Bringers of Doom Page 11

  When we step inside the opening, the radiant lift forms beneath our feet and swiftly takes us to the top, depositing us on the floor dedicated to the Circle and the High Magus herself. From there, we walk down a series of corridors until we arrive at a door set into the office.

  Knocking softly on the wood, the steward opens the door a crack and says, "Zara Dennel, here to see you, High Magus."

  "Please, enter," comes a voice from within.

  Mathis takes a step back and gestures at the door, giving me a warm smile, no doubt to calm my nerves.

  I return it, then push open the door, stepping inside the High Magus' personal office.

  The room is plainly furnished, offering a grand view of the city through a long, rectangular window behind the desk. Sitting at the desk is the High Magus, wearing an elegant dress of white and blue and regarding me with a serene expression.

  "Welcome, Magus," she says, her lips lifting up in a faint smile. "It is good to see you again."

  I bow slightly in respect, then clear my throat. "It is good to see you again, too, High Magus."

  She nods, then motions for me to sit down in front of her desk.

  "Are you enjoying your first full day as a mage?" She asks, folding her hands in front of her on the polished wooden surface.

  "Yes, High Magus. Very much so."

  "Please," she says kindly, "call me Sylvania. Titles can be so impersonal, wouldn't you agree?"

  I nod my head, as obedient as a mind slave. "Yes, Sylvania."

  She stares at me for a moment before continuing. "You know, one of the reasons I wanted you raised to full mage was because of your ability to think for yourself. I find that quality rather refreshing. I know that all of this is new to you, but I don't want you to treat me like royalty. I am a mage, just like you. Feel free to speak and act openly when we are together, without repercussion. Would that more around here would act like that."

  I nod again, this time without saying anything.

  "Good," she replies, reaching into a drawer in her desk and pulling out a small vial. She sets it down on the wooden surface in front of me. "Now for something a little less... pleasant."

  I glance down at the little vial, fixing it with a curious expression. It appears to be full with some sort of clear liquid. "What is this, Sylvania?"

  "If you would, Zara, please drink that for me." Her tone suddenly becomes cool and businesslike, the warmth in her voice vanishing in an instant. "I promise, it will not harm you. It is simply a precaution that we must take with every new mage in the Conclave."

  Hesitantly, I reach over and pick up the vial, pulling out the miniature cork with a small pop. I bring it up to my lips, smelling the liquid before pouring it into my mouth.

  I can't help but grimace as I swallow the foul stuff. It tastes so bitter, like the worst medicine I have ever taken in my life.

  "Excellent," the High Magus says after I set the vial back down on the desk. "Now, answer me this: are you now, or have you ever been, associated with any apostate group at odds with the Conclave or the kingdom?"

  A strange, tingling sensation overcomes me, and I feel compelled to answer her question. "No," I reply, the words coming out without reservation.

  She nods, then continues. "And have you been asked to harm a fellow mage or sabotage anything pertaining to the mission of the Conclave?"

  Again, my whole body begins to tingle and I cannot resist answering her question. "No," I reply, my eyes wide in surprise.

  Sylvania seems to relax, the warmth she had possessed earlier coming back into her face. "Good. I'm glad to hear that you are who you say you are."

  I clear my throat, feeling shaken. "High Magus – Sylvania – what was that about?"

  She waves a hand dismissively, as if the exchange we just had was nothing out of the ordinary. "Just a little truth serum, derived from the eldiir plant of Loch Ramus. Its effects should wear off in a couple of minutes. I wanted to make absolutely sure that you are not a spy before moving on. I do this with all of the newly raised mages."

  Nodding, I try to act like I do not feel completely violated. "Oh. I understand."

  Sylvania gives me an encouraging smile. "Now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, let us move on to other matters." She pushes back her chair and stands up, gesturing for me to do the same. "Shall we?"

  I look up at her in surprise. "I'm sorry?"

  She makes her way around the desk, that small, knowing smile returning. "I didn't summon you here merely to pull information out of you. I want to show you something." With that, she makes her way over to the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the hall.

  Confused, I move to follow her.

  "The Conclave has stood for more than a thousand years," she intones, her voice taking on an air of lecturing. "Since that time, the mages have been all that has stood between humanity and absolute destruction. But I'm sure you know all about this."

  Together, we walk through the quiet corridor, our footsteps echoing softly on the polished stone. She leads us to a locked door near the middle of the tower. Producing a key from within her robe, she unlocks it and leads me inside.

  "There is a difference, though, between learning about something and seeing it with your own eyes. For example, if you hadn't seen the demons with your own eyes, you would have probably doubted their continued existence at all."

  Inside the room, there is another lift, this one different than the rest in the tower. It stands unguarded, and it appears to be made from onyx-black stone, marbled with crimson red.

  Placing a hand on its surface, she opens the lift with a small surge of source energy.

  "As a mage in training, you have spent a considerable amount of time at the Conclave," she goes on as she leads us inside. A platform of magic forms beneath our feet and we begin to rise. "However, you have yet to see with your own eyes the very reason for our existence."

  My heart is beating so hard, I fear that it may crack a rib. If we are going to where I think we are going...

  The doors slide open, and I find that we are entering a massive, domed room that literally buzzes with energy. The walls are made from roughly hewn stone, carved with all manner of glyphs and magical characters. A wide oculus is cut into the apex of the dome, creating a portal to the sky, but none of that even catches my attention.

  A gargantuan, pulsing rock hangs suspended in the air in the middle of the room, floating above the ground several feet. It's surface glitters like the facets of a million diamonds, and beneath I can see raw magic swirling in dazzling patterns. Radiant light emanates from the thing like heat from a live coal, and it gathers near the top, shooting a beam of solid radiance straight up through the oculus and into the sky.

  My jaw drops open as I take in the scene in front of me, my eyes wide with amazement. I instantly know what I am looking at, that we are in the pinnacle of the Pillar of Radiance.

  This is a giant source crystal, I realize with awe. This is what powers the Arc of Radiance.

  Speechless, I can feel a hand being placed on my shoulder. "This, Zara, is the reason why all of us are here," the High Magus explains, her voice quiet and reverent. "This is the Heart of Light."

  "It's magnificent," I reply when I finally find my voice.

  "Yes," she agrees. "It is."

  With effort, I tear my gaze away from the massive source crystal, noticing for the first time that we are not alone in the room. Several mages stand around the Heart, scratching down notes on paper and appearing to monitor the thing.

  "What are they doing?" I ask, leaning in close so that she can hear me. The room hums with a low rumble, apparently coming from the crystal itself.

  "They are observing the Heart and looking for signs of weakness," she says, the skin around her eyes tightening with concern. "We have mages in here at all hours, trying to understand what could be causing the Arc to fail. Your revelation about the demons only validated that something needs to be done. We are just not sure what, yet."


  The admission sounds painful for her to admit, and I decide not to ask any more questions. She clearly wants me to see this so that I can understand the gravity of our charge, and perhaps see if there is anything I can offer in terms of a solution.

  Not having any ideas, I decide to keep my mouth shut.

  We stand there for a time, basking in the warm glow of the Heart of Light. She was right, I think to myself as I lose myself in the swirling magical flows of the artifice. Some things have to be seen in order to be believed.

  Our musings are interrupted when a steward I don't recognize emerges from the lift, a look of worry painted clearly on his face.

  He strides right up to Sylvania and whispers something in her ear, and I can see her face harden at whatever it is he is telling her.

  As he rushes back to the lift, she turns to regard me.

  "I'm sorry, but I am going to have to cut our little trip short," she says ominously. "I'm afraid that there has just been a murder."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Owyn

  The tension is heavy in the air as the thugs fan out, their eyes scanning the inn like watchmen looking for a thief.

  My fingers itch to reach down and grab my hatchet, but I restrain myself. These men haven’t done anything yet, I remind myself. I need to wait and see what Tamara thinks we should do.

  The man in the middle, an ugly brute with shoulders like an ox, whistles loudly, trying to get everyone’s attention even though every eye in the common room is already on him. “Sorry to disturb you,” he bellows, his voice deep and gravelly. “This won’t take but a minute of your time.”

  “Who the Hells are you?” Asks a particularly brave farmer. His arms are muscular from hard labor, but they are nothing compared to the men standing in the entryway.

  “We are but humble servants of the realm,” he responds, resting a meaty hand over his heart, “come to ensure that these lands are kept safe.”

  “These lands are safe enough,” another farmer calls out from near the back of the common room. I cannot see who it was who spoke.

  “Safe from wolves, maybe,” the man goes on, lowering his hand and stroking the heavy axe on his belt. “But not safe from traitors. You see, my boys and I have heard that there may be Nightingale sympathizers hiding among you.”

  A rotund man in an apron steps out onto the floor from behind the bar. I assume he is the innkeeper. “I believe you are mistaken, good sirs,” the innkeeper says, mustaches quivering. “There are no rebels hiding out here.”

  Another one of the thugs speaks up. “How would you know, if they are hiding? That’s kind of the point, innit?”

  “We’re hunting rebels today,” the leader of the gang interjects, gesturing for his companion to quiet down. “Not looking to harm anyone who’s innocent. Of course, we might be persuaded to look the other way, if you fine folk want to avoid our interrogation methods.”

  The innkeeper raises his hands, a sign of surrender. "You'll not receive any trouble from us. We don't want to interfere with your business."

  "Good," the man replies, nodding in satisfaction. "Boys, get your bags ready. This group looks like they are going to be mighty generous tonight!"

  Snickering, the men produce burlap sacks and begin making their way around the common room, relieving the farmers of any valuables they have on their persons. Nobody so much as puts up a fight.

  I feel my gut start to boil with rage, infuriated that these men would be so brazen as to rob an entire inn. It makes me even angrier that the people are simply complying.

  They can't do this! These people are humble folk, like the people of Forest Hill!

  I wonder briefly about what I should do. We are rangers! We can't let this sort of thing happen, can we?

  A barrel-chested man with a nose that looked like it has been broken one too many times approaches Tamara from the side, holding out his bag in front of him expectantly. She looks up at him, making direct eye contact, and shakes her head slowly.

  "What, you don't have any coin?"

  Calmly, she replies. "I have coin. But you will be receiving none of it."

  I can feel my pulse start to quicken.

  The big man stares at her in disbelief before erupting into raucous laughter. "Get a load of this one, Gene. She doesn't want to part with her coin!"

  The leader of the gang struts over, his hand firmly gripping the handle of his axe. "Listen, woman, we don't want to have to bash your head in tonight, but we will to make an example out of you. Just make this easier on both of us and give up your coin."

  Tamara shifts in her seat to stare the other brute in the eye and shakes her head again. "Not going to happen," she reaffirms, her voice low and dangerous.

  "Hah!" The big man barks a laugh, and the one holding the bag twitches nervously. "This woman has bigger stones than any of you lot! Too bad... maybe we'll have a little fun with her before we splatter her brains all over this floor."

  He reaches up to stroke her blonde hair, and Tamara reacts faster than I can blink. Twisting in her chair, she yanks the sword from her belt, the sound of rasping steel ringing in the still air of the inn. Striking like a viper, she swings, an upward arc that shears through the brigand's fingers and scatters them with a spray of blood.

  "Gahhhh!" The leader screams, staggering back and clutching his mutilated hand.

  Several of the people around us gasp, and the man holding the bag curses audibly, taking a step back as he stares in surprise at his leader's bleeding stumps.

  "Kill them you idiots," the wounded man roars, his voice a mix of anguish and fury. "Kill them all!"

  Tamara jumps out of her seat and assumes a defensive position, raising her sword and putting her back to the wall. She briefly looks over at me, her eyes flashing. "Get up!"

  I obey.

  Standing up, I pull my father's hatchet from my belt just as one of the brutes pulls a knife on me, slashing with such savagery that I have to leap backward to avoid having my throat slit open. The man has a tangled beard and a puckered scar on his cheek.

  Another of the thugs engages with Tamara, swinging his cudgel like a lumberjack hacking at a tree.

  Just like that, the common room erupts into pandemonium.

  Many of the farmers duck beneath their tables or run behind the bar for safety, but a brave few stand and begin grappling with the assailants with nothing but their bare hands. My eyes are pulled away from the scene as the bearded man lashes out at me again, trying desperately to jab his knife into my gut so he can go help out his friends.

  I dodge his clumsy attacks with relative ease, searching for any opening in his defenses that may present itself. I find my opportunity as one of his attacks goes wide, and I waste no time in exploiting it. Rushing in, I swing my hatchet in a sidelong chop, driving the blade of the weapon deep into his side.

  The man gasps in pain, but I underestimate his stamina. Dropping his knife to the ground, he pulls me in in a great bear hug, squeezing me so tight it seems that my lungs might burst. Squirming to break out of his grip, I think desperately how I might escape. Not having any other options, I bite him on the neck, sinking my teeth in the soft spot just below the ear.

  He howls, grabbing one of my arms and wrenching me downward. As my mouth pulls away from his neck, I taste metallic blood in my mouth. Apparently, I had bit him hard enough to break the skin.

  Using every ounce of strength that I possess, I twist the hand that is still holding the hatchet, pulling it free from his side and attacking again, this time hacking him in the knee.

  The man buckles, giving me a chance to break free from his grip and wind up for a final attack. With fire pulsing through my veins, I bring the hatchet down on his head, splitting his skull and killing him immediately.

  Gasping for breath, I back away, wiping the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand and looking out at the chaos around me.

  I watch as Tamara disembowels one of the brutes with her sword, then turn to engage another o
ne, her movements fluid and precise. For a moment I am reminded of Elias, her fighting so exceptional that it inspires me just as it no doubt strikes fear into the hearts of her enemies.

  A terrified scream shakes me from my thoughts, though, and I turn to see a hook-nosed thug ramming his sword through the chest of a farmer.

  Without any weapons, these people stand little chance of surviving.

  Rushing across the common room, I ram my shoulder into the man just as he pulls his sword free, causing him to stumble over his own feet and crash into a nearby table. Wood splinters fly as he and the table collapse, landing in a tangled heap on the floor.

  Not waiting for him to get back up I jump on top of him, chopping his chest with a series of quick attacks. The man seems to be wearing some kind of chainmail armor, but it doesn't take much for me to punch through. He dies just like the other one did, his eyes wide with shock.

  "Stop him!" Tamara shouts from somewhere behind me.

  I spin around and see that the fingerless leader, limping from a new wound in his leg, is making his way to the exit in an attempt to escape. Standing on the ruins of a table with my hatchet half-buried in a corpse, I don't see any way that I can make it to him in time.

  Tamara seems to realize this, and readjusts her grip on her own blood-soaked sword. I watch in amazement as she hurls the blade like a javelin, sending it flying across the room in a steely flash. It impales the fleeing thug right through the back, knocking him to the ground with a heavy thud.

  Just like that, the fight is over, an eerie calm settling over the inn.

  Yanking my hatchet from the man's chest, I push myself up from the wreckage and stagger out onto the common room floor, a little dazed from the rush that the skirmish had given me. Tamara stride across the room and grasps the hilt of her sword, which is sticking straight up out of the dead bandit leader like a flag. She pulls, drawing the blade free from his back and dribbling blood onto the floor. Her eyes are as hard and emotionless as a statue.