil’s cleansing power flowing through Luthien. She could feel the toxin, a dark virulent thing that killed whatever it touched, trying to spread from where the young knight had been pierced. Luthien’s golden power held the toxins at bay. The Knights of Elad were trained as healers, but first and foremost they were holy warriors. Luthien was quite powerful, but he lacked Ofeera’s training, and against this unfamiliar toxin, all he could do was to keep it from spreading too quickly.

Ofeera allowed her power to glide over the toxin. It writhed like a slick serpent, wriggling wildly as it sought to break through the shield. Once upon a time, this venomous substance had been nothing more than tree sap. But when the Bleeding Rot Plague had floated through the land, it had stricken plant life just as it had humans and animals. Most of the trees withered away, but some that didn’t became gnarled, diseased, parodies of themselves that oozed this fetid, poisonous sap.

A twisted, ancient power, filled with jealous rage and hatred that seemed undiminished by the passage of time pulsed through the toxin. Recognizing that this evil power was what was harming Luthien, the young woman quickly prayed to the Eternal Father that she be given the strength to purify it. Then, focusing her powers, the young woman unleashed it all at once, blowing the dark power away like wind blowing away dead leaves.

Luthien’s eyes widened as a jolt went through his body. It felt as if a lightning bolt had just gone off inside of him, followed by a soothing flood of warmth that made him feel like he was relaxing in a hot spring. The swelling around his wound diminishing rapidly, and though he still bled, it was red blood and not that sickly black substance. He turned to regard the healer appraisingly. Though wasn’t particularly fond of the sensation of lightning running through his body, it had been quite effective. This particular style of healing was something he might have attributed to Azarielle rather than the gentle Ofeera. Perhaps there were enough similarities between the two young women to warrant their obvious but unusual friendship.

Noticing that he was awake, Ofeera smiled with great relief and opened her mouth to ask if he was feeling well.

“Look out!” Luthien yelled, staring beyond her with alarm in his blue eyes.

The healer spun around, her heart pounding in her throat, just in time to see a ghoul being engulfed by red gold flames that looked as if they had bloomed from the ground.

“Hey, Sir Slayer, I think you missed one.”

“Azarielle!” Ofeera gasped.

“Ofeera, I hate to be a nag, but you really need to practice holding up a shield at the same time you heal someone,” the young mage remarked as twirled a thin, long wand in her hand. “You very nearly became that poor fellow’s snack.” Aside from a thin scratch across her cheekbone, the young woman did not look particularly worse for the wear.

“I mean, I know you are a very good healer and everything, but I am quite certain you haven’t gotten quite to the Uncrowned King’s level with, oh what do you call it, auto-resurrecting,” she continued as she pointed her wand at another ghoul. The unfortunate creature burst into flames and toppled over before it managed to take two steps. “Can either of you heal the Bleeding Rot Plague by any chance? These creatures still have souls inside their corpses.”

Luthien rose to his feet, and drew his sword. “All I can do is grant these wretched creatures rest! By the mercy of Abihayil the Eternal Father, rest!” The three ghouls closest to him instantly fell over, as if they were marionettes that had their strings cut.

“Well that was easy,” Azarielle remarked wryly.

The knight gave her an unappreciative look as he took on two more ghouls, kicking back the first that reached out for him and then slicing the second with a powerful sweep of his blade. To his great surprise, the ghoul that slashed apart did not stop moving. In fact, the both pieces of the damned wretch came crawling towards him.

“Head blow or heart blow,” Breaker shouted at him from in between opponents, moving so quickly that he appeared like a black blur.

“Or sever the arcane power that’s animating them,” Azarielle replied.

Luthien did not need to be told twice. He plunged his sword into the half ghoul’s heart and watched both pieces of the creature become still. And when the first ghoul made a wild leap for him, the young knight easily dodged the clumsy attack and plunged his glowing sword into the creature’s skull.

When no other ghoul came at him, the young knight surveyed the situation. Breaker danced between the ghouls like a black butterfly of death. His black swathed form was surrounded by the silvery arcs gleaming knives, bringing true death to the ghouls wherever he went. Ofeera and Azarielle stood next to one another, the mage no doubt, watching out for her friend. The healer was doing quite well, all things considered. Thought her face was ashen, and her eyes wide with fear, she was not petrified by all that was happening around her, and with her prayers, she laid the ghouls to rest. As for Azarielle, the mage was torching the ghouls, methodically, raising her wand, pointing, and then setting those unfortunate creatures ablaze.

Unlike Ofeera, Azarielle’s face showed no fear. Her face was very much devoid of emotion, to the point where it seemed like sculpture. But, there was peculiar gleam in her golden eyes that made the young knight believe that she was seething underneath her expressionless exterior.

He did not have time to worry about the mage though. Ghouls continued to emerge from thickets of the forest. Although most of these unfortunate creatures were easy enough to dispatch, he knew that his companions would not be able to continue this battle forever. What’s more, if any of them get bitten, even once, they would most assuredly become infected by the lethal plague and die a most painful death.

But they weren’t too far from the Everstar Spire. He could glimpse its hazy outline in the distance, half a day’s walk from were now.

“Azarielle, can you clear a path for us and create a distraction?” Luthien shouted at the mage. “We need to move!”

“Alright,” Azarielle lifted up her wand and began to murmur under her breath. The wand in her hand began to glow with a bright red-gold light until it was so bright that none of the companions could look upon it. Tongues of fire curled around the glowing wand, and around Azarielle’s fingers, bathing her in bright a ruby light. The young woman threw her wand with one sharply uttered command, and the wand transformed into a fiery comet. It blazed through the air towards the ghouls blocking the way to the spire, trailing bright sparks and flames that burned everything in its path.

“Breaker! Look out!” Ofeera gasped, when she saw that the gray elf was in line of Azarielle’s deadly missile.

Sensing danger, the elven slayer leaped aside just as the comet crashed into the group of ghouls he had been fighting, consuming them instantly in the giant firestorm that followed. Azarielle’s red gold flames seemed to have a life of their own, leaping from ghoul to ghoul in a macabre game of tag. And the ghouls caught by the fire were burned to nothingness in mere moments, as if they had been doused in oil or some other flammable substance.

Breaker gave the mage a murderous glare, to which she responded, “It’s Ghoul Fire. It only burns ghouls. You’ll notice I have not burned the forest around us down yet. Pretty good though right? It’s a new trick I picked up from Elucielle Gwenevar’s journal. Well, picked up is not the right word, cannibalized, would probably be more accurate. She could…”

“Azarielle, behind you!” Luthien yelled.

The ghoul thrust his arm through Azarielle the spot where the young mage had been standing and blinked in confusion when it found itself staring at empty air. Azarielle materialized behind the hapless creature and spoke a single quiet word. Luthien recognized the word for eternal sleep in the Arcane language, and watched as the ghoul crumpled to the ground.

“He is from the Rising Sun Empire,” Azarielle said, looking at Luthien with an oddly sorrowful voice. “One of Empire’s experiments.”

“What?” the knight blinked at her in incomprehension.

“There was a brand on his forehead that marked him as a prisoner of the Empire. I told you that the Empire will periodically test the potency of the Fog by throwing some of its prisoners or slaves into the Forsaken Lands when the Fog passes through. Of course, because he’s from the Empire, he has not heard of the Uncrowned King or the Eternal Father. And so, he ended up a ghoul for the glory of the Emperor of Peace and Prosperity.”

Azarielle’s usually cheery voice was cold and bitter as the north wind. Without offering another word of explanation, she crouched down onto the ground, laid her fingers flat against the hard earth and began to chant. A shiver went up Luthien’s spine as a ground beneath his feet began to ripple like water.

“What are you all waiting for?” Azarielle asked. “I am giving you your distraction now. This place is going to turn into a nice quicksand pick in a few seconds so unless you known how to fly, I’d start running.”

This time, none of the companions bothered to argue with the mage. Breaker scooped up Ofeera in his arms, and with Luthien following determinedly behind them, the two dashed through the fiery path that Azarielle had created with her wand. Behind them, they heard the first of several ominous bubbling sounds.

The Keystaff Chronicles - Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The third day passed quickly and without instance. It was with both relief and dread that the companions boarded the zeppelin, for although they were grateful to be leaving Peaceful Sea, they knew that neither their accursed destination nor their inevitable battle would be pleasant.

Ofeera spent her days in agitation. Though she tried to spend her time in prayer and meditation, the young healer found herself unable to sit for any length of time. The serpents of worry and fear had coiled around her soul, and each day, her heart grew more heavy as her thoughts became darker and darker. Ordinarily, the talkative and cheery mage would keep her from becoming too distraught with her inane chatter, but even Azarielle was uncharacteristically quiet.

Her only source of comfort came from Breaker. The gray elf would accompany her to the deck every evening. Sometimes, she would speak to him of Abihayil, and though he often listened in silence, the young healer felt that he paid attention to everything she said. Other times, they would simply sit quietly, enjoying each other’s companionship.

As he did when they were aboard the flying ship, Luthien spent most of his time being quite ill in his room. Every morning and every evening, the young knight would force himself to the deck and exercise so that his body remained strong. Sometimes, he and Breaker would spar together. The ever graceful and deadly elf challenged his skill at every turn, and though it frustrated him to no end when these sessions invariably ended with him on his back or one of Breaker’s knives pressed against his throat, the young knight welcomed the challenge.

Oddly enough, the least seen and most silent of all companions was Azarielle. The young woman spent most of her time above decks, pouring over Elucielle Gwenevar’s journal. The great archmage left behind scratch notes of Arcane works that she tried very hard to decipher. She also tried to find the mysterious Red in those pages, but even in Elucielle’s own records, the strange man remained elusive. Was he just an admirer of Elucielle instead of an intimate then? And yet, anyone who knew Elucielle so well and who lived a life so long even the elves should have made an appearance in the agenda, and yet the archamge made no mention of a red-headed human.

One night, when all of her companions were sleeping below decks, Azarielle stayed above deck to read, light the pages with a softly glowing puff ball.

All power originates from Abihayil. He is the source from which we draw our strength. There is no greater joy than being close to him, hearing a hundred thousand voices sing and feeling the beat of a million hearts. And yet, to have that incredible intimacy with him means trusting him fully with ourselves, and nothing is so terrifying to our mortal minds than giving up control. It is like standing upon a precipice and leaping into a chasm – with only blind faith that we shall be lifted up and not break into a thousand pieces below.

Cyderiel came to see me this morning and though he managed to be as intolerable as ever, he was saying goodbye. I wonder what I should say to my nieces and nephews when they ask me where their father has gone to. Perhaps Taiendielle will not even let me step through her door.

I hope that I do no see Cyderiel again, for if we ever meet, then I shall bring to bear against him all the powers that Abihayil has bestowed upon me. Against those who serve the Abyssal Ones, I who hold a Keystaff, can give no quarters.

Azarielle hesitated over the unfamiliar word, “Keystaff”. Being an archmage, it stood to reason that Elucielle Gwenevar would have had several powerful artifacts in her possession though for whatever reason, she made no mention of them in her journal. In fact, the archmage had not written of the Staff of Everstar once up this point, and Azarielle was beginning to think that the staff must have been known by another name. A snap of her fingers summoned forth a leather-bound book where she kept her own notes, and she quickly scribbled a note concerning the Keystaff.

Quiet footsteps alerted her of another’s presence, and the young woman looked up to see Luthien walking unsteadily over to where she was. The knight’s face looking drawn and tired from his air sickness, but with the pale moon shinning upon him, he looked like a creature formed of moon beams and snow. His hair gleamed like molten silver, and the shadows cast by the helium balloon above them brought into relief his perfectly sculpted face.

“If you are going to be ill, please go to the other side,” Azarielle said in way of greeting.

Luthien gave her an appreciative stare, but he sat down next to her anyway. “You have been very quiet. What is troubling you?”

“Nothing really – I’ve been reading.” she replied. “It’s all written in a fairly archaic form of high elven – quite a headache to read. She referred to Korbael Thewin as a sword-waving monkey. I thought you might have wanted to know that.”

As Korbael Thewin was a Knight of Elad and arguably one of the greatest heroes to ever walk the face of Faearth. Like Elucielle Gwenevar, he fought against the Abyssal Ones and ultimately gave up his life to protect the land that would become the Achianda Empire. Azarielle was quite certain that her comment would have sent Luthien off in a huff, but to her surprise, the young knight merely nodded.

“Sir Korbael and Lady Elucielle were friends. It was said that Lady Elucielle was sharp of tongue but kind of heart – and she had interesting… nicknames for all of her friends.” Luthien glanced over at the journal in he mage’s hands, his brows furrowing. He could not begin to read the fanciful, spidery writing etched across the pages. “You have been reading that book nonstop since we boarded this zeppelin. What is it?”

“It’s one of Elucielle Gwenevar’s journals,” the young mage replied, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. Luthien found himself staring at the graceful curve of the young woman’s neck. Her pale skin stood out in such shark contrast against the midnight black of her hair and the fiery crimson of her ostentatious coat.

Unaware of his attention, Azarielle glanced back at the journal for a moment before turning to ask, “Have you ever heard of a Keystaff?”

The unexpected question jolted him from his daze, and flushing, Luthien turned to Azarielle, “What?”

“Keystaff,” the young woman repeated.

The knight shook his head, “No. Did you say that this was Lady Elucielle’s journal?”

Azarielle nodded nonchalantly, “She talks about a Keystaff here, and I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

But Luthien was not listening, “How did you come across such a thing?! You… you didn’t steal it did you?”

Now it was Azarielle who gave the knight an unimpressed look, “It belongs to my teacher, and trust me when I say this, he is not the kind of person you want to steal from unless you want to be flattened like a fly.”

“Lady Ofeera informed me you are an apprentice of one of Gwenevar mages. But I cannot imagine that a journal belonging to the great Lady Elucielle Gwenevar would belong to anyone other than… Are you perhaps Lord Wenriel Gwenevar’s apprentice? Is that how you know Theredoniel Gwenevar?” Luthien asked, naming one of the Mage Council’s youngest councilors and Theredoniel’s eldest cousin.

“Uh, no. Wenriel doesn’t like humans overly much. I don’t think I would have survived if he were my teacher.” Azarielle made a face. “So, do you know who Cyderiel is?”

Luthien, who was still trying to understand how it came to be that Azarielle would have in her possession such a valuable historical artifact, blinked. “Cyderiel?”

The young woman let out a long sigh, “Elucielle mentioned him in her entry. I was kind of hoping that he was some famous villain and you’d know…”

“Cyderiel Azturvar?” Luthien tried to gather his scattered thoughts.

“She didn’t say. Azturvar… that would make him an elven prince?” Azarielle asked.

“If it is Cyderiel Azturvar, and I imagine no other elf would bear that cursed name after him, then he was the Avatar of Acedia.”

Azarielle’s eyes widened, “The one Elucielle died fighting? You know, come to think of it, I’ve never heard of him referred to anything as the Avatar of Acedia before. I knew he was an elf, but an elf prince?”

Luthien nodded, a wry smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I don’t imagine the high elves advertise it much.”

“Interesting,” the young mage shook her head.

“Any other questions?” the knight asked. “Because I’d like to answer them all so you could answer some of mine. You are very good at distracting me from asking mine, and you haven’t answered any of them yet.”

A startled laugh burst from the young woman’s lips, and she wore the expression of a child with her hand caught in the candy jar, “Oh my, you noticed.”

Luthien smiled, “I am not always oblivious to everything. So, my first question – something is troubling you. I can feel… a disturbance in your power. I am not trained as a mage, but I also have the Arcane Gift.”

“Yes, the big blazing holy fire back on the pirate ship made that quite evident,” the mage paused. “I have had… dreams, for lack of a better word, about the Forsaken Lands. There is a man who refers to himself as ‘Red’ in these dreams who shows me… I don’t know, sometimes he shows me visions from the present, and other times he shows me images from hundreds of years ago. He claims that he knows Elucielle.”

The young knight looked at her, shocked, “What?! How long has it been?”

“Since the fishing boat,” Azarielle shook her head. “I’ve not seen any indications that Elucielle actually knew him fro her own writing. He showed me the last fight between Doriel and Cedrel – and it felt so real.”

“The only one to confront the Blight of Pestilence was the elven knight, Cedriel Kethevar.”

Azarielle shook her head. “The only we know of was Cedriel Kethevar. In the vision that he showed me, Doriel was holding the body of an elf woman named Qurenielle.”

“Lady Qurenielle was Sir Cedriel’s wife,” Luthien frowned. “She disappeared during the War...”

“What is interesting is that none of them acknowledged Red,” the young mage continued. “It was as if he hadn’t been there, and yet, it seemed like he was showing me his memory. That crabby old man didn’t teach me enough about this.”

Luthien, who had been busy trying to figure out what he could do about the dream, snapped to attention, “And who is ‘that crabby old man’?”

“Oh that,” Azarielle’s lips curved into a devious smile as she got to her feet and stretched, cat-like. “I think that’s a question to be answered another time.”

* * * * *

Parched, yellow-brown earth stretched into eternity, interrupted only by the skeletal frames of a few tortured trees that oozed a sickly red-green substance. Dry riverbanks and lakes marred the land like deep scars and pock marks. There was no sound, save the lonely howl of the wind, and no life. This was a quiet place, a dead place.

Quiet and dead, like his heart.

Theredoniel stared at the vast wasteland that had been the beloved homeland of his high elven ancestors. He could scarcely equate this barren place with the verdant oasis he had seen in the paintings that lined the hallways of his House. Gone were the proud trees that seemed to touch the sky and the spiraling crystal towers that gleamed like jewels.

A sigh escaped his lips that came from the very depth of his soul.

“Aztur the Magnificent…to think that this land was laid to waste by one of its own sons,” Lucien ran a slender hand through the pale strands of his hair that swayed in the wind like cobwebs. The sapphire eyes that took in the devastation around him were thoughtful, but when he turned to Theredoniel, his smile was nonchalant. “Doriel Kethevar was the great Lady Elucielle’s favored apprentice.”

“That one no longer has the right to bear an elven name,” Theredoniel responded, automatically.

Lucien arched one of his silvery eyebrows, “My dear Theredoniel, isn’t that a bit harsh? T’was love that drove Lord Doriel to this – after all, his own twin brother did steal his beloved… oh what was her name again, Qurenielle? Why, I would have imagined that you would have sympathized with him. After all, aren’t you here now because of your beloved?”

Theredoniel stiffened, his already pale complexion turning ashen. He wanted to strike down the villainous prince whose venomous words pierced his heart like serpentine fangs. And yet, Lucien, for once, spoke no lie. He had no pedestal of morality upon which he could stand in judgment. Doriel had been driven to his heinous act because the selfish love in his heart had festered into jealousy and rage – and what of himself? Had not innocent blood been spilled because of his own selfish desire for Eowyna’s company?

He turned to his wife who stood silently beside him, her beautiful eyes staring into the distance. The wind had pulled a few strands of her hair free, and they danced wildly in front of her face. Once upon a time, she would have fixed hair immediately.

For that simple act alone, to see her fix her hair, he would what Doriel did and worse. His heart was as black as the other elf’s, and he was ever bit as damned. Wordlessly, he reached up and tucked those loose strands behind her ear. She stood, unresisting, unmoving.

Lucien watched it all with a small smile curving his lips.

“Lord Lucien, we have landed here as you have commanded. Will you explain why? There is nothing to be seen here.”

The prince turned to the speaker, a mage clad in flowing black robes and flanked by six soldiers. These had been a ‘gift’ from their host, Prince Yue – soldiers placed under his command to “assist” him in his quest. Lucien regarded the mage, a dour-faced man who seemed to be perpetually frowning, and sighed. One would think that Yue, a prince in the service of the Luxuria, the Abyssal One of Lust, could have sent more pleasant company.

“Dear Dao, can I call you Dao? As a mage, were you not taught to be fooled by what the eyes can or cannot see?” Lucien made a wide-sweeping gesture at the barren landscape. “Now, if you were to look with your Sight…”

Lucien held out his left hand, and with a flick of his sharp black nail, he drew a thin line of red across his wrist. Beads of blood fell from his arm like pearls scattering from a broken necklace strand, and when they struck the ground, it was with a hiss, like cold water striking a burning hot surface. Sinister, sibilant words slithered out of his pale lips as his fingers danced across the air, leaving darkly glowing runes in their wake.

Though he did not know exactly what it was the dark prince was doing, Theredoniel felt a cold chill run up his spine. Lucien’s seemed to rise from the depths of the Abyss, and it crawled through the air like some twisted, vengeful fiend. All around them, the air grew thick with the sickly sweet stench of decay, making him choke back a gag.
“Merciful Abihayil,” the young elf muttered.

Lucien glanced at him from beneath long, silvery lashes, his blue eyes as devoid as life as this devastated land around them, “Oh, look around you, my dear Theredoniel. Do you see mercy?” That last word came out in a hissing echo, utterly inhuman.

Theredoniel stared at the dark prince, and for just one instant Lucien’s face was so devoid of anything resembling human expression that he seemed entirely alien. The creature that looked at him from behind a beautiful human shell was something ancient and utterly malevolent. And even as the young elf drew back in shock, Lucien blinked was back to his usual pleasantly nonchalant self.

“What…what did you do?” Theredoniel asked, his voice coming out in a dry croak?

“Hmm, I just made sure that our pursuers would have company while we are busy,” was the cryptic reply. “Now, tell me, Dao, is this place still so empty?”

The Rising Sun mage, whose face had lost all color and who was staring past Lucien in abject horror, mumbled a reply in his own language. With dread squeezing his heart, Theredoniel looked over his shoulder. There, standing behind him was an army of monstrous creatures – nightmares incarnated with flesh and blood.

“Well, let’s be on our way. If we can get all this messy business done with, we can be back aboard our air ship for breakfast.” Lucien waved his hand airily at his horrified companions.

* * * * *

Luthien thought that he hated flying. Neither the airship nor the zeppelin had done well with his stomach. And now, as they glided through the sky, buoyed by a contraption welded together by Arcane energies and formed entirely of air, he was convinced that the emotion he felt had past from hatred to absolute, gut-wrenching loathing. The skies were for the birds, for surely, if the Eternal Father had intended men to fly, then he would have given them wings.

The wind tore wildly at his hair and stung his eyes, making them water. And since Azarielle had informed them that she was trying to be conservative with her Arcane Gift, they would sometimes fly so low that he feared their contraption would become entangled by the skeletal fingers of the cursed trees.

Of course, the view probably contributed to his discomfort.

The first hint of devastation appeared in their horizon late in the afternoon of the second day. By the time the sun rose on the third day, the land beneath them had become a sickly barren wasteland. What plant life still existed in this devastated place looked like tortured souls, screaming for release, and pale, sickly pall of red seemed to have fallen over the entire place.

Luthien could scarcely imagine that such a dead, forsaken place was once the mystical homeland of the high elves. He glanced over at Breaker and wondered what was going through the gray elf’s mind. The usually quiet elf had shaken his head and muttered something in his own language when he first laid eyes on the Forsaken Lands, an uncharacteristically bleak expression on his face.

The elf was not looking around him now. Instead, he was staring the mage’s back, “Lady, is she holding up well enough?”

“For now,” Ofeera shook her head as she glanced at her friend. The haze which blocked the sun dimmed the brilliance of her golden tresses. And though she had bound her hair into a braid , the few loose strands danced wildly in the wind. “Though I wonder how she is managing to hold out so well. Abihayil has truly blessed her with great Gift.”

Breaker was quiet for a moment, “We’ve flown through these lands for three days, and we’ve not spotted a single creature. Odd is it now?”

“The Bleeding Rot Plague, Abihayil be blessed, was several centuries ago. The rotting bodies of the unbelievers would have surely fallen apart by now,” Ofeera gasped with a shudder.

“No,” Luthien shouted to be heard above the wind. “The plague was wrought of Dark Art and truly vile in nature. The rotting stops at a certain point, and then, the bodies of the ghouls actually main in a constant state – a parody of life everlasting. It is strange that we’ve not seen any such creatures.”

“Not just ghouls,” Breaker added. “There are other monsters, creatures whose bodies were not rotted by the plague but transformed into another form. These monsters were said to wander this cursed land, but we’ve not seen any sign of ‘life’.”

Ofeera opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly, she was enveloped by a dark and terrible power. She gagged as that frightening and yet familiar power poured over her like molasses, stinking of rotting flesh mixed with the sickeningly sweet scent of decay. Her own power, the blessed breath of Abihayil, rose up to counter against the darkness automatically, washing away the darkness in a flood of cleansing coolness.

“Breaker, Luthien!” the young healer yelled, and then turning to the mage, she added. “Azarielle!”

The knight had responded to the onslaught by raising a glowing shield around himself and the elf, whose arcane breakers hummed ominously. Azarielle, who had been entirely focused on guiding her arcane contraption through the air, was not so prepared. The mage’s snapped wide open in a look of surprise. From out of nowhere, pulsing veins of red and black light lanced through the air and tore at the mage’s flying contraption. These vicious blades of power cut the arcane weave as if they were fragile threads, and the whole contraption began to unravel like ball of yarn being toyed with by a cat.

“Azarielle!” Luthien yelled. “Do something!”

The mage, however, did not have time to respond or do anything to assist her companions. The dark power that had flowed past her companions targeted her, and it was now wrapped around her body like the coils of a constricting cobra, bent on squeezing the life out of her.

Sensing what was happening, Ofeera reached out her hand, determined to help her friend. But the support beneath her feet suddenly gave away in a shower of bright sparks and loud hissing. She let out a startled shriek as she started to plummet, but hands reached out grabbed her, pulling her non-too-gently back.

“B…blessed Abi… Abihayil,” Ofeera stuttered, her heart pounding wildly at the back of her throat.

“Shield!” Luthien hissed at her from his bent po. “We have to shield what there is left of this thing!” The young knight began to pray, his face tilted upwards and his arms extended wide. A soft gold light began emanating from his body, wrapping them all in a shiny golden shell.

Forcing her trembling lips to move and mimicking the knight by extending her own quavering limbs outwards, Ofeera began to pray. The healer closed her eyes to block out the sight of the barren trees beneath them that seemed like so many spears waiting to impale them. She shouted her words to drown out the sound of howling and the intermittent cracks and hisses as more of their flying contraption unraveled at the onslaught of the dark power.

Breaker watched Luthien and Ofeera struggle, their words taken by the wind the moment it left their mouths. He reached out a hand to steady the healer who wobbled unsteadily in her awkward kneeling position. Despite her fear, evident from her stuttered words and sheet-white complexion, she persevered in her prayers which culminated in a gently blue sphere that surrounded them.

However his companions’ valiant effort to hold the flying contraption together was not enough. Breaker knew that the best they could hope for was a softer landing. Whatever it was that held the thing together was being worn away by the unseen forces that made his arcane breakers hum angrily, and Azarielle was struggling with what appeared glowing red and black ropes of energy that coiled around her body. There was nothing that he could do to help…

A sudden idea had him scrambling to draw his arcane blade. Bracing himself against any unpleasant backlash, the gray elf made a slashing motion at what bound the mage in place. He felt his knife cut through something soft and rubbery, and then all of a sudden, something, cold and sinister snaked up the blade, swirled around the hilt and seemed to bit his hand. Blood flew in a crimson arc from a deep gash that opened from the tip of his middle finger all the way up his wrist, making he drop his weapon with a grunt of pain and surprise.

A sudden yell of surprised from Luthien, followed by a scream from Ofeera made him spin by in shock. Luthien was pinned beneath monstrous creature that had the body of a mummified corpse and large, dark, tattered bat wings. The creature was straddling the young knight, its bony hands squeezing the knight’s throat. Luthien was trying to pull its hands off with one hand while holding the creature’s face away from himself. The creature opened its mouth, a motion that looked more like it had just unhinged its jaw, and spewed forth white, wiggling maggots.

Fighting back the bile that rose in the back of his throat at this sickening sight, Breaker picked up his dropped knife and in a powerful, catlike motion, sprang over the petrified Ofeera. Then, all in one motion, he buried his arcane breaker into the monster’s eye socket.

Black blood gushed from the creature eye, and it reached up its had to clutch at its wound. And then, it burst into bright gold flames and promptly toppled out of their flying contraption to plummet into the scorched earth beneath.

The companions had no time to revel in their victory though. For just a few brief moments, the shields had dropped, but that was enough for the insidious dark power to complete its destructive work. Bleeding bright sparks like life’s blood, the mage’s flying contraption gave one violent jerk and exploded with a deafening roar.

The Keystaff Chronicles Chaper 9

Chapter 9

Patience was not a virtue that he possessed. He should be relaxed. The soothing song of the water, the salty sea breeze, and the gentle sway of the boat as it was rocked back and forth by the motherly waves, all these things should have brought him peace. Yet Luthien found himself pacing back and forth on the deck, his body hot with agitation.

Somewhere out in that vast, rippling darkness was Azarielle. After that initial blinding flash in the distance, they had seen no further signs of her. Win or lose, unharmed or injured, they didn’t know what state she was in now. The nerve of that mage! To just casually stroll off the boat without bothering to let him or Ofeera know what she was intending to do! And Breaker! The hopelessly nonchalant mage slayer had simply let her walk away without trying to stop her foolishness or at least waking the rest of them up!

The gray elf had gone back inside the room to rest. When Luthien had confronted him about letting her walk free, Breaker had said quite simply, “Do you not trust the will of your Eternal Father, Knight?” Stunned by this rebuke that a patron might have delivered, Luthien had not pursued the conversation further. Instead, he had gone back out onto the deck to pray and wait – neither of which he had been particularly successful at doing.

“I am certain that she is fine.” Ofeera, who had been praying this whole time rose to her feet. “The Eternal Father watches over her. That flash we had seen – I am almost certain it was her power.”

“You are right, my lady.” Luthien hesitated for a moment before adding, “I have little in the way of knowledge and understanding with regards to Arcane powers, but I saw…” The young knight thought of that swirling, fiery maelstrom and the screaming voices – Azarielle’s power.

“Azarielle’s power?” Ofeera finished for him. “I felt it too, Highness. If the Eternal Father had so gifted her, he did so for a purpose.”

Luthien smiled, “Your counsel is wise, my lady.”

Turning to face the ocean, Ofeera prayed that her confident words would be true. Unlike Luthien, she understood a mage’s powers well enough to recognize that Azarielle’s power was fairly unstable. This was not a comforting thing for she had tended to mages whose minds and bodies had been consumed by their own power. And despite what she said to the knight, the young healer feared for her friend. She did not want the battles to drive her friend to that breaking point.

* * * * *

Azarielle was feeling quite irritated at that moment. She was thoroughly soaked, and the cool ocean breeze that had felt so good earlier in the day now chilled her to the bones. Her wounds stung horrifically from the salt water, though she supposed that she didn’t have to worry about the cuts becoming infected. And, at lease she was in better off than Bi Xiang and Blue Cloud. She’d teleported them both to a nicely swampy marshland filled with bloodthirsty leeches and mosquitoes, and they wouldn’t be able to start a fire to dry themselves off using their Arcane powers since she’d sealed them away. The seal would wear off in a few days, but in the meantime, she rather hoped that the all the lovely swamp bugs would enjoy their feast.

The small glowing puffball she created drifted lazily in front of her as she slunk across the waves, somehow managing to drag her feet in the water in a lackluster fashion instead of her gliding across gracefully as she had done earlier. Luthien was going to demand an explanation, and for once, she would much prefer burrowing into her bedroll than argue with the knight.

Unfortunately, she doubted that she’d be getting any more sleep this night. While it had been thoroughly satisfying to unleash that blast of power, it was also quite reckless, on par with Luthien charging at Bi Xiang and his cohorts in terms of stupidity, in fact. If any of the mages working for Prince Ming were remotely competent, they would have sensed that blast. And, they would be by shortly to investigate.

Two more days – that’s how long they had to stay undiscovered before they could board the zeppelin for Everstar Spire. Azarielle let out a soul-deep sigh. These two days already seemed like years.

* * * * *

The sound of footfalls shook Breaker from his restful lull, and he rose to his feet like a great cat rising from a nap, silently and gracefully. He could hear Luthien and Ofeera talking quietly (for humans) on deck and he slipped out the other end. The gray elf hopped nimbly onto the pier and turned in the direction of the footfalls. Sure enough, he saw the group of soldiers who had barged into their boat earlier that night rushing their way. They must have either seen the flash of light or sensed the Arcane power that had been unleashed.

Moving swiftly, Breaker hurried back onboard the boat and joined his two companions on deck, “The soldiers are back.”

Both Luthien and Ofeera turned to face him with startled expressions. He had come upon them sp quietly and swiftly his that it seemed to them as if he had materialized in their midst.

“What?” the knight looked at him in confusion.

“The soldiers that were here earlier – they are coming this way.”

Ofeera’s eyes widened, “They must have sensed that blast!”

“That idiot mage!” Luthien scowled before turning to survey his companions. Ofeera had washed off her disguise and donned her white robes. Breaker was still dressed like a fishermen, though the powders he had applied to his face was starting to smudge around the corners. It didn’t matter anyway. Azarielle was not here, and if the soldiers decided to search the boats again, they could very well notice her absence.

“Get back into the boat,” the young knight commanded with gritted teeth. They only had two options – get back into the boat and fight only if they are cornered, or make their escape without Azarielle. And as much as he wanted to throttle the mage, Luthien would not leave her to face the soldiers on her own.

Ofeera went back into their sleeping quarters without a word argument. Breaker gave him an unreadable look as he passed by the knight, but he too obeyed without complaint. Once inside, Luthien propped up his bedroll with travel bags as best as he could to give the illusion that there was someone else inside, before slipping in. He lay with his hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his unsheathed sword, ready to defend if the soldiers did attack,

In the other bedroll, Breaker had also drawn his weapons. The elven mage slayer held a throwing knife in each of his hand. He would strike to kill should the soldiers barge into the boat and attack. As long as he was able to get rid of the mage first, the gray elf was certain that he and Luthien would win the battle.

The footsteps grew nearer, drumming the beat that heralded an impending battle. They stopped abruptly, and lilting voices spoke in singsong Hanyue. Luthien understood enough of the language that he was able to piece together their discussion. They intended to investigate the light, and they would seize a larger fishing vessel for the purpose. Half the men would board the fishing boat along with the mage while the other half remained on guard at the dock.
If Azarielle was yet to end her battle, she would find herself sorely outnumbered.

* * * * *

It would seem that the Council was going to have to make restitution payments to yet another fishermen’s family. Azarielle watched as Prince Ming’s soldiers seized a medium-sized fishing boat, roughly expelling its six original inhabitants. As a precaution, the young woman had extinguished her mage light when she felt that she was nearing shore as not to attract any unwanted attention. Instead, the young woman had slipped into Mage Sight, which allowed her to see the world as colorful and interconnected webs of energy.

The soldiers and the unfortunate fishermen family appeared to her as tightly wound up balls of threads ranging in color from dull white to soft sunflower yellow. They were obstacles in the streams of Arcane power, forcing the silvery, starry flows to meander around them as water meandered around unmoving rocks. The mage who had accompanied the soldiers was like a strand of coiled, dark orange thread floating in the river of power. He glowed with a faintly black light to Azarielle’s Sight, which told the young woman that he had dabbled in the darker arts.

She could spot her companions as well. Ofeera added to the web of many lights a gentle, blue-white thread that shimmered almost as brightly as the Arcane streams around her. Luthien was shinning gold, as bright as the sun, and practically humming with agitation and energy. Breaker, the non-mage of the group, was a coiled ball of deep browns and lively greens – the colors of the earth.

As for herself…

Azarielle held out her hands, which to her Sight was a wildly pulsing thread that writhed and twisted into all manner of colors. One moment, it would blaze with passionate, fiery red; the next moment, it would shimmer softly like the purest silver. That silver color would then darken until it was like the angry skies that threatened to break forth into a violent storm.

Clenching her hands into fists, the young woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She would not allow it to happen. She could not allow it to happen! That subversive, serpentine ecstasy; that maddening, howling and violent freedom; that sweet, sweet joy of surrendering to the shrieking voices that demanded her to unleash her all her powers! She could not succumb to that horrible temptation – for then, she would be as lost as any servant of the Abyssal Ones.

The words of another Arcane working spilled from her lips as easily as a poem, and she felt her body grow light as air. She did not need her Sight to guide her, and simply allowed herself to be pulled forward by her companions’ familiar presence. Water flowed into her, through her and felt like silk sheets whispering against her skin. And then, she was passing through the wooden walls of the fishing boat, the hard grains of the wood rubbing against her like rough burlap.

Her trance-like state was snapped abruptly by a sudden, cold sensation. Azarielle’s eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring down at the very sharp, very dangerous looking edge of an arcane breaker.

“Well, good to see you too, Breaker,” Azarielle huffed.

The gray elf, who had been quite startled when the young woman had simply popped out of thin air, gave her a cool stare, “Make some noise next time, mage.”

“Azarielle! Thank the Eternal Father!” Ofeera gasped in relief.

“What in the name of all that is holy did you think you were doing?” Luthien hissed.

“Those are Prince Ming’s soldiers outside,” the young mage reminded her companions. “Unless we really want to completely doom our chances of spending the next two days in quiet obscurity, I suggest we speak quietly. Anyhow, we are temporarily in the clear. To give you a quick summary – because I am really quite tired – Bi Xiang and Blue Cloud, another one of Prince Yue’s servants tried to murder or apprehend me. They didn’t quite manage to do it and now I am here and they are getting eaten by mosquitoes and leeches somewhere icky. The end. Now please turn the other way so I can get out of these miserably wet clothes.”

“You left without a word!” Luthien’s anger spilled out with every word that he spoke. Azarielle’s flippant attitude was enraged him to no end, and it was all he could do not to shout at this frustrating woman.

“I told Mister Slayer,” was the airy reply as the young woman casually dug through her bags, presumably searching for something dry to change into.

Luthien was about to respond when Ofeera interrupted him, “You are hurt!” The young healer, who had been holding a small oil lamp so that Azarielle could look through her things, spotted a dark stain spreading across the mage’s shirt and touched it lightly with her fingertips.

“It’s not deep,” Azarielle pulled out a roll of bandages and a small jar. “If you use your healing powers, that mage out there will sense it. It will be fine if I wrap it.” A dagger appeared in the young mage’s hand and she promptly slit open the sleeve of her fishermen wife’s shirt. She rubbed some minty-smelling herbs onto the wound, and then deftly bound it with the bandages. Luthien noted the practiced ease with which she worked. Azarielle was not a stranger to tending her own injuries, it would seem.

“You aren’t injured anywhere else?” he asked, after a moment.

“There’s a small scratch on my face – and I certainly hope it won’t scar,” the young woman sniffed. “I do not believe that nonsensical talk about scars ‘adding character’. Honestly, a scar means that I couldn’t take care of myself, and that’s not good! Well, actually, perhaps it’s not such a bad thing, because it keeps us humble by reminding us of our inabilities and failures and reinforcing the teaching that only the Uncrowned King can lead us down the path to Abihayil. But then, Abihayil is exalted by our happiness and since I won’t be happy having a big scar on my face, maybe he won’t feel so exalted, which would be bad. So…”

What concern Luthien might have felt for her well being vanished as the deluge of her words rolled over him. He didn’t have the patience or energy to sort through Azarielle’s tangled logic. Without another word to the mage, he went back to his corner and wrapped himself up with his blankets, signaling the end of their conversation. Azarielle glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, a sly twinkle in her eyes and a knowing smile curving her lips.

“Azarielle,” Ofeera admonished softly though the young healer could not help but smile at her friend’s antics.

Breaker, who had watched the exchange quietly, spoke up, “That was careless of you, mage.”

“Breaker!” Ofeera frowned at the gray elf. “Azarielle is injured!”

The young mage regarded the mage slayer for a moment and then nodded with unusual gravity, “You are right, Sir Slayer. I am sorry to have brought the soldiers back.”

“The ones that went to investigate – will they find anything that would lead them back here?”

“No,” Azarielle wrapped a blanket around herself, “And I really do need to get some sleep now, sir slayer.”

* * * * *

Prince Ming’s soldiers did not trouble the companions again. Breaker kept watch until the ones who had gone out on the larger fishing vessel returned. From the frustrated expression on the soldier mage’s face, the gray elf deduced that the search had been futile.

The next morning, the companions were roused early from their sleep by the mage. She insisted that they needed to find another place to hide, and explained that it would be a good day to dispose of the boat because the rains would come, and it was, sadly, quite commonplace for the smaller fishing vessels to be swallowed up by the sea. It did not take Azarielle very long to complete her task, and they soon found themselves back to the marketplace.
Thought the sun was only beginning to peak in the eastern horizon, splashing the sky with hues of gentle gold and soft pink, the merchants and a few early risers were already out and about. The large, sliding doors of shops were pushed open, and long, low wooden tables where the smaller merchants liked to display their wares were set out along the side of the streets. The tantalizing smell of fried fritters and scallion encrusted pancakes, local breakfast favorites, wafted from the windows of several eateries, making the companions’ stomachs growl.

Dressed in nondescript clothes that Breaker had ‘acquired’ from a clothesline with scarves wrapped around their heads, and having been carefully made up by the gray elf to resemble sun browned farmers, the four companions garnered little notice as they made their way through the streets. At the young woman’s insistence, the companions split up and found separate lodging in two inns that faced each other on the street. Although Luthien was not entirely pleased with the arrangement, he knew that anyone searching for them would be looking for a group of four.

The day passed peacefully, if slowly. Luthien, with Azarielle tow, secured a place for his companions aboard a treasure hunting zeppelin that was bound for the Forsaken Lands. Sadly, no amount of gold was enough to convince the zeppelin captain to take them beyond the boarders of ancient Aztur. From the boarders of Aztur to Everstar Spire was seven days on foot – not an idea in which Luthien relished. Azarielle was thus tasked with finding an Arcane means of transportation to shorten their trip.

And so, the young mage spent the rest of her day in research, pouring over her books and Elucielle Gwenevar’s journal in hopes that the great archmage would provide some inspiration. By the time she retired that evening, the young woman had devised a way to fly herself and her companions in a speedy manner. Of course, there were still a few safety glitches to work out, but those were minor.

What concerned her most was how much arcane power she would need to use in order to keep all four of them moving at the desired speed. If they faced off against Theredoniel and the servant, she would need to be at the height of her power, not exhausted. Mumbling a prayer to Abihayil and asking her to grant her wisdom, the young woman soon fell asleep.

She opened her eyes to the sight of ancient trees reaching their thick, leafy boughs up to the infinite night sky. Her hands rested upon soft, dew-moist grass, and the sensation of cool wetness was enough of a shock that the young woman bolted her feet. The world around her was something wildly and beautifully fantastical, a poetic melding of ancient trees and shimmering crystals. Elegant homes built from white marble and crystals were seamlessly entwined in the trunks and branches of the most unusually shaped trees. Verdant leaves lay spread over the roofs of houses, and beautiful flowers blossomed upon every windowsill.

Silvery mage globes bobbed up and down amongst the trees, lighting up what looked like a town square built around a fountain with the statue of a beautiful elven woman sitting at the edge of the water and reading a book. Elves and humans alike milled about, dressed in flowing robes of satin and gossamer, and speaking in melodious high elven. Somewhere hidden in the thick canopy of leaves, a bird sang sweetly to the accompaniment flute and harp.

And standing in the distance, a pillar of shimmering white stone and shiny gold crystals stood Everstar Spire.

“Gwenevar City,” Red stepped out from the flowing throng of people with a dazzling smile. “If it still existed, that teacher of yours would be its lord, and you, my darling little mage, would be the next lady. How the souls of those noble patriarchs and matriarchs must be screaming in Zion, ha!”

Azarielle gave the strange man a not entire friendly as she didn’t particularly liked being called ‘darling little mage’, “Gwenevar City was destroyed in the Mage Wars. It wouldn’t look like this now.”

“Well, you aren’t entirely hopeless, it would seem,” Red nodded in a way that Azarielle found extremely annoying. She wondered for just a brief moment if Luthien felt the same when she talked to her, and promptly dismissed that thought as utter nonsense.

“It was here that those idiot Kethevar brothers, Doriel and Cedriel fought one another. Can you believe it was over a woman?” Red shook his head. “Oh the follies of men who, for the sake of a woman, would destroy a nation. Elucielle’s great nephew Gordaniel, who was the lord of Gwenevar City at the time, died in that battle. He was a likable boy, Gordaniel, not the sharpest tool in the shed if you know my meaning, and altogether too obsessed with pecan pies, but a good boy nonetheless. I think Elucielle might have actually liked him, if that woman was capable of liking anyone.”

“Did you know Doriel Kethevar?” Azarielle asked.

Red did not answer. Instead, he walked to the fountain and sat down next to the sculpture of beautiful woman, “Do you know what your greatest weakness was, Elucielle? It was your damnable merciful heart. You saw the shadow in Doriel’s heart and yet, instead of extinguishing his power, you taught him the Art in hopes that his heart would be turned towards Abihyail. Your favorite apprentice killed your favorite great nephew. Doriel made Gordaniel rot to pieces in front of your beloved people. And you, the great Archmage Elucielle Gwenevar, died for the sake of a soulless servant of an Abyssal One. You were such a fool.” The strange young-looking man held out his hand as if to touch the statue, the tips of his fingers hovering only a breath away from those sculpted cheeks.

“Mercy is not weakness. We owe our very existence to the mercy of the Uncrowned King. If he had not sacrificed himself for us, we would all die the soul’s death, corrupted as we are by taint of the Abyssal Ones” Azarielle said softly.

Red’s mouth twisted into a smile that was half-amused and half-bitter. “Are you preaching to me, baby mage?”

He rose to his feet abruptly and turned to Azarielle, “You want to know about Doriel Kethevar?”

Before Azarielle could even answer, everything around her began to bleed away, the colors melting into one another until everything became a mass of oozing browns and sickly greens. The young woman reeled from this dizzying effect, and she reached out a hand reflexively to grasp hold of something.

She grasped something cold and stiff, and when she opened her eyes, she found her hand pressed against the decaying back of a corpse, only inches away from exposed, white bones. The young mage snatched her hand back, the words of an arcane shield tumbling from her lips almost reflexively.

“That’s not going to do you much good here, little mage,” Red shook his head. “That youngster Azariel really didn’t teach you much about dream walking, did he? Well, in this place, the only things that amount to anything are the power of your will and the strength of your faith. And experience, of course. Let me see, did he tell you about…”

But Azarielle wasn’t really listening.

The beautiful Gwenevar City had become a slaughterhouse. Bodies paved the ground upon which she stood, strewn about like so much rubbish. Rivers of blood flowed through the streets, carrying along pieces of decayed flesh and rotted limbs. The grand, ancient trees were nothing more than over large kindling, and the birds that had sang so sweetly were silenced. An ominous red mist hung over the air which reeked of death. The verdant paradise was now a nightmare of red and gray – blood and death.

“Blessed Abihayil,” the young woman whispered as she looked at the horrific scene around her.

“…and that is why you really should… hmmm?” Red, who had been rambling on about dream walking, paused when he noted that the young woman was not paying any attention to her. “How disrespectful! I will have you know that mages would murder one another to have lessons from me! And here I find you, a mage-ling, not paying any attention to something you obviously lack any experiences with, and…”

“You were there. This is your memory!” Azarielle turned to strange man. “How could you have been there and…!”

“And I am terribly, terribly insulted! You think I am Doriel? Do I look like a simpering idiot to you?” Red huffed in indignation.

“Then how I am seeing this?” the young woman demanded. “This is your memory – it’s so vivid that I can see it, touch it, smelly it! By Abihayil, I can even feel the despair hanging in the air, and that is your emotion! You walked through these streets; how were you able to survive?”

“Did I not tell you that I am great and powerful, and all that good stuff?” Red frowned. “You think a little immature child like Doriel Kethevar could kill me?”

“Doriel Kethevar was said to be as powerful as Elucielle Gwenevar herself.”

“That is quite untrue, I assure you.” Red sniffed disdainfully. “I mean, he was an Honored One, not an Exalted One. You are staring at me with a rather idiotic look, little mageling. The Exalted One is what you call a Servant or Avatar of the Abyssal Ones – you know the ones that the archmages fight? My goodness, don’t you young mages learn anything nowadays? I say, the mages’ education system is really on the decline…Anyhow, you wanted to know about Doriel.”

The image around them shifted again, and Azarielle found herself standing inside what might have once been a grand temple with painted glass windows that were now smashed to pieces. Here too, the dead lay unburied, in various states of decay. But here, the rest of Gwenevar City, there yet remained life.

Kneeling on the raised dais at the far end of the room was a golden-haired elf dressed in a long blue coat. The elf held the body of a pale-haired elven woman, rocking back and forth with her, singing quietly in a beautiful but frighteningly hollow voice. His face was streaked with blood and tears, and his eyes, blank and unseeing.

“I give you Doriel Kethevar,” Red said. “His plague killed his brother’s wife, the woman who was the love his life.”

“What…”

Before she could finish her sentence, one of the bodies lying closest to the dais began to move. Grunting in obvious pain, an elf dressed in blood-stained armor that reminded her slightly of Luthien’s armor crawled slowly to his feet.

“May Abihayil keep you and protect you, Qurenielle, my love,” the armored elf whispered. “I shall join you in the arms of our Father soon.”

“Why can I not bring her back?” the one Red had called Doriel asked, turning to face the armored elf. His voice rose until it was a wail. “She cannot be gone! Why did you bring her here?!”

“She believed that your soul could still be saved, and your murdered her! Her soul is beyond the clutches of your evil mistress!”

“No…no…no…no…no!” Doriel sprang to his feet, his eyes wild. “She cannot be gone!” Power, dark, terrible, twisted power wept through the room and tore into the other elf’s armor as if it were paper. The armored elf staggered was brought to his knees, blood flying from his body in crimson splashes.

Throwing up his arms, the armored elf cried out, “By Abihayil’s grace, in the name of the Eternal Father let this blight of pestilence be cleansed!”

There was a blinding flash of bright light, as if the sun had leaped into existence. Azarielle felt her whole body consumed by fire, and she opened her mouth to scream. She woke up with first rays of the morning sun slanting through the shutters of the window.