Tomorrow Man – Part XII

 The city of Nysilla sat in the embrace of the river Lifa as it wormed its way towards the distant ocean. Surrounded by the river on three sides, the city rose from atop a steep hill to watch over the surrounding lands. The towering walls of white stone concealed the heart of the city except for the towers of Oscarion’s Keep where the King and his court ruled over the land. The walls themselves were a testament to the power of the New Kingdom. Heavily enchanted they resisted dirt and decay as well as attack. Of course, in the city’s thousand-year history no attacking army had ever laid eyes on those walls. The Kings’ City shone in the morning sun as Lord Miteus and his men approached along the Gods’ Road. The sunlight scattered from the white walls and was cast into the gentle valley of the river below. The six bridges of bright stone and shining silver crossed the river in a single span and formed spokes that allowed passage into the city through mighty silver gates. The entire scene before his eyes could scarcely hide the magic that underpinned its structure, but the city had its own serene beauty which he could not deny.

Six white-cloaked riders of the City Guard met them at the edge of the bridge that linked the Gods’ Road with the City’s south-western gate. Behind them a single rider with a silver cloak of the King’s Guard powered across the bridge upon a mighty stallion. The seven riders bowed their heads as Miteus approached. The King’s man raised his head and fixed Miteus with warm brown eyes. He was of an age with him, although the fine dragon-steel plate made him look younger.

“My Lord of the Realm of Artellathwaine.” He announced. “In the name of the King you are welcomed to Nysilla. Your tower is prepared and awaits your arrival. We shall see you safely to the Keep.”

Miteus nodded his acceptance and moved onto the bridge. As his party rode the white riders formed an escort around them. The land about them fell away to the river as the bridge bore their weight, as they crossed the river it flowed two hundred feet below them. Miteus rode alongside the silver cloak.

“What is your name, Captain?” He asked.

“Captain Hethkar of the First Guard, my Lord.”

“The King’s closest swords.” Miteus remarked. “Somehow I feel that you have not been sent so far from his side to escort me to Court?”

“The King was informed of your arrival as soon as the watch spied you. He commanded an audience with you as soon as you arrived.”

“So you are to take me to him?”

“Aye, my Lord. The other riders will see your men to your tower. I am to bring you to the King’s solar.”

“Very well, Captain.” Miteus replied as the great silver and steel gates opened before them. As they passed through the gates and into the city Miteus watched the road ahead as it carved through the rows of pale stone buildings. The city was as unlike Artella as he could imagine. The buildings looked as if they were grown rather than built, the paved roads were smooth and cut paths as though they were the first stones laid down. The city crowded within the walls yet the air felt spacious, Miteus couldn’t guess at the numbers who lived here, yet unlike his own city there was no stench. Every inch was unnaturally clean. He could almost smell the magic on the air.

“How long since you were last at Court, my Lord? If I may ask?” Hethkar said.

“Many more years than I care to count.” Miteus replied.

“The Realm Lords do not often sit at Court, it is rare for so many to be gathered.”

“What do you mean?”

“Many of the Lords have arrived at Court. The Keep has never been so full, nor the city so busy. At least not in my memory.”

“Do you know why the Lords are gathered?”

“I do not. The business of the King and his Lords is not for my ears. Although there are rumours a tourney is to be held to celebrate the Prince’s six-and-tenth birthing day.”

“There is a Prince now?”

“Yes, my Lord, the King’s first true-born son and heir. It was quite the celebration when he was named.”

The road began to rise as Oscarion’s Keep loomed over them, a nest of white spires at the heart of the city. They passed a blue-robed wizard hunched over a half-assembled wooden barrel, yellow magical energies coursing from his hands and flowing over the woodwork. Miteus turned his head away.

“I have been away too long, it seems. A new prince, a gathering of the Lords, what else has not reached my ears?”

“I could not say, my Lord.”

They crossed a set of bands carved into the road. They curved away from them to form a ring engraved around the Keep, a ring of shapes and indecipherable markings that spoke to Miteus of yet more magic. They passed through the gatehouse of the Keep and Miteus and the Silver cloak peeled away from the rest. They dismounted and their horses were taken into the cavernous stables. Hethkar showed him to a small door of dragon-steel that bore the crown-and-sword seal of Oscarion’s line. The silver-cloaked guard placed the palm of his hand to the centre of the seal and muttered something Miteus could not quite hear. The door let out a flurry of clicks and the sound of sliding metal before it opened inwards with a low groan. They passed through and began rising up a spiral staircase as the door sealed itself behind them. The staircase was neither narrow nor spacious, lit not by daylight but the glow of crystal lanterns that hung on chains from the stairs above. They climbed and climbed, rising through the Keep. They passed numerous doors, all forged dragon-steel and emblazoned with the Kings’ seal. Ahead of them Miteus heard another door open. It lay open as it came into view above them. The guard stepped through and gestured for Miteus to follow. It opened out into one of the gargantuan corridors that formed the veins of the Keep, in many ways it was more grand and imposing within than without. The floor was glistening marble, the walls a towering row of white pillars with colourful mosaics between them. The vaults of the ceiling, high above them, bore between their ribs murals of acts of Gods and men. They turned and Miteus faced the entrance to the King’s solar. As tall as the cavernous hall behind them, the entrance was composed of two parts. The lower, four rectangular silver slabs each bearing the likeness of Oscarion, first king of the new age, and the seal of his line. The legendary warrior’s metal likeness towered above them both, larger than the great statue in the Great Temple of Banthos. Above them a great wheel of silver and dragon-steel, concentric discs of engraved metal that traced the passage of the age. The outermost rings tracked the movements of sun, moon and stars. Within them the discs bore the names of the days and seasons. The innermost revealed to those learned enough to read them the exact moment of the age. The centre of the wheel was reset at the moment of coronation. The workings were beyond Miteus’ comprehension, but it performed its task well. The two components combined left an impression of size and might. There was a dull thud, rebounding into thunder from the walls. The two great slabs of silver nearest the walls drifted towards them, the two in the centre drifted away. Then, as a great door, the two central slabs slid aside behind the outer two. Sunlight bled from between them as the tall drum of the King’s Solar revealed itself. Tall windows surrounded a simple wooden throne with silver inlaid in its patterning. The marble of the floor was split with red stone in a circular pattern that radiated from an engraved circular pattern of runes beneath the throne, within which sat King Piscius, Lord of all the realms and ruler of Asamor.

He was older than Miteus, a man in his seventies yet aside from the lines of his face and the grey of his hair he appeared a much younger man. He was dressed simply in the grey-and-white that had been the colours of the Kings’ line since the first days. Atop his head rested the simple silver crown, over his left breast sat a silver pin, the crown-and-sword of his ancestors. Miteus dropped to his knee and bowed his head.

“My King.” He said.

“Arise, Realm Lord of Artellathwaine and Protector of the Southern Lands, Miteus Wetherhall.” The King replied. He gestured to his guardsman. “Leave us.”

Captain Hethkar bowed and retreated from the Solar, the giant doors slid closed with a mechanical thunder. Miteus rose to his feet.

“You summoned me, my King?”

“It has been near a score of years since you were last in these halls. Need I sound the bells of doom to bring you here?”

“I am humbled with regret, your grace. I am left with little time to travel after the duties of the realm.”

“Your father worked himself into the grave as well, if I recall. Tell me of Artellathwaine, what of my subjects?”

“They work the fields and fish the seas, as ever your grace. They work hard and pay homage in what small ways they can.”

“I have no doubt of that.” The King smiled. “And your family, your lady wife and children?”

“They are in good health and spirit, my Lady wife is ever more than I deserve. Our children grow stronger and wiser with every day.”

“Good, good. You’re daughter, is she yet betrothed?”

“Alexia is near an age to marry, it is true, I have not yet found a suitor for her. I was hoping for a fruitful search during my time at court.”

“And your younger son, Vigard?”

“He is very much like Micharus, filled with the wonder and energy of youth. Forgive me, your grace, but I fear you did not summon me to speak of home and family.”

The King gripped the arm of his throne with one hand and brought the other to his chin. He eyed Miteus with eyes as green as all those who sat the throne before him, weathered by the years of rule. A king’s eyes.

“Indeed not.” Piscius said as he shifted in his seat. “You may approach.”

Miteus sensed movement behind him. He turned to see a tall and slender stranger who he swore had not been there a moment earlier. An elf dressed in elegant flowing robes and decorated with ornaments of living wood over his shoulders. A band of living oak sat atop his perfectly straight brown hair. He drifted forwards with his hands clasped together before him. His face was a paradox of ancient youth, and behind his silver eyes Miteus sensed a serene fury. From deep within his mind Miteus felt tendrils of fear creep.

“Your grace.” He said as he turned back to the King. “I do not understand.”

“May I introduce Lord Yorrei of the Oakenheart line, of the Forest Kingdoms.” Piscius replied.

“What business has he here?” Miteus asked.

“Perhaps,” the elven lord replied in a voice cold as steel. “If his grace permits, I can enlighten you.”

The King nodded once.

“By your command,” Yorrei continued, “two of my kin were beheaded within your realm.”

“By my command and by the laws of the realm. The King’s law.” Miteus replied.

“A law your king denies.” Yorrei responded with a rising anger. “One of the two was my grandson.”

“Your grandson violated the laws, any act of mine was one of justice.”

“My grandson saved a child!” Yorrei screamed. “A human child! And for that you took his head!”

“I do not expect you to understand, elf.” Miteus snarled. “But when your kind walk in my realm they are bound by our laws.”

Yorrei remained silent and composed himself. Miteus felt the anger within the elf recede.

“You have broken my family, Lord Wetherhall. That much I expect you to understand.”

“Enough!” The King commanded. “An injury has been dealt, amends will be made as agreed. Miteus, in payment for the slain kin of Lord Yorrei your daughter is to be betrothed to his son Meyiath. She will go with Lord Yorrei to the Forest Kingdom.”

“As a hostage?” Miteus asked.

“As an honoured guest.” Yorrei replied.

“When she comes of age they will be married.” The King continued. “She will bear children, and a bond of oath and blood will help mend the wound and stem future bloodshed.”

“That much is agreed.” Yorrei interjected.

“Further, as a sign of your commitment to the King’s peace, your youngest son will be taken to Tetsathwaine, there to be the ward of Lord Stonnegarth. This shall meet the requirements of justice.”

“It will be adequate.” Yorrei replied.

“Then we shall consider the issue settled. If you would excuse us, Lord Yorrei, I must discuss this further with Lord Wetherhall in private.”

“Of course, your grace.” The elven lord replied. He drifted towards the great doors which slid open to admit his passage. As the silver slabs slammed closed Miteus turned back to his king.

“Please, your grace, tell me this is some sordid jest?”

“It is not.”

“Those elves broke your law!”

“They broke your law, Lord Wetherhall.”

“The law of the realm and the King’s law are one and the same.”

“That is true in spirit, not in fact.”

“What manner of distinction is that?”

“The manner of distinction in which you have betrayed my trust!” Piscius yelled. “When you invoke my name you invoke my authority. That is your power as a Lord of the Realm and your responsibility! When you called my law to your execution it was not you who beheaded two elves, it was I!”

“The law against magic in Artellathwaine is as it has been since the dawn of the Kingdom. In a thousand years it has never been contested by the throne, why is it so now?”

“It is so since you killed an elven noble in my name!”

“So am I to suffer the destruction of my family to appease some foreign lord? Your grace we owe them nothing! Not one shred of pride nor one drop of blood!”

“You presume to speak on matters you do not understand. The kingdoms of man and elf have kept themselves apart, you speak truth in that, but it shall not be any longer.”

“What does that mean?”

“There is to be an alliance.”

“With the elves?”

The King nodded.

“Why have I not heard of this?” Miteus asked.

“The matter has been before my Court for some time.”

“So my family are to be traded for the sake of this alliance?”

“It is unfortunate, I will not deny that. I would have preferred another solution but Lord Yorrei would accept nothing less.”

“Is that what the loyalty of my ancestors, my own loyalty, is worth? The word of some foreigner?”

“You will hold your tongue, Lord Wetherhall. I will not have you accuse me of a fallacious betrayal. Your actions have damaged my Kingdom, your amends will be paid. That is the end of it.”

“Your grace, I cannot hand my children away to be held hostage!”

“Nor do I expect you to. I am a father as well, I know what it is I ask of you. Your refusal will not be counted against your allegiance. My commands have already taken wing, the children will be gone before you return. No doubt your lady wife and first-born son will need comfort, you have my leave to return to your home as soon as whatever affairs you have at Court are concluded.”

“Please, your grace, I beg of you, don’t do this. Don’t destroy my family. Whatever price must be paid for this wrong I have done, let me be the one to pay it.”

“The decision is made.”

“For the sake of all the gods, my King, have mercy. Don’t let my children suffer for my transgression.”

“You speak of mercy? What if the price was your head?” Piscius asked. He placed a gentle hand on Miteus’ shoulder. “This is mercy, Miteus.”

Miteus’ mind grew numb as he left the King’s Solar. Within him a fury burned against a drowning ocean of despair. Thoughts of his family, his allegiance, his very beliefs clashed in his mind. His feet carried him to the only place he could think to go.

Before the iron altar of Banthos, hidden deep within the Keep, he collapsed to his knees and screamed. He closed his eyes as they filled with tears and prayed.

***

The noonday sun scattered through the canopy of trees and fell gently on the forest floor. A gust of wind stirred the branches above and growth below. Birds and insects flitted about and animals crawled. The elf leant against the trunk of a mighty elm and regarded the scene around him with piercing blue eyes. To those eyes the serenity of the forest was a battlefield. A war fought slowly and beneath the notice of so many. Here the Everliving Forest and the world of men were locked in eternal collision. The men slashed and cut and burned, the forest grew to fill the holes they left. The result was a shadow of the thick blanket of life that the forest became only a day’s walk to the south. To the north the trees thinned and became stumps which gave way to fields filled with crops. In the distance, sat on the edge of the land, the thick grey walls of Artella.

It was so barren, enough to make him sick. He heard the commotion of the one-armed knight’s return long before he saw him.

The old man strode with confidence towards the elf. Clad in light leathers, a short-sword sheathed at his side, he dragged behind him the fresh carcass of a deer. He dropped the beast at the elf’s feet and ran a blood-stained hand through his short silver-grey beard.

“Must you drag that before me?” The elf asked in his own forest tongue.

“You want to eat tonight?” The knight replied in his crude human language as he slipped a knife from his leathers and began to cut into the skin.

“I will not be eating that.”

“Suit yourself. You’ll want to find something though, we’re likely to be here for a while.”

“I don’t see why. We have your King’s blessing, we need not attack from the shadows.”

“You don’t know much about men then, do you? The King’s banner-men march for the castle as we speak, but their demands aren’t going to be met. They won’t give up the children so easily.”

“And so your King has given the task to you. Why not these wizards of yours?”

“The King trusts me, and I know how to get a job done.”

“An old cripple, a woman and this Mole of yours against an entire castle?”

“We’ve faced longer odds.”

“And come out unscathed?”

The one-armed knight fixed the elf with a steel glare. “We’ll get you this girl. Count on that.”

The low sound of rumbling earth disturbed their discourse. A small patch of exposed ground near where they stood began to move as if it were liquid. Mud and stone parted and another man rose slowly from the ground. He was shorter than the others, with dirty brown hair and leathers, his face obscured by a dragon-steel face mask that glinted in the sunlight. His feet emerged above the ground that once again became solid. The Mole clawed at his mask, the talons that held it to his head released and a short, fat and scarred face revealed itself.

“Were you spotted?” The old knight asked.

“I’m not a complete fool, Tallus, whatever else you think of me.” The Mole replied.

“What have you learned?”

“It is much as you suspected. There are no wardings I could detect, the outer walls of the city are rothstone, tall and thick, but they don’t go deep. Getting in and out of the city will not be a problem.”

“And the castle?”

“Rothstone, to the core as far as I can tell. I searched but found no weaknesses.”

“Then it is stronger than I anticipated.”

“Indeed. We cannot breach it from below, and even if we get inside my power will be limited.”

“What of the rest of the city?”

“Besides the castle and outer walls the city is built of softer stone. Once we are beyond the castle flight should be easy, their forces are considerable but there are no magi amongst them.”

“Then the castle is the one flaw in our plan. We’ll need to fall back on more conventional means to infiltrate it.”

“Well Maereen is well versed in that. Where is she?”

“All I know is she said she would return by sundown.” The old knight wiped his blade on a patch of deerskin and sheathed it. “The castle shall be our task, you should remain without and see to our escape from the city itself.”

“That sounds advisable.”

“The King’s banners should arrive at the city by the end of tomorrow or the morning of the following day, at least as far as my last word from the King tells. When they arrive the castle will become more vigilant, we will need to be in position before that happens.”

“What is your command?” The Mole asked.

“Return to the city, make whatever preparations are necessary on the outside. If you need to rest tonight then do so, we shall leave at first light tomorrow.”

“Rest is not necessary.” The Mole replied. “I have enough left in me to make a start tonight.”

The Mole turned and stepped back onto the barren patch of soil. He clamped the mask back over his face and began to sink beneath the earth once more.

“We meet again in the city.” The Mole said as his voice was masked by the rumbling earth.

***

The temple at Gallowsbane was a small thing, dwarfed by the temples even in the nearby towns. It was also silent, a dim light shone from within. Zoyelle approached carefully, wary of treading within a holy place. The door was unlocked but heavy as she pushed it open. She came face to face with the imposing form of Yolder. The stone golem towered over her and glowered with glowing eyes. His expression shifted when he recognised her and let her pass through into the body of the temple. The pews were stuffed end-to-end with the bodies of children. They appeared dead, slumped back as if they had passed away whilst still in worship. The only light, provided by the glow of a crystal lantern, cast their tiny forms in a cloak of shadows that set the hairs on her neck on end. She rushed to the nearest, a young girl. Cold to the touch, but she could feel a pulse and breath within her, although it was near impossible to detect. She checked another, an older boy, and found him in an identical condition.

She worked her way forwards and found the same to be true of many more. As she got to the alter it became clear that the same affliction had struck them all down, and she looked back across the congregation. There were dozens, perhaps over a hundred. She turned and saw Granny Hark sat in the corner to one side, her eyes closed and legs crossed. Zoyelle recognised the posture immediately, one of Granny’s meditations. She sensed movement behind her, she turned on a toe, a spark of magic fire sputtering to life in her hand. In the gloom she saw two raised hands, dark robes and a pointed hat.

“You must be Zoyelle.” The wizard spoke softly. The voice carried an age that the youthful face did not match. “She said you would be coming.”

“She has a habit of doing that.” Zoyelle remarked as she let the flame in her hand fade and die. “And you are?”

“Serren, of the Order of the Aether.” The wizard dropped his hands and bowed.

“You behind this?” She asked as she gestured towards the congregation.

“Gods no, I came here at Gladdis’ request.”

Zoyelle looked over at the old woman still motionless in the corner. “How long has she been like that?”

“All night, she’s trying to find answers. Said you would be able to help.”

“It’s not good for her to project for extended periods of time, it drains her.”

“She never had a good sense of self-preservation.”

“May I?” Zoyelle asked as she indicated one of the children.

“Of course.”

She moved over to the child and began a closer examination, speaking as she ran her fingers across pale skin.

“The fact it is beyond Granny’s medicines rules a lot out. Are only children afflicted?”

“There have been deaths, but only of adults. The children become like this.”

“How many? Is this the only place?”

“I have been to four other villages so affected, three have seen worse.”

“I don’t think it is a natural affliction.” She said as she lifted an eyelid and peered into a milky white orb. “To hold so many this close to death, it must be magic. Many magical ailments are within her power to heal, and many more must be within yours. They do not respond to healing at all?”

“Any life returned quickly fades.”

“I would almost say it is Vampirism.”

“Except…?”

“Vampire activity this far from the border and this early in the year, it is extremely unlikely.”

“But possible.”

“There are too many, each could sustain an individual, there would be an army. This place would be crawling with monster-hunters.”

“And?”

“The head, neck, arms and legs appear free of bite marks.”

“She said you were sharp. And without the Aether, too.”

“I still don’t know what could cause these symptoms without a mark on the skin.”

“Fortunately my experience lends an answer. Have you heard of a Vampire’s Kiss?”

The name struck her as she recalled what little she had read about it so many years ago. She knew no more than the affect of it, which matched what lay around her. She also know the only known cause. The hairs on her neck stood anew.

“Dark magic.” She whispered.

The wizard nodded. “A powerful and forbidden curse, inflicted with a skill I have not seen outside of Otzia.”

“Can it be undone?”

“If the exact casting is known, with time, it can be reversed. Otherwise it is impossible without killing the afflicted.”

“So the deaths?”

“The work of a Dark Mage. They strike families, the adults are slain, the children are bound beneath the Kiss.”

“How long has this been happening? What is being done?”

Zoyelle felt the presence of a powerful mind impose itself on her own. Her mental defences snapped into place but relaxed slightly as she recognised her Elder’s return.

For months now.” Granny Hark’s voice slid into their minds. “Heroes have come and died.

The old woman’s eyes opened and her face broke into a warm smile.

“Agnis, it has been too long my child.” She said as she worked her way to her feet aided by a gnarled tree branch walking stick.

“Elder, I have…”

“I know why you have come, child. There are much graver deeds that concern me.”

“How fared your wandering?” The wizard asked.

“I went to the place they found young Odric. I saw him, the fiend, through the boy’s eyes.”

“Then you know his name?”

“I could sense his mind, but it was closed to me. Shrouded in some way.”

“He is psychic as well?” The wizard asked, aghast.

“I do not believe so. He did not reach with his mind. I tried to follow him but he eluded me. I fear I am little closer to finding the hole he hides in.”

“Elder, I must speak with you.” Zoyelle interrupted. “I fear I am…”

“You need to worry less, Agnis. There is little love for the Wetherhalls, and besides, the Sisterhood does not act brashly. You will have chance to explain to them.”

“And the Wizards?”

Hark laughed and cast an eye at the man stood a few feet away from her. “They wouldn’t dare.”

Part XI | Contents | Part XIII

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