Red Jade Omnibus

By Stephen J. Wolf

Two kingdoms in perpetual conflict... A magical artifact with untold powers...

Twenty years ago, the kings of Kallisor and Hathreneir agreed to a grand battle to end the centuries-long war between their kingdoms. The battle raged for days, until the Kallisorian king broke the code of combat to turn the tide. His plan nearly succ

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen J. Wolf
• Release date: Aug 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781950110230

Book preview

Journeys in Kallisor

A group of people walking up a hill Description automatically generatedA group of people posing for the camera Description automatically generated

Prologue

War of the Colossus

TELL ME AGAIN, Gran-mama!

Meriad smiled down at the child and rustled his hair. Very well. But I must say that by now, you could tell it better than I.

Nuh-uh, the eleven-year-old boy insisted as he pulled the blanket up to his chin and hunkered down into his pillow.

I’m ready. He beamed.

Meriad doused the nearby lantern, allowing the full glow of the moonlight to illuminate the room. She watched her smiling grandson’s face as she gathered the threads of the story, ready to embark upon the tale. It was a familiar tale, told to many children, for it entertained them and held an important lesson. But she thought perhaps after this telling, she would finally reveal the events that happened after. A shadow weighed heavily on her heart, for it meant the truth would at last be revealed. Nonetheless, it was her penance, and for the good of this child and all the land, she had to follow through.

It would take her a while to tell the whole of it, but she cherished these moments with him. He was all the family she had left, and she was determined to fill their time together as completely as possible. Meriad knew guards were posted outside the room, listening to their conversation in full, ensuring she didn’t stray from her task. However, she wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of her past—they had cost her everything—so they need not have bothered. The boy had no idea that his grandmother was a barely-tolerated guest or that her visits were purposely scripted. Meriad reminded herself that none of that mattered now.

With a weighted sigh, she pushed her darkening thoughts aside and focused on Perrios, who was eagerly awaiting the tale. Many years ago, she began, before you were even born, there was a war between two big countries.

Our land of Hathreneir and next door’s Kallisor. He scowled at the second name.

Now, now, Meriad admonished gently with a raised eyebrow. First, we are friendly with Kallisor. Second, I thought you wanted me to tell the tale.

He giggled and nodded his head, then zigzagged his finger across his lips as if he were sewing them together.

Meriad cleared her throat and continued…

* * *

Vetrimon, get moving. If we don’t get this done now, we’re lost. The rogue pulled a dark shroud over her head, neatly concealing herself in the dark night.

King Kannilon will have our heads for this, the man complained.

Another from the group of five piped in. This war’s been going on long enough. If we’re successful here, then we may be able to turn the tide. His Majesty would thank us.

Besides, Freth noted grimly, her voice barely heard, we’re not likely to make it back anyway.

Thanks for the reminder, Vetrimon groaned. A moment later, he shuddered. What if we encounter any mages?

Freth spat on the ground. Curse those nature-mangling fools. That’s the whole reason we’re here, to stop them from destroying the natural order of things.

A white-haired thief jabbed Vetrimon in the arm. If you’re not with us on this venture, then stay behind here and be lost on the field tomorrow. I’ve heard enough complaints. Freth, are we doing this?

The five rogues reached their hands together and whispered tightly, For Kallisor! Each took a pouch from Freth and tucked it away. They shared a last solemn look of commitment and darted off into the night.

The band of rogues kept their movements as still as possible, skirting around their allies as they made their way to the forces of Hathreneir. Neither friend nor foe could spot them, or everything would be ruined.

The hatred between the two kingdoms was deep and stretched back for centuries. They were ever at war, and in the brief respites between major battles, each kingdom worked to build a stronger force for the next incursion. The Hathrens employed their mages, and the Kallisorians defended against them with swords, shields, and greater numbers.

The kings had agreed to this one last grand battle in an attempt to put an end to the wars that tore their lands apart. The winner would rule both kingdoms unchallenged. Too much depended on victory this time, and though the rogues were set to break the code of war, they had to give their liege his best chance at success.

Vetrimon pulled his cloak tighter, both excited and scared that his life would end this night. He tucked himself into the brush and waited until he was sure he would be unseen. Then, with a low scamper, he made his way, one hiding place at a time, until he approached his designated camp among the Hathren forces.

Avoiding sentries was easy, for few men were posted around the camp at all. No one expected a move like this, and though he hoped his actions wouldn’t curse him in the histories, if he helped to end the war in Kallisor’s favor, then it would all be worthwhile. Not that he would be around to enjoy it, he reminded himself with a roll of his eyes.

Torchlight flickered. Vetrimon took a breath and let it out slowly, his eyes on the ground, searching for movement among the shadows. A slight creak of boots crunched on gritty dirt, and he knew someone was close by. He resisted the urge to budge away from his hiding place. He had to rely on his training and his nerve. One breath at a time.

The meager footsteps turned and paced the other way, signaling that he had not been spotted. With a grin, he made his way around the sleeping camp, searching for his target. No one would be guarding it, per se, but it would probably be attended. He kept his eyes scanning left and right, watching for movement and hoping for none.

Sometime later, he found the tent that housed the food and water. He absent-mindedly tapped the pouch tied to his waist, hoping Freth had swiped the correct herb from the healers, though why they would carry poison among their wares eluded him.

Two water barrels stood at the western edge of the tent, so Vetrimon snaked his way closer. As expected, three men were sitting near the barrels, chatting idly, but what irked Vetrimon the most was that one was a mage. The last thing he needed was some pagan nature-warper flinging rampant energy at him and tearing a rip in the fabric of the world just to put him down. Or whatever mages did. It didn’t matter. He had a job to do, and he would get it done.

Vetrimon lifted the nearest edge of the tent and reached blindly underneath, fumbling until he grasped something he could remove. An apple became his ally as he grasped it in his hand and then hurled it over the tent, taking care not to throw it so far away the trio would miss it.

What’s that, a rodia? one warrior asked. I’ll find out.

Though only the one man left, the other two were distracted, which allowed Vetrimon to slink his way to the barrels, where he upended the wolfsbane quickly. He backed into the shadows and made his way around the tent again.

Now it was time for the ruse.

The dire plan called for this action, and though he hadn’t originally cared for it, he realized its necessity. The others had all committed to it as well, and he would do his part for his king. He made his way through the camp and sought out the lieutenant’s quarters. The area would be well protected, he knew, but he could still achieve his goal. He kept to the shadows, hiding beside the makeshift waste bins that reeked enough to make him gag. Skirting around those, he found a darker corner of the lit tent. Drawing his dagger, Vetrimon sliced into the fabric when he heard voices speaking from within, trying to match his cuts with their words. He followed with a second long slit, then gently lifted the flap.

The shadow along the tent’s wall was due to a chair and a pair of legs that tapped furiously on the ground in front of it. Vetrimon watched for a moment and realized the legs belonged to some subordinate listening to the lieutenant’s tirade as he paced about the tent. The rogue could just see the steps the commander was taking on the other side of the chamber, but he couldn’t wait forever; a sentry would likely come around the outside perimeter and discover him any time now.

Once the lieutenant’s feet turned the other way, Vetrimon slipped into the tent, behind the chair, and slammed his hand against the unsuspecting soldier’s mouth and slit his throat. The lieutenant was so engrossed in his ranting he didn’t hear the brief struggle. Vetrimon dodged off to the side, seeking shelter behind a crate, but the tent was too small, and when the other man turned, he screamed aloud, Intruder! Guards!

You will die, Hathren scum, Vetrimon vowed. He bounced from his perch, dagger leading the way. The guards rushed in, but he ignored them, his eyes focused on the leader.

The lieutenant’s eyes widened with surprise, but his battle prowess was greater, and he smacked the assassin with a gauntleted fist. Vetrimon couldn’t see, but he didn’t need to survive this fight. Like a cornered lupino, he growled with feral rage and snapped his jaws, pressing toward his target relentlessly.

His dagger struck, and a mad howl burned in his ears. Guards! the man gasped desperately. Healer! Vetrimon stabbed again and again, even as fire erupted along his body with each sword thrust and magic spell that pierced his leathers.

Guar— With a final gasp, the lieutenant and his assassin perished within seconds of each other.

The Hathren camps erupted in turmoil as all five lieutenants were slaughtered in similar fashion. News was sent immediately to their king, who was roused ungracefully from slumber. Grumbling, King Pennithor of Hathreneir called to his head mage and advisor. There is little time left. How go your preparations, Delminor?

The mage bit his lip, but his gaze was firm. Perhaps a few hours is all.

Perhaps? the king echoed angrily. We will defeat the Kallisorians this day, and that is all. You will be ready.

I will begin immediately. Delminor bowed his head and swept from the king’s tent.

Pennithor called out to his commanders to assemble the troops into one large fighting contingent. It wouldn’t be as organized as he liked, but with the lieutenants gone, it couldn’t be helped. Each set of fighters was bolstered by the efforts of mages skilled in various schools of magic. Fire, water, and lightning made up the majority of his forces, but a few nature, healing, and other mages were scattered about as well.

It seemed unfair, he laughed to himself, to pit his foe against his mages, for Kannilon, like all his ancestors before him, was a fool of a king who refused to see the benefits of magic. Yet still, he growled, they always held back his own attempts at victory, and he could never determine why. Despite that, he would play by the rules of war and not resort to the underhanded slaughter his men had faced last night.

Move out! he shouted once the army was assembled.

The morning sun lifted into the sky as the two armies approached each other, facing off for one last rout. Pennithor bellowed over the din, It is with foul treachery that you attempt to win this war, fool.

The Kallisorian army responded by shaking their swords and shields. Their king turned to silence them, making a strange gesture with his hand. Kannilon shook his head and looked at his foe. The rogues acted without my knowledge or consent. It was never my intent to—

I care little for your excuses, King of Kallisor. If you cannot maintain control over your troops, then you are not fit to rule one kingdom, never mind two. Pennithor’s army cheered as the others raised their swords again in denial.

You will see just how well I control my troops, little Pennithor.

No! the Hathren king shouted. You will lay down your weapons in forfeit.

Kannilon scoffed. Forfeit?

Your army’s actions last night violated the rules of war. You will—

Kannilon raised his hand and lowered it swiftly; in response, arrows filled the sky, pelting down upon the Hathren forces. Attack! he ordered, sending his troops forward with anger and haste.

Again? Pennithor spat. Very well. He waved his arms about, but his mages had already erected fire shields to burn away the incoming projectiles. Earth and nature mages jogged to the front line and bolstered the fighters’ defenses with spells of their own.

The battle was on, and soldiers fell on both sides. Throughout, Pennithor gritted his teeth, defending when he had to but shouting orders the rest of the time. He grabbed one wounded man and yanked him from the battle, ordering, Find Delminor and tell him to arrive now!

Kannilon watched as the Hathren mages supported their fighters, but his warriors were trained to dispatch the spellcasters. Wave after wave raced forward, fending off Hathren swords but seeking the mages as their top priority. Pennithor’s tactic had changed, however, and the mages were using their skills primarily for defense now, which made them harder, though not impossible, to target.

Healers! Kannilon summoned.

Are you injured, sire?

No. I have a task for you, and you will not fail.

Immediately, the tone set the healers on edge. Among all the mages in their combined lands, the Kallisorian king only tolerated those who specialized in the healing arts. They kept his fighters on the battlefield longer and with more vigor than they could ever have had without healer support. The special mages knew their opportunity was unique, and when the king laid out his plan, they blanched, but they could not refute him.

Their liege bade them to erect a protective shield that would deflect attacks and spells alike. Alone, no healer could succeed in this task, but together they might.

Fifteen healers, arms linked awkwardly together in a line, strode forth in sharply marched steps. Much the way they would shield a body from infection, the team now deflected larger influences, turning that skill outward, but they had to act as a single unit in order for the energies to support this bizarre use of their ability.

Ahead went the healers, followed closely by archers, soldiers, and the Kallisorian king himself. They pierced through the Hathren forces, seeking and ending the mages. Yet as they went, the healers, whose lives were typically spent off the actual field of battle, fell one by one, until the protective shield was useless. When it collapsed and only a few healers remained, Kannilon gave them their next command.

Grudgingly, the healers anointed the archers’ arrows with various poisons, using their magic to increase the toxicity. The deadly projectiles struck one man down after another, but a second factor was affecting the Hathren troops as well.

The Hathren fighters had been drinking poisoned water throughout the day, and it weakened them further and further, until whole contingents of Hathren warriors fell to their knees in massive, unexplained pain, soiling the land as they vomited or were slain effortlessly.

Pennithor demanded an answer, and a nature mage brought the explanation moments before being pierced by an arrow and dropping to the ground.

The murder of my lieutenants was a decoy? Pennithor marveled with glorious rage. Their murders were not even the lowest your men sank? You resorted to poison? He bellowed aloud and hurled his sword angrily through the air, even as three arrows plummeted into his chest, piercing his armor and crashing him to the ground.

Kannilon hurried over to the fallen liege and ensured his doom by piercing the man’s chest with his own sword. The Hathren king is dead! Kannilon announced in glee. Lay down your swords, Hathren fools, for you are now mine! He brought his three remaining healers around himself to erect another shield, despite their exhaustion, and he called aloud his victory once more. The Hathren king is— Despite himself, his jaw dropped.

From the horizon, a fiery, flickering giant rose up into the sky. It wasn’t a wild creature from the south but an abomination of pure magic. Fully erect, the giant was at least the height of six men, and its power was remarkable. Blasts of lightning flickered across its surface with each swing. Every impact cracked the ground and exploded in fiery rage, flinging friend and foe alike into the air.

Outraged, Kannilon drew his forces together and commanded them to eliminate the mages creating and controlling the monster. Yet wherever they struck, they found no one. The apparent strength of the spell suggested that the mages would have to be very close to the creature, but it was as if the colossus propelled itself. At a loss, the king commanded his forces to attack the construct directly. Arrows passed through the colossus as its massive arms and hands crashed down and decimated the Kallisorian troops below.

Kannilon panicked and screamed his fury. Foul betrayers of nature! Face us man to man. Enough of this treachery!

Treachery? a voice rumbled from the glowing colossus. You surely speak of yourself, invading our camps, poisoning our troops, slaying our lieutenants, magically fortifying your arrows, using your healers as a shield, to name your acts within only the past few hours. Who is it that excels in treachery, I ask?

Kannilon looked all around for the source of the voice, but the mages were somehow projecting their voices from every part of the enormous being. Confused, Kannilon waved his hand to direct his archers once more, targeting the center of the colossus as it continued to rampage.

The monster shouted, its voice shaking the air. You have killed our liege, you poor excuse for a monarch. There are rules for war, but now I will rewrite one to counteract your own revisions.

With that, lightning sizzled and lashed out in all directions. Everyone in the blast radius collapsed to the ground, dead or unconscious. The thundercrack that followed deafened all those beyond the immediate blast range. The king clutched his ears in agony, and he could hear nothing but a painful inner ringing.

But with the release of such a concentrated blast of energy, the defenses of the giant were significantly reduced, if only for a moment. Volleys of arrows already in flight found their mark, striking deep within the light and bringing down the beast. The light flickered and then raveled inward, until it vanished with a pop.

The Kallisorian king staggered forward, enraged. So many of his men and women had died in this altercation. Even with the losses on the other side, including the death of the Hathren king, he vowed the Hathrens would pay for this day. He made his way to the center of the colossus, certain now that the cloak concealing the team of mages would at last be gone.

And so it was, but to his shock, he saw only one mage, pierced with several arrows, breathing raggedly, his body wrapped tightly around a strange crimson figurine.

Now it ends, the king spat, drawing a short sword, eyeing the figurine closely. Was it this device that summoned your creation, mage?

You’ll never be able to harness it, Delminor gasped, tightening his grip as if to keep the statue away from the king.

This power is mine alone.

His ears still damaged, Kannilon couldn’t hear what the mage said. He pressed the tip of his sword against the mage’s throat. I suppose your trinket did affect this battle, but your king is dead, and now you follow. My sword is the power here.

The mage opened his mouth to speak, but the king pressed his blade through the man’s throat. At once, the red figurine in the mage’s grasp started to glow. The radiance brightened until the king had to shield his eyes, and then it exploded with a bang, breaking into a handful of pieces and impaling the king in the process.

The few remaining combatants rushed over to the explosion. The king gasped in pain as one healer turned him over. The Red Jade, he breathed, pulling a chunk of it from his chest, its color fading to a pale blue. Claim it. For…Kallisor.

There was one last scramble to gather the shards of the Red Jade figurine. Survivors from both sides of the battle claimed a few pieces, then fled before the other side could retaliate.

So ended the horrific war, with both kings dead and pieces of the Red Jade scattered to both kingdoms, where mages from each side would seek the hidden powers within.

* * *

The boy looked up. Gran-mama?

Yes, dear?

Do you think it’s real? The Red Jade?

I do. And I pray no one messes with its power again. But that isn’t the point of this story, and you know it. Meriad smiled.

I know, he said. The good king and the evil king wouldn’t work together, and so a lot of people died in the end. No matter how strong one side is, the other side can always be stronger. So there really isn’t any point to war.

Meriad nodded and sighed. If only more people saw it that way, indeed.

But Gran-mama? he asked hesitantly. If both kings died, what happened to the kingdoms then? I mean, we still live in Hathreneir, and Kallisor still has a king, so where did they come from?

With all the times I have told you this story, you’ve never asked me that before, she noted proudly. So I think I was right. You’re ready to find out what happened after that war.

There’s more? he asked in awe, his whole face lighting up with excitement.

Oh yes, indeed, there is. It will take some time to tell it to you properly, so let me finish with one little bit for tonight, and then we will continue tomorrow. Deal?

Oh, only one little bit?

She ruffled his hair and laughed. "Yes, little one. You asked how we still have kingdoms if the kings died, and the answer is easy enough. The kings had sons, like you. Those sons became the kings, but they were very young, so they had help at first. Times were tough, and there was still tension between the two kingdoms. However, their resources were severely depleted because of the wars, and it took years for everyone to rebuild their homes. So, things were quiet for years to come.

But, she added mysteriously as she stepped toward the door to leave, not everyone forgot about the Red Jade.

Chapter 1

Gabrion’s Promotion

Gabrion breathed in the warm spring air and stretched deeply into the dawn. A bright smile lit his face, for this was a day that would change his life. He rose from his bed, and as he tended to his morning routine, he sang merrily, making up an impromptu song as he went.

It must be perfect, for my lady waits.

I have to hurry, for I can’t be late.

A golden sun shines in the sky,

With a deep-set blue to match her eyes.

Do I wear the green or go with white?

Everything has to be just right.

Ready for the picnic, my heart does sing,

So don’t you forget to bring the ring!

He chuckled to himself and gathered his belongings, then bounced from his home and nearly skipped the way to hers, tipping his head to other villagers and whistling his tune as he went.

Savvron was a quiet Kallisorian town, far from the woes of the big cities. It was founded centuries ago, according to town legend, when a traveler who was walking across the countryside saw a beautiful patch of orange flowers, set himself down among them, and decided that it would be a perfect place to live. The brilliantly colored flowers still covered the hillock, and tall trees surrounded them in a warm embrace. It was a meadow where many lovestruck couples went to simply drink in the glorious view. It was there that Gabrion would officially seek Mira’s hand.

He laughed aloud at the sight he conjured in his mind of the two of them celebrating their union among friends, enjoying years of fulfillment, complete with a small pack of children. It was an image they had constructed together as kids and one that he could finally put forth in earnest.

He arrived at her door, rapping gently. It didn’t take long for her to respond. She wore a soft yellow dress with white flowers scattered across it. It made her dark hair and azure eyes glow in contrast.

You do look lovely today, Mira, he said with a bow.

Well thank you, Gabe. She laughed. You seem lively this morning.

He nodded. We have a nice day ahead of us. But first… He opened one side of the basket and pulled out a deep-yellow ribbon. I think this would match your hair quite well today.

Mira chuckled. You always seem to know what I’m going to wear. She took the ribbon and tied a tidy bow in her hair. You’re either magical, or you have a spy watching me. He winked merrily and closed the basket before she could see the other ribbons he had waiting there. A simple secret, but it amused them both. He drew his arm around her, and they started on the trek to the meadow.

It was a quiet journey at first, and then Gabrion released a soft sigh. You know, Mira, I was thinking of getting you something.

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Not another wooden sword so we can practice together, I hope.

No, he answered with a laugh. Even better. I thought about getting you a dog.

She stopped short and gave him a quizzical look. Gabe, you know I’m terrified of dogs.

He smiled and tugged her along. I know. But it would be a tree dog. You’d be fine with that.

A what?

A tree dog. He paused for just a moment and then said, You know, the kind of dog that barks and leaves!

It took her a second, but then she laughed while simultaneously slapping his arm. You’re an idiot, she accused. A strange look came over her face, and her eyes cast down to the ground as she pursed her lips for a moment before quietly adding, But…you do make me laugh.

It is only fair, he retorted lightly, because you do make me smile.

They walked past a few houses and eventually toward the path that would lead them to the meadow. It would be at least an hour’s journey, more with a leisurely stroll, but this day was not about schedules.

Gabrion?

Hmm?

What do you think is going to happen? she asked tentatively.

He didn’t need her to clarify the question. The whole village was abuzz with stories of Hathren troops gathering along the nearby borders. It was only a few months ago that Andron had arrived in town, seeking volunteers. He was one of the king’s soldiers, and his goal was to train as many villagers as possible to fight and protect themselves. Gabrion was one of those volunteers, and he had shown great promise in a short amount of time. He was already strong from working his father’s farm, but now he had developed basic skill and understanding. Andron had told him recently that he would be promoted and given a proper rank, so that if the need should arise, he could help lead the fight if war with Hathreneir actually did break out. The promotion would put him on the king’s own payroll, and it was this that had prompted him to finally propose to Mira.

But he hadn’t wanted to discuss this with Mira just yet. At least, not until they were settled among the flowers in the meadow.

He tossed some ideas around, wondering how best to avoid the subject until the right moment. I think the king is doing his best, and it was a good idea to send soldiers to the towns to train us to defend ourselves. I’m sure if there was a greater danger, there would be actual troops here, not just little guys like us.

Little guys? she echoed with a slight laugh. If you’re little, I would hate to see the big guys.

He blushed congenially. Still, there isn’t anything to worry about, Mira. It’s a beautiful day. We’re together.

Gabe— she started but then stopped and sighed. But what if something’s out there and no one’s really ready for it? What if—

He stopped and turned her toward him. I’m telling you it will be fine. He did his best to sound calm and confident and supportive. Why is this on your mind today?

It’s… on everyone’s mind, she hedged. Come on. Let’s keep going.

Her behavior struck him as strange, but he drew in a deep breath and walked with her, wondering what was really bothering her. He debated pursuing the topic, to find out why it was troubling her so much on such a pretty day, but then she bent down to sniff some flowers, calling him to join her, and he was lost in the moment.

They continued along the path, and soon the meadow was in sight. Gabrion had grown silent with anticipation of his proposal. He reenacted the plan in his head again. He would pull out the sandwiches and open a small cask of wine. She would be surprised by the wine, but he would insist that it was a perfect day for wine in the meadow, and she would agree. Then he would tell her of his promotion, and they would discuss their future, after which he would set himself, in deference, on one knee, taking her hand and—

Gabrion! screamed a voice from far behind them. The sound rang out in terror, and he and Mira stopped cold. His name echoed down the path again and again.

Mira looked up at him, biting her lower lip, her eyes full of sudden tears.

He pulled her close and held her, but she just stood still, trembling. It’s nothing, he soothed, wishing with all his heart that he was right. Be calm.

Footsteps pounded erratically in the dirt, and moments later a young teen came into view. He was badly out of breath and stained with something that Gabrion certainly did not want to see this day.

Blood.

He released Mira and turned to the youth. Kaz, what is it? he asked urgently.

The boy fell to his knees, dropping a sword to the ground. This— he gasped, shoving the sword forward. We…we need you. He drew a deep breath of air to steady himself, then looked up into Gabrion’s eyes. The Hathrens. They’re here. Killing. I barely got away to find you.

No! Mira gasped, eyes wide with stark terror. Not like this.

But Gabrion could see that Kaz was telling the truth. He honed his ears and thought he could make out the sound of clashing steel in the distance. He knelt down and helped the boy to his feet. Kaz, where are you hurt?

I’m not, he said, following Gabrion’s gaze to the blood on his shirt. No, that’s old man Arinot’s. He…was their first victim. He sent me to rally the others. I did. Now I found you. He bent down and lifted the sword. You left this at your place. I thought you’d need it.

Gabrion knew his duty. He needed to protect the town. Luckily, they were far enough away that Mira could find a place to hide until the trouble was taken care of. He turned to her now, a soldier—poorly trained but a soldier nonetheless. Mira, I have to go. You have to hide.

Her eyes were fixed on the distant path, and she didn’t seem to hear him. I—I can’t believe it’s really happening. Her cheek twitched gently, almost looking like a bewildered smirk, as if she were thinking of something unrelated to the attack.

Mira, he repeated, but she wouldn’t acknowledge him. He figured she was seeing a vision of the town being torn apart. He didn’t have time to shake her from her fear, so he did the only thing he could do. Kaz, you have to get Mira to safety. Can you do that?

The young teen nodded his head sharply and took Mira’s hands, then bodily dragged her toward the meadow. Gabrion watched them for just a moment more, and as he turned, ready to sprint back to the village, he saw the picnic basket, set on the road, otherwise forgotten. He fished around inside it until he retrieved the engagement ring. He stuffed it deep into a pocket. I’ll take care of this mess, Mira, he said to himself softly, and then we’ll do this day again… properly.

With that, he ran back to the village to deal with the invaders in earnest, clutching his sword in his hand. His feet pounded along the path as he went, and he wondered how many warriors had come to ravage the town. The warriors he felt he could handle, even without years of experience behind him. Gabrion was more concerned about the other fighters, because his training hadn’t yet prepared him for battling magic.

The sounds of yelling grew louder, and the path fell away behind him. He tightened his grip on his sword and braced himself for impact as he rushed headlong for his first quarry, a swordsman who looked barely old enough to cook for himself, let alone participate in a battle. The youth was intent on chasing the village baker across the road, and so Gabrion pushed hard and shouldered the attacker to the ground. It was a quick scrabble as the boy bounced back onto his feet, sword swinging wildly. He turned to Gabrion and slashed wickedly.

Gabrion parried the attack easily and thrust back offensively. The boy dodged to the side and spun, bringing the sword low, hoping to cut into Gabrion’s legs, but he saw the move coming and hopped over the blade. Gabrion swung again, and sparks flew from the weapons as they collided. The boy cried out in frustration, but instead of continuing the move, which would have required Gabrion to pivot around, Gabrion abruptly punched out with his left arm, striking the boy across the chin and simply knocking him out cold.

Take over! he commanded the baker, who was still trembling but nodded. Gabrion sprinted off and found his next opponent.

As he approached, Gabrion assessed that the woman was some sort of thief or rogue, because she was very agile and fought with two daggers, a handful of pouches bouncing around her waist. She was scoring hits against Kaz’s older brother, Bryn, who had volunteered with Gabrion for training. He was holding his own, but she was better.

Gabrion ran in to help his friend, but the rogue easily fended off both sets of attacks. Her daggers flashed in and out faster than Gabrion could follow, and she nicked him in several places within seconds. It was a tribute to his determination that he didn’t drop his own sword from the shock of it. Instead, he firmed up his fighting stance and tried to communicate some sort of plan with Bryn, but he had no success.

The rogue didn’t even seem winded as she pirouetted around, slashing both high and low, increasing her hit count. Each cut was superficial, but the combination was like hundreds of firegnats nipping and biting away, until each fighter was utterly distracted. Gabrion didn’t know when she knocked him down, nor did he remember her stabbing him in the side, but when her eyes focused on him, he knew he was done for.

Bryn must have understood the predicament, because he wailed a fierce battle cry and bodily threw himself at the woman. And though he jolted her out of the way, one of the daggers struck him hard, and falling to the ground was his last great maneuver.

Bryn’s sudden death didn’t even register to Gabrion yet. He just knew there was danger and he needed to act. He threw a handful of dirt with one hand and followed it with his sword arm. She expected it and was ready, but Gabrion’s strong foot swept out and crashed into her knee. She gasped and collapsed. As she fell, one arm lashed out, and Gabrion felt a searing heat graze past his shoulder as her remaining dagger whizzed by. He knew this fight couldn’t end with simply knocking her out, and so he dashed at her with his sword and ended the struggle.

He had killed animals before. But this was different. It was a thinking person he had snuffed out. A lifetime of experience cast aside with a single thrust of his blade. Decades of future experiences that could never be had. A family, a set of friends and comrades who would never see her again. Before he knew it, he was on the ground, retching painfully, wondering why his world was crashing down so quickly.

Gabrion, called a familiar voice. Come now. Rise. This is a battle. You must rise.

He looked up into Andron’s deep, dark eyes and saw the hardness in them. Soon, he would be the same, a trained killing machine. And though part of him protested this, he thought of Mira and knew he needed to protect her at all costs. If the village fell completely, then Mira too would be lost.

Andron helped him to his feet and understood the resolve that settled into Gabrion’s gaze. War is hard, son, but, yes, you must fight. Come. These piggons brought a mage with them, and we need to eliminate him before he burns everything down.

Gabrion tightened his grip on his sword, remembering the only advice Andron had ever given about dealing with mages: Kill them first, unless a sword is aimed at your throat. He focused on his new goal and followed his mentor into the heart of the village.

The two of them ran full tilt, hacking and slashing as needed, plowing through in order to reach the mage. He was easy to find, for five warriors created a barrier before him, and he stood with arms raised over his head, waving them wildly, casting small fireballs left and right.

We’re in luck, Andron growled. He’s a neophyte. A stronger mage would have already incinerated this whole area.

He’s trying to burn the food! Gabrion gasped. Without waiting for Andron, he sprinted ahead and barreled into the first of the five barrier guards. His sword slashed wildly, to little avail. These guards were better trained than even the rogue was, and each blow was easily parried. Worse, the nearest fighter openly mocked Gabrion’s skill and managed to knock him down several times for sport.

His comrades were less fortunate, facing off against Andron, who was a seasoned soldier. He cut his way through three of the fighters with ease and grace, then turned to the fourth before getting hit full blast with a fire dart from the mage. It stung more than hurt, but it was followed by more blasts and an angry swordsman. Disoriented and coughing, Andron couldn’t defend himself well, and he took more hits than he gave.

Meanwhile, Gabrion’s attacker stopped toying with him as the guard’s comrades fell, and he swished his sword forcefully at Gabrion. Scrambling madly, the inexperienced youth did all he could to keep out of the way until an opportunity arose. A few feet away, one presented itself in the form of a broken barrel. Gabrion grabbed at the various pieces of wood and hurled them at the fighter, causing him to slow his pursuit to bat away the debris. Gabrion righted himself and then charged, but he didn’t charge with his sword arm. Instead, he jumped forward and dropped into a somersault, bowling the warrior over. He sprang up, twisted around, and kicked the sword from the man’s hand, and then he dealt a deadly blow.

He didn’t waste any time before pursuing the mage. The firecaster was still hurling fire darts at Andron, who was clearly struggling. Gabrion figured the mage would be easy to knock over and struck with confidence, but then his sword arm was suddenly useless. He looked at it quickly; it seemed the same, yet it was as heavy as an anvil. Its odd weight alone pinned him to the ground. He kicked with his foot, but when he touched the mage, his foot took on the same heaviness.

Shield of Delminor, the mage said proudly. My gift from the land of Hathreneir. And now you’ll have to die. He raised his hands and bent his fingers into a strange pattern, preparing to cast some other woe upon Gabrion, but the spell didn’t hit him. Andron jumped in the way, taking the full blast of a dagger-chain spell in the gut.

The spell binding Gabrion lifted immediately, and he sprang up to see that Andron had stabbed the mage, knocking him out but not killing him. Meanwhile, Andron was gravely wounded, as if he had been slashed with a hundred knives.

Stupid… mages, Andron gasped.

A horn sounded, and there was a mad scramble as fighting stopped all around the village. Clearly, a retreat had been called. The villagers did not pursue them to finish off the rest. They had enough to tend to on their own. Gabrion was focused on Andron and the light that was now fading from his eyes.

Hear me… Gabrion, the soldier said in a strained voice. The king. He must… be told. The war… He coughed blood and used his last ounce of strength to clasp Gabrion’s hand and finish his decree. It is… imperative the king learns of this. Do you… understand? Many others will share this… fate… otherwise. Do you understand?

Gabrion hardened his jaw and nodded. I do. If I must seek the king myself, I will. I promise. This can’t happen again.

Yes. You… must. With a gasp, Andron spoke no more.

Gabrion carefully pulled himself away from Andron’s body and saw that the mage was still breathing. He debated what to do next, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill the man in cold blood, despite the actions here today. He tore off part of the mage’s robe and used the fabric to bind the man’s hands and mouth tightly. He would have to figure it out later; there were other things to attend to first. He called over another villager to watch the mage, and then he stepped away to survey the damage.

He couldn’t believe how much had been destroyed in so short a time. So many homes and lives were shattered now. He looked around and couldn’t see how this place had ever been his home. It was so foreign without the cobbler’s hut or the herbalist’s storefront. Corpses littered the street, and he couldn’t connect them with the people he knew. Not old Jeena, who told wild stories about flying horses and dancing flowers, nor young Tild and Howt, the only twins he had ever known. Pieces of his past were crumbling, and a new sense of purpose was coming over him. He would seek the king, and then he would seek revenge.

But just when he thought the pain was more than he could handle, one more wound was struck, deeply.

As he strolled aimlessly around, cataloging the carnage and helping a few of the villagers, Kaz came staggering in, covered in blood that was clearly his own this time. He sought out Gabrion, tears pouring from his eyes.

Nothing, he wailed. Nothing I could do, Gabrion! He fell to his knees and bawled painfully.

Gabrion stared at Kaz as if he were a stranger, wondering if he had any sense in living anymore. Kaz was supposed to hide Mira. To keep her safe. But now…

Then one glimmer of hope cut through Gabrion’s awareness.

Kaz looked up at the anguish in Gabrion’s eyes, and he muttered, I tried to stop them. But they took her, Gabe. I couldn’t do anything. I—I’m sorry.

Gabrion’s hand went instinctively to his pocket and pressed against the ring that waited there. A tear escaped from his eye, and he vowed to find Mira. To rescue her. To bring her home safely.

But he also knew that to do that, he would need help. A second tear followed the first, but he knew deep down that he needed to first seek out the king, to report this battle and gain aid, then find his beloved.

He wiped his cheek dry. It would be his last tear until he and Mira were united again.

Chapter 2

The Mage’s Reprieve

Dariak awoke slowly to furious pain in his arms and back. He could hear voices nearby, and he could tell that he was tightly bound. It took a few moments of concentration to remember where he was.

His last recollection was of casting fire spells at a pathetic little village on the western border of Kallisor. Five guardsmen had protected him well enough, until the two maniacs had charged in. The brawnier one had intercepted a killing blow intended for the lesser warrior. And in the process, he had been struck with the fool’s sword. His arm flashed in agony as if it agreed.

But Dariak felt he was fortunate because he was still alive. If his dagger-chain spell had killed the less competent warrior, he might be dead now. So, once again, the great forces of the world were with him.

He briefly tested his bindings and realized that he would really have to struggle to free himself. It was more important, he thought, to focus on the conversation taking place around him.

—have much choice, Son. You have to go, a deep, resonating voice said.

I know. But Mira… There was a sadness there, Dariak noted. He might be able to use that.

You said it yourself; you cannot find her on your own. You need help. There was a long pause and some movement. There is still the issue of this one.

Dariak tried to control his breathing. He didn’t want them to know he had awoken yet.

I can’t leave him here after he tried to kill everyone. He will have to come with me to the king and to the dungeons.

But, Gabrion, we lost so many. We can’t spare anyone to help you watch him and you’re injured. If you take him, he may kill you.

If I leave him here, he might escape and kill you and Mother and everyone who’s left, Gabrion said quietly. No, he has to come with me. If I have to hog-tie him to a tree every night with a knife at his neck, then I will.

There was a moment of silence before the father spoke again. Son, I know what happened here was a tragedy. But don’t lose yourself along the way. I hate hearing you speak like this.

Until I get her back, I already am lost. Wake him. If I do it, I might wake him too hard. There was a flash of anger in the final words, and Dariak braced himself for a rough shake.

Surprisingly, Gabrion’s father merely tapped his cheek until his eyes fluttered open. Time for you to get up. Dariak noted that the kindness and concern were gone.

He moved slowly, partly for effect but also because he was truly hurt. He sat upright and looked around the dingy room. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture, just a table and a few chairs, with a kitchen off to one end and a ladder leading up to a second floor, where he guessed the beds were. The man who woke him was strong and leathery skinned, and he’d clearly spent his entire life out in the sun. His sharp-jawed son, poised against a nearby wall, was a close replica of his father.

Gabrion was a tall young man, with short, messy blond hair and dark-brown eyes. He had small crevices around his eyes, as if he usually laughed all day long. He had to be only about eighteen years old, but his torso, which was uncovered except for a poultice on his left side and small cuts everywhere, was well muscled and rather intimidating to a mage who wasn’t particularly athletic. If Dariak couldn’t just summon the energy around him into a magic spell, he would have done anything he was told without question. He realized that with his hands and mouth bound, he actually couldn’t cast a spell now, but that wasn’t important.

It wasn’t easy having a gag in his mouth either. It tasted dirty, and with his mouth open, he thought he must have been drooling like crazy. He found that it was annoying to swallow too, and he felt like choking. But he was in this predicament for a reason, and he needed to remain focused on his own goal. He reaffirmed with himself that he could have easily died in the battle, rather than get another chance to continue his mission.

Gabrion glared at him with pure venom in his eyes. The look didn’t suit him at all. You have a lot to answer for.

Dariak made a moaning sound around the gag and shrugged his shoulders a little. It was all he could do in response anyway. He felt a line of cold steel press against the side of his neck, and the gag was then untied, but he understood that the youth’s father had a sword ready to cut him down if he tried anything.

Why are you in this village today? Why attack us? Gabrion demanded.

Dariak swallowed a few times and moved his tongue around. After clearing his throat, he gave his answer. It was a job, and I needed the money and the experience. He watched Gabrion’s muscles tighten as if he wanted to slap the mage. Dariak had the presence of mind to flinch timidly.

That’s no excuse. You invaded someone else’s home and went wild, loosing magic all over the place. He shook his head. It doesn’t matter. We’re off to the king. He will judge your crimes.

Dariak lowered his head and grinned inwardly. This novice warrior really did intend to bring him to the castle. That was fine with him; it was one of the places he needed to go anyway and part of the reason he had agreed to come into this kingdom in the first place.

Father, are Andron’s horse and saddle still intact?

Yes. The deep voice rumbled right by Dariak’s ear.

Good. Gabrion took the gag from his father and retied it around Dariak’s mouth. Let’s go. He threw a tunic over his head and wrapped his scabbard around his waist, then guided the mage out with fingers pressed firmly into his shoulder. It wasn’t a far walk to the village stable, but by the time they reached it, Dariak’s shoulder was throbbing.

Three horses remained in the stable, but it looked to Dariak like there had been at least five others. Parts of the structure had fallen in, and some bore scorch marks from his own fire spells. He tried keeping his gaze downcast the entire time, but when he saw the saddle Gabrion grabbed from the wall, his eyes widened. The straps and buckles that kept the saddle astride the horse were not the only bindings.

After securing the saddle carefully upon a large, strong warhorse, Gabrion saw the dread in Dariak’s eyes and nodded.

Each of the king’s soldiers rides a horse with a mage-saddle, he explained, reaching for Dariak and pulling him toward the horse. They’re rarely used. We usually just kill mages.

Dariak met his eyes for a moment and saw that this boy wanted him dead. He blinked a few times and thought of something dreadfully scary, hoping to make himself look at least a little afraid of the situation.

Gabrion held a dagger against Dariak as he removed two special gloves from the mage-saddle. Each was made mostly of leather, and bars of iron ran between each finger, keeping the mage from bending his hands to work a spell. Only a mild amount of flex was possible, which was necessary for staying upright on the horse. Usually, these gloves were strapped onto an unconscious mage, but Dariak cooperated when Gabrion slipped the gloves on his hands. He would have better opportunities to escape.

Once both gloves were in place, a leather cord was wrapped through and around the wrists, securing the gloves tightly. Gabrion was careful not to cut off the circulation, but Dariak could tell that it was a near thing. The leather cord was then laced through special hoops on the saddle. Gabrion hoisted the mage onto the horse, then pulled the cord tighter, dragging the mage’s hands down, palms flat, to the saddle itself, right in front of his body. Gabrion was securing the prisoner’s legs with two other straps when his father entered with saddlebags full of supplies.

Be careful, Son, he said, handing over the provisions.

Thank you, Father. I won’t be long. Gabrion paused for a moment and then made his last request before leaving. When Mira’s folks return, please tell them—

I will, Son. They were lucky to be off on sojourn, but not so lucky in this. I will assure them that you will do everything you can to bring her back.

No, he corrected. "I will bring her back." With that, he hopped onto the horse, behind Dariak, reaching for the reins and snapping them to start the horse on its way.

The stable was on the southern edge of town, near the bakery where Gabrion’s first scuffle had taken place that morning. The horse sauntered under Gabrion’s control, and the young man narrated for Dariak’s sake and to resolve his own task.

I managed to save the baker without killing the boy who attacked him. But if you look over there to that spot on the ground, that’s where my friend Bryn was killed by one of your rogues. Then she—I had to… He closed his lips for a moment, afraid he might get sick again, but remembered he needed to be strong. Over there, that small shed with all the burns on it, that’s old man Arinot’s. Kaz said he was the first victim. Not bad enough he had to die, but then you went and burned his house. Down there—he jerked his head toward the right—three children were so terrified they went to hide, but then you all toppled that house next to it and crushed them. One of them won’t ever walk again, but he was the lucky one; the other two didn’t survive.

All through the village, Gabrion continued his narrative, and though Dariak tried not to listen, he couldn’t help it with the deep, sad voice in his ear. He didn’t quite feel pity for this village. He was a Hathren, and these were people who had warred against his homeland for countless years. He couldn’t feel pity for them. Not until he completed his own quest; then he would pity anyone who crossed his path. He grinned at the thought.

This spot, Gabrion interrupted the mage’s musing, was nearly your death. Instead, you killed the king’s soldier, and the punishment for killing a member of the king’s personal guard is severe. You should have died there. His voice was laden with guilt, for it was his own hand that allowed the mage to live.

So all this blood and death, and you did it because ‘it was a job’? For money? Experience? I can’t imagine it was worth it.

He sort of had a point, Dariak thought, but it didn’t matter much, because he had work to do and he was still alive to do it. He clung to his mission as Gabrion finally kicked the horse to speed. They darted from the village after Gabrion gave it a final wave farewell.

Chapter 3

Foray in the Forest

What’s our take so far? Kitalla asked as she rummaged through her pack. She skimmed over a handful of trinkets and objects the others didn’t yet know about and pulled out a pair of matching crystal goblets. I have these from last night.

Oh, boyfriend went all out, did he? Bostian joked, then quickly dodged away as she lunged for him. Okay, okay, nicely done. I’ve got these. He brought forth a silver necklace and earrings.

Well, at least you got them out of her ear this time, instead of taking half her head with you, Kitalla retorted.

Yeah, that was a real mess! Jafflin added. Stupid things kept quivering a while.

Knock it off, all of you, demanded Poltor. He was the shortest among the five, and he bore the most scars, many of them marring his face and arms. He reached around and claimed the treasures his rogues had collected, placing them into a satchel of his own. This was a good grab, though, he said admiringly. Well done.

A compliment from the Mist, Jafflin said conspiratorially, looking around as if no one was supposed to have heard. He wasn’t fast enough to move aside when Poltor smacked him on the head, but everyone else laughed. Jafflin was the only one who could tease Poltor at all, but then, they’d been working together since the beginning.

Kitalla sat back against a tree and looked up at the sky. Smoke to the west.

Been there all morning, Bostian agreed. Something must have happened.

She rolled her eyes. Obviously. She looked around at their band, which was missing only Heria, who was out scouting. She liked having Heria around more than Bostian. Not only was she another woman to talk to, her comments were less idiotic, though sometimes a little off in their own right.

Kitalla had been traveling with them for a few years now. It was a grander life than foraging in the woods or begging in the streets of a town. There was a fair share of danger, but she liked a good challenge, and thieving from the rich always made her feel a bit better. She pulled up a handful of grass and let the blades fall one by one, wishing she could rid the world of the rich and spread the wealth around evenly. Her mother had been a servant in one of the northern manors, serving the mayor of the area, but when she refused to perform certain tasks, she wasn’t only dismissed from duty but sent to prison, and Kitalla was left to fend for herself for a time. Things grew worse after her mother was released, but Kitalla never dwelled on why. Hers certainly wasn’t a glorious beginning, but at least her life had stabilized now. This was a well-trained group of fighters and thieves, and they never wanted for long, if ever.

Out with it, Kit, Jafflin said, interrupting her thoughts. You can’t sit there smiling to yourself and not share. You got something cooking? Jafflin was another one who could irritate her at times, though