Paths of Nerial
By Joshua M Fitton
It is my responsibility to teach my students everything they need to survive in the Skell.
First and foremost amongst these lessons. Listen and watch everything. Nothing is inconsequential. Everything matters. Always, always be vigilant. These things may save your life.
From the journal of Ramis Flage. Seventy first High-Father of the Skell.
PART 1
THE PATH OF DECEPTION
Pain
Day 3321
10th year of the Spell Caster Wars
Soldarso, Region of Soledor. Kingdom of Dalzia
Pain! Such pain!
He screamed. Light flashing between walls of blackness. Liquid fire ran through his body, pulsed through his veins, through every inch of skin. Faces flashed in his mind. Unknown faces. Words were spoken but lost in the blanket of screams and darkness.
A funny thing, pain. A thing that visits us so many times in life, but no matter how often, no matter how intense the visits, they are somehow forgotten. Maybe not forgotten, but dulled. Lessened by the passage of time like so many other things.
We think we remember pain. We think we know it. Then, when it comes again, we realise how terribly wrong we were. We tell ourselves that we will never forget again, that this time we will remember. But we never do. Not truly.
In his pain, in that moment, he swore that he would remember. He knew it. For this was the greatest pain he’d ever felt. This was a pain he knew would not leave. This was a pain that would be his companion forever more.
‘BROTHER!’
Hands fell on his body, forcing him down. Colours streaked by. I'm falling. A thud. More pain. More hands. Is this hell? Did I die?
The desert heat in his mouth seemed to grow hotter with every passing second. He tried to think, to get any kind of coherent thought, to figure out where he was and what was happening. Impossible!
He remembered only death. Death was all around him. Death was inside him.
Fever!
Stabbed, I've been stabbed!
Memories flooded back.
‘TEOS!’
All sensation disappeared.
Peaceful, unconscious bliss took over.
He hoped he wouldn’t wake again. He didn’t deserve life. Not after what he'd done. Not after all the death he’d delivered. With all the blood that now stained his hands, surely now his own time would come. They trusted him, they all trusted him.
Trusting me is a quick path to death.
If not death, then pain.
Trust Is A Delicate Thing
Great-City of Rudalk
Kingdom of Fargolk
Sarina walked the corridor of the Fargolkan temple with a guide to either side effortlessly explaining each and every aspect of the building, and the numerous displays and items they came across in a seemingly bottomless well of knowledge. Somehow they managed to keep the conversation entertaining despite some of the mundane areas of discussion.
She knew how important it was that she remained vigilant, how disastrous it would be if she were to accidentally insult the people of Fargolk. Of the seven kingdoms of Nerial, Fargolk and Dalzia were the only two to have anything more than a basic trading relationship.
Sarina’s father, King Sophan, visited Fargolk in the first royal meeting in over eighteen years. He took the first steps towards a new world, a journey that she was trying to expand upon. The last five years of peace could be erased with one slip of the tongue. With one mistake I could send the whole thing crumbling. Best watch my mouth then. Yes, because I’ve always been so good at that.
This was the third time Sarina had visited Fargolk, each time she’d stayed in a different region of the kingdom, yet always the king had made the effort to meet with her and perform a full and complex role in the visit. On this day, however, the king of Fargolk was otherwise indisposed, he did, in his absence, arrange for a full and busy day for Sarina. A chance to see some of the sights of her current host city.
Why do I get the feeling he’s made further arrangements. Like clearing everyone away who may have something negative to say to me. Everyone I’ve come across has been courteous almost to the point of falseness. Sooner or later we will have to face up to the fact that there is still bad blood between our kingdoms, between all the kingdoms. A twelve year war will do that.
The building was an impressive piece of architecture, built from a white stone that she’d not encountered back home. She marvelled at its beauty. For so long she thought that visits like this could never take place. The Spell Caster Wars denied such possibilities. She thought she would be denied the chance to see the wonders of the wider world. But I never gave up hope. I always have hope. It is the one thing that cannot be taken away. The one resource that is endless.
As they traversed the corridors, they came across an ancient tapestry hanging on a wall.
‘The piece depicts a battle between two of the northern regions, fought many years ago before the days of the Ruling. It was a particularly bloody battle in which the island of Brodvel was brought into the Fargolkan kingdom,’ advised one of the guides. He continued to elaborate on the piece and Sarina was embarrassed to admit that her attention wondered. She couldn’t help but notice the lack of guards trailing her. In all my life I’ve never been more than a few steps away from a guard. I was damn well raised by soldiers. They’re all I’ve ever really known.
She had her own Elite Guard, specifically designated to her protection. It had been that way since long before the Spell Caster Wars, yet after they began the Elite Guards’ presence in her life became much greater. For all twelve years of the Spell Caster Wars, and the five years since, they have been her most common companions.
She made the decision some time ago to leave them at home during the visit. One reason was as a sign of faith in the Fargolkan authorities that she in turn trusted their capabilities and security, but really, she simply wanted to experience life without them. To walk on my own two feet, such as it is. She’d done just that. Whilst the Fargolkan’s maintained tight security, she’d spent her days without the constant presence of her Guards and she almost hated to admit how much she missed them. Like losing my shadow. Is it sad that it feels this way? Does it show how hollow my life is? Soldiers and Guards are the closest thing I have to friends. I pretend to have noble goals and really they’re just selfish desires. Oh yes, aren’t I impressive.
As the half unregistered explanation of the tapestry was finished, they moved on down the corridor, Sarina felt herself sweating in the heat. Fargolk was far hotter than Dalzia, the sun seamed to burn most things that it touched. The people there wore loose fitted clothes, the women especially; thin cottons and wide dresses were the norm, outfits that revealed more than would be considered appropriate back home. Imagine the scandal if I attended the council in such a dress. She almost laughed at the thought. I might do it just to cause a scene. Yes, it is I, the great and powerful Sarina Oraye, now, bear witness to my behind.
As interesting as some of the tour had been, Sarina was glad when it ended. I’m tired, that’s what I get for rising at midnight.
She was woken in the early hours of the morning after the strangest dream. In it, she was surrounded by darkness. There was nothing but the deepest black in all directions. When she called out, her own voice echoed as though there were nothing else but her. Then a light appeared, so bright it was dazzling, yet it emulated from no flame. Instead, it came from a person, as though shining from his very skin. A man in black robes, a gentle wind made his clothes sway, a wind she hadn’t previously noticed.
His face was obscured somehow, yet she knew in her heart that she could trust him. He offered out a hand to her with a promise of pulling her from the darkness. She reached out to take it, but just as their fingertips met, she woke.
Anti-climax, the story of my life in these last few years. She knew that sleep would offer no more company to her that night, so she rose there and then, a decision she now regretted.
As Sarina and her guides walked toward the temple doors, they were opened to await their exit.
‘Tell me,’ she said to the guides, ‘will there be an opportunity to meet with Prince Talek today.’ The prince was an extremely famous man, a more than remarkable warrior during the Wars, and by all accounts a man blessed with incredible beauty. Yet in all her visits, the prince had never been presented to her.
Strange, I would have thought that such a highly esteemed figure would have been the perfect choice for an event such as this, but the king has repeatedly dismissed my questions regarding his son. He acts as though Talek doesn’t exist.
She walked toward a carriage which would take them back to the High-Lords Manor where she was staying. A man stood awaiting them, a nervousness in his posture.
‘Your Highness,’ he said with a dip of his head. ‘It appears a messenger has arrived from Dalzia.’
A messenger? Why not use magical communication to reach me directly?
‘What is the message?’ she asked, masking her concern.
‘I'm afraid I do not know. The messenger awaits Your Highness at the Lord's Manor.’
Sarina hid her frustration at the slow speed of the journey. It seemed to take a life time before the manor came into view. She made her way directly to the courtyard where the messenger waited beside her hovart. The box shaped vehicle stood out against the back drop of sandy stone and greenery, its metal hull the starkest contrast against them. The messenger himself was clearly uncomfortable in his thick tunic. He stood in the shadow of the hovart, its far from graceful design offering plenty of shade. The large rivets that secured the panels together causing the shadow to lie strangely on the ground.
The Fargolkan escort left Sarina to speak with her subject. The messenger moved to bow, but she quickly stopped him. The man looked completely worn out. He’s probably run across the damn desert. He might not get up again.
‘Your Highness,’ he said in way of a greeting.
‘Your message, sir?’ she asked sternly, portraying nobility in her voice that was more forced than she cared to admit. I was raised by soldiers in a time of war. Blunt men with blunt attitudes. Forgive me for missing lessons on elegant behaviour.
Her mother always had a gift for being regal, even in the most mundane of situations, yet she never seemed too far above anyone to be uncaring, or to force them into begrudging her. ‘That is how you can make the people love you,’ her mother always said. ‘Give them a leader who deserves their loyalty, not one who demands it.’ If only her mother hadn’t perished in the early years of the war, who knows what may be different.
The messenger stepped closer so that he could speak quietly. Sarina felt a cold shiver run down her spine with every word.
She glanced to her left, then to the right. The Fargolkan guards and escorts were more than a hundred strides away. How is it, that with just a few words everything can seem so different? The warm smiles of the Fargolkan’s now seemed a mask of malice. The welcoming eyes a glassy cover of leering hatred.
The message changed everything. Despite all she had claimed in the years since the end of the wars, Sarina found she could not trust these people. Every smile could be false, every nice word merely a distraction.
‘Start the hovart, we leave at once.’ She did the rare act of opening a door herself and climbed into the hovart's passenger compartment.
The messenger stepped into the hovart’s pilot compartment without question. Did you send him for this very reason, father? Do you suspect that I’m surrounded by enemies?
With the wave of a hand and the Casting of a spell, the vehicle droned to life, lifting from the ground.
Sarina expected a blockade, or at least an attempt at stopping her, but she could swear one of the Fargolkan’s went as far as opening the gate.
Still Alive
Day 3329
Year 10 of the Spell Caster Wars.
Soldarso, Region of Soledor. Kingdom of Dalzia.
I’m alive. Why? I don’t deserve this. My brother, I killed you. I led you to your death. I led them all to death!
He heard himself scream but somehow the sound was far away, like an echo from a distant world. He may have believed himself dead if not for the throbbing pain in his back. It was there again at his shoulder, burning hot.
You trusted me, my brother. They all trusted me. The last mistake they’ll ever make.
He tried to move, the pain roared through his body. Poking the fire was a bad idea.
It’s all my fault. I tried to be someone I’m not. You tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen. Now you’re gone and I survived. Why didn’t I listen to you? All you’ve done for me. All you’ve taught me, and still I wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!
Caution To The Wind
Quey desert
Neutral lands
A thick dust cloud was thrust into the air in the wake of the hovart vehicle. It hurtled across the desert floor at a far greater speed than its near cuboid shape implied possible. The cloud that was left behind created the only interference in the otherwise seamless landscape.
Inside, Sarina Oraye sat with tense anticipation. She rubbed her hands on the cushioned seat beneath her, trying to wipe away the insistent sweat that kept reforming in her palms.
Hovart’s were the peak of luxury, ridiculously expensive and incredibly fast. There were few left in the world, in that moment Sarina was incredibly grateful for hers.
A single wave of the hand from the pilot supplied the magic fuel needed to power the vehicle. It would keep going until a counter spell was Cast, or until the pilot's magic was otherwise lost.
Sarina found herself fighting the urge to pace, if not for the unsteady shaking caused by the movement she might have.
She stood and took a few shaky steps to the opposite end of the cabin where she slid down the small hatch through to the pilots’ compartment.
‘Pilot, increase our speed, we must reach Naurea as soon as possible.’
The pilot turned to her for a split second before returning his attention back to the land ahead, the brief moment was enough to clearly take in his nervous expression. He replied with a wavering voice.
‘Your Highness, we’re already highly visible, we run the risk of detection. This land is ripe with bandits. Perhaps we should have allowed the Fargolkan’s to prepare an escort.’ As he spoke, he quickly looked from side to side, peering out of the windows as though expecting something to happen at any moment.
‘I understand your fears,’ she said in a firm tone. ‘But we need to reach Naurea as soon as possible, no matter the risk.’
The answer she received was barely audible ‘Yes, Your Highness.’ The pilot knew better than to question her.
She slid the cover back down and sat back in her chair. Alone again, the look of apprehension returned to her face. I’m running too high a risk travelling in unclaimed lands, leaving my Elite Guard back home doesn’t sound like the good idea it once did. But how was I to know? What else could I do? Get an escort from the Fargolkan’s. They could be more dangerous than any bandits. Perhaps it’s the only reason I got away so easily. What if they want me out here in the desert? All alone, defenceless. That’s it Sarina, walk straight into the trap. Great work.
She felt the increase of speed and knew the dust cloud at the rear of the vehicle would now be even more visible. The risks entailed with such an audacious announcement of her presence were obvious.
The Quey desert was neutral land, belonging to no kingdom, making it a favourite area for bandits. A hovart trail blasting hundreds of feet into the air would be a beacon to them. No, the desert is big. There won’t be anyone close, not with a hovart. They won’t catch me. At least I can hope so.
The goal was to reach the border town of Skizar, once there, she'd be back within Dalzian territory, and bandits didn’t often dare enter the kingdom lands, she knew it couldn’t be far now, they'd been travelling for hours, it could only be a matter of minutes before they reached safe territory. Sitting back in her chair, the only option was to wait and hope for the best, the problem was, in her experience, when hoping for such things, the most likely thing to occur was the exact opposite.
She looked to the pilot’s compartment again after a muffled sound, did he just call? she wondered. Why did the few steps over feel so much longer that time? As she pulled at the sliding panel again why did it feel so much heavier than before? A familiar feeling crept up her spine.
‘Pilot, did you say something?’ No response but for another twist in her gut. Leaning forward to see into the compartment, her expression turned from concern to horror. The colour drained from her face and her mouth dried in an instant. Dead! The pilot’s eyes still displayed the look of horror and pain that took him just before death. A small cloud of smoke rose from a burnt patch on his chest. The hovart began to lose momentum and started its inevitable fall to the ground. Sarina glanced at the window to see the small hole where a magical attack had pierced the glass.
Her heart began to pound as she stared at the small opening in the otherwise perfect surface. Be calm, Sarina. Think! She cursed herself again for not bringing her Elite Guards. At what point did that seem like a good idea.
So where are they, whoever they are?
CRACK!
Only a hand grasping the side stopped her from falling all the way back across the cabin. When her eyes looked forward again they were met by another pair staring right back at her.
A man clung to the outside of the hovart, gripping tight to the frame of the vehicle. He pressed one hand against the glass, dragging it down the smooth surface, smearing a dirty trail across the clear material. The look of malice in his eyes and the grin of a man gone insane sent shivers down Sarina's spine. From that one look, she knew his intentions.
Sickening eyes stared at her as he began to strike at the window with a bare fist, a heavy thud sounded through the cabin. On the third attempt the glass cracked, small smears of the man's blood splattered the window as he continued to smash at it, regardless of the damage being caused to his hand, choosing for some inconceivable reason not to use magic to break the barrier between them.
As the glass shattered, wind rushed into the cabin, forcing Sarina back. She held up an arm to shield her eyes and screamed as the wind rushed in like a hurricane.
The sound of hideous laughter could be heard over the already dying noise of the hovart.
Whoever he was, whatever he wanted, it didn’t take long for him to force his way into the pilots’ cabin. Don’t panic. Panic is my enemy. Use my surroundings. That’s what Jonus would say. Find an advantage.
Her eyes fell to the small space between the cabins. That’s it. It only took seconds to pull the sword from beneath the seat. The unmistakable sound of metal scraping on metal rang through the cabin, setting an alarm ringing within the intruders mind. He quickly looked up in sudden panic, just in time to see the weapon before it was pushed down through his neck into his chest, his laughter turning to a sickly gurgle.
Sarina looked on coldly and saw his dirty face contort in agony; she felt no pity as he fell back through the shattered window to the ground, his body immediately washed away under the moving vehicle.
A sudden jolt made her legs buckle as the hovart hit the ground and came to a sudden stop. Could he have been the only one? No more hoping for the best.
She opened the cabin door and felt the warmth of the desert fill the cabin. Sand fell slowly around the hovart as the dust cloud dropped back down to the desert floor from which it came.
What have I done? She wondered, contemplating what waited beyond the sand.
Through the dust cloud, she could make out three other hovarts just yards away, old and battered machines, creaking as they came to a stop. They hit the ground and their dust clouds began to dissipate, joining her own in its descent, adding to the translucent layer that surrounded them all.
Staring at the falling dust, Sarina knew she’d brought this upon herself. They saw my cloud trail, they used it to hide their own advance. I’m a fool. Father, forgive me.
It seemed to her now that all those years at war, all the lessons learned, were for naught. If her Elite Guards could see her now they would be shamed. All her life she'd tried so desperately to impress them, to prove that she was more than a defenceless woman, yet now she had played into the hands of such expectations. It’s as though they always knew this was coming. It is I, your noble princess and future queen. The one who can’t even look after herself.
Slowly the doors of the other hovart's opened. She watched as three figures stepped out of each, making nine in total. She squinted in a feeble attempt to see better and could just make out the shapes of the approaching figures. Each wrapped in rags, obscuring their faces and protecting their eyes from the falling sand. They cautiously moved closer, still unsure of who or how many people were inside. Soon they stood just a few feet from the open door. Sarina pushed her body hard against the cabin side to remain unseen.
Breath, remember your lessons. I can get through this. I can get through this.
Carefully, one of the masked figures began to climb into the cabin. He took one step in, leaning to peer inside. The figure looked to his right, Sarina heard a small gasp as the man behind the mask realised his fate. The last thing he saw was Sarina Oraye as she thrust her sword into his chest.
There was no time to reposition herself and prepare for the next attack. The moment her sword was pulled from the dying body of the first intruder, a second and third were already within the hovart, Sarina screamed as she felt hands grabbing at her. She struggled but to no avail, their grip was tight, and the touch of cold steel against her skin sent the message that any further action would only be met with one response. If that wasn’t enough, a fist rocketed into her midsection, knocking the breath from her lungs and forcing her to keel over. Only her captures stopped her from falling.
She was pulled outside and thrown to the floor, landing hard despite the soft ground. Sand filled her mouth and nose, she coughed and choked, lying on the ground disoriented. Voices could be heard all around, laughing and sniggering.
Two old and worn out black boots stomped into the sand directly in front of her face. Sarina wondered how she'd managed to end up there, laid upon the desert floor, staring at a pair of boots barely fit for a man's feet, the sniggering faces of bandits all around her, each thinking depraved thoughts.
This is all my fault. I left my protectors where they could not protect me. I let vanity and my own desires cloud my judgment. Now what? I have no hope.
By Joshua M Fitton
It is my responsibility to teach my students everything they need to survive in the Skell.
First and foremost amongst these lessons. Listen and watch everything. Nothing is inconsequential. Everything matters. Always, always be vigilant. These things may save your life.
From the journal of Ramis Flage. Seventy first High-Father of the Skell.
PART 1
THE PATH OF DECEPTION
Pain
Day 3321
10th year of the Spell Caster Wars
Soldarso, Region of Soledor. Kingdom of Dalzia
Pain! Such pain!
He screamed. Light flashing between walls of blackness. Liquid fire ran through his body, pulsed through his veins, through every inch of skin. Faces flashed in his mind. Unknown faces. Words were spoken but lost in the blanket of screams and darkness.
A funny thing, pain. A thing that visits us so many times in life, but no matter how often, no matter how intense the visits, they are somehow forgotten. Maybe not forgotten, but dulled. Lessened by the passage of time like so many other things.
We think we remember pain. We think we know it. Then, when it comes again, we realise how terribly wrong we were. We tell ourselves that we will never forget again, that this time we will remember. But we never do. Not truly.
In his pain, in that moment, he swore that he would remember. He knew it. For this was the greatest pain he’d ever felt. This was a pain he knew would not leave. This was a pain that would be his companion forever more.
‘BROTHER!’
Hands fell on his body, forcing him down. Colours streaked by. I'm falling. A thud. More pain. More hands. Is this hell? Did I die?
The desert heat in his mouth seemed to grow hotter with every passing second. He tried to think, to get any kind of coherent thought, to figure out where he was and what was happening. Impossible!
He remembered only death. Death was all around him. Death was inside him.
Fever!
Stabbed, I've been stabbed!
Memories flooded back.
‘TEOS!’
All sensation disappeared.
Peaceful, unconscious bliss took over.
He hoped he wouldn’t wake again. He didn’t deserve life. Not after what he'd done. Not after all the death he’d delivered. With all the blood that now stained his hands, surely now his own time would come. They trusted him, they all trusted him.
Trusting me is a quick path to death.
If not death, then pain.
Trust Is A Delicate Thing
Great-City of Rudalk
Kingdom of Fargolk
Sarina walked the corridor of the Fargolkan temple with a guide to either side effortlessly explaining each and every aspect of the building, and the numerous displays and items they came across in a seemingly bottomless well of knowledge. Somehow they managed to keep the conversation entertaining despite some of the mundane areas of discussion.
She knew how important it was that she remained vigilant, how disastrous it would be if she were to accidentally insult the people of Fargolk. Of the seven kingdoms of Nerial, Fargolk and Dalzia were the only two to have anything more than a basic trading relationship.
Sarina’s father, King Sophan, visited Fargolk in the first royal meeting in over eighteen years. He took the first steps towards a new world, a journey that she was trying to expand upon. The last five years of peace could be erased with one slip of the tongue. With one mistake I could send the whole thing crumbling. Best watch my mouth then. Yes, because I’ve always been so good at that.
This was the third time Sarina had visited Fargolk, each time she’d stayed in a different region of the kingdom, yet always the king had made the effort to meet with her and perform a full and complex role in the visit. On this day, however, the king of Fargolk was otherwise indisposed, he did, in his absence, arrange for a full and busy day for Sarina. A chance to see some of the sights of her current host city.
Why do I get the feeling he’s made further arrangements. Like clearing everyone away who may have something negative to say to me. Everyone I’ve come across has been courteous almost to the point of falseness. Sooner or later we will have to face up to the fact that there is still bad blood between our kingdoms, between all the kingdoms. A twelve year war will do that.
The building was an impressive piece of architecture, built from a white stone that she’d not encountered back home. She marvelled at its beauty. For so long she thought that visits like this could never take place. The Spell Caster Wars denied such possibilities. She thought she would be denied the chance to see the wonders of the wider world. But I never gave up hope. I always have hope. It is the one thing that cannot be taken away. The one resource that is endless.
As they traversed the corridors, they came across an ancient tapestry hanging on a wall.
‘The piece depicts a battle between two of the northern regions, fought many years ago before the days of the Ruling. It was a particularly bloody battle in which the island of Brodvel was brought into the Fargolkan kingdom,’ advised one of the guides. He continued to elaborate on the piece and Sarina was embarrassed to admit that her attention wondered. She couldn’t help but notice the lack of guards trailing her. In all my life I’ve never been more than a few steps away from a guard. I was damn well raised by soldiers. They’re all I’ve ever really known.
She had her own Elite Guard, specifically designated to her protection. It had been that way since long before the Spell Caster Wars, yet after they began the Elite Guards’ presence in her life became much greater. For all twelve years of the Spell Caster Wars, and the five years since, they have been her most common companions.
She made the decision some time ago to leave them at home during the visit. One reason was as a sign of faith in the Fargolkan authorities that she in turn trusted their capabilities and security, but really, she simply wanted to experience life without them. To walk on my own two feet, such as it is. She’d done just that. Whilst the Fargolkan’s maintained tight security, she’d spent her days without the constant presence of her Guards and she almost hated to admit how much she missed them. Like losing my shadow. Is it sad that it feels this way? Does it show how hollow my life is? Soldiers and Guards are the closest thing I have to friends. I pretend to have noble goals and really they’re just selfish desires. Oh yes, aren’t I impressive.
As the half unregistered explanation of the tapestry was finished, they moved on down the corridor, Sarina felt herself sweating in the heat. Fargolk was far hotter than Dalzia, the sun seamed to burn most things that it touched. The people there wore loose fitted clothes, the women especially; thin cottons and wide dresses were the norm, outfits that revealed more than would be considered appropriate back home. Imagine the scandal if I attended the council in such a dress. She almost laughed at the thought. I might do it just to cause a scene. Yes, it is I, the great and powerful Sarina Oraye, now, bear witness to my behind.
As interesting as some of the tour had been, Sarina was glad when it ended. I’m tired, that’s what I get for rising at midnight.
She was woken in the early hours of the morning after the strangest dream. In it, she was surrounded by darkness. There was nothing but the deepest black in all directions. When she called out, her own voice echoed as though there were nothing else but her. Then a light appeared, so bright it was dazzling, yet it emulated from no flame. Instead, it came from a person, as though shining from his very skin. A man in black robes, a gentle wind made his clothes sway, a wind she hadn’t previously noticed.
His face was obscured somehow, yet she knew in her heart that she could trust him. He offered out a hand to her with a promise of pulling her from the darkness. She reached out to take it, but just as their fingertips met, she woke.
Anti-climax, the story of my life in these last few years. She knew that sleep would offer no more company to her that night, so she rose there and then, a decision she now regretted.
As Sarina and her guides walked toward the temple doors, they were opened to await their exit.
‘Tell me,’ she said to the guides, ‘will there be an opportunity to meet with Prince Talek today.’ The prince was an extremely famous man, a more than remarkable warrior during the Wars, and by all accounts a man blessed with incredible beauty. Yet in all her visits, the prince had never been presented to her.
Strange, I would have thought that such a highly esteemed figure would have been the perfect choice for an event such as this, but the king has repeatedly dismissed my questions regarding his son. He acts as though Talek doesn’t exist.
She walked toward a carriage which would take them back to the High-Lords Manor where she was staying. A man stood awaiting them, a nervousness in his posture.
‘Your Highness,’ he said with a dip of his head. ‘It appears a messenger has arrived from Dalzia.’
A messenger? Why not use magical communication to reach me directly?
‘What is the message?’ she asked, masking her concern.
‘I'm afraid I do not know. The messenger awaits Your Highness at the Lord's Manor.’
Sarina hid her frustration at the slow speed of the journey. It seemed to take a life time before the manor came into view. She made her way directly to the courtyard where the messenger waited beside her hovart. The box shaped vehicle stood out against the back drop of sandy stone and greenery, its metal hull the starkest contrast against them. The messenger himself was clearly uncomfortable in his thick tunic. He stood in the shadow of the hovart, its far from graceful design offering plenty of shade. The large rivets that secured the panels together causing the shadow to lie strangely on the ground.
The Fargolkan escort left Sarina to speak with her subject. The messenger moved to bow, but she quickly stopped him. The man looked completely worn out. He’s probably run across the damn desert. He might not get up again.
‘Your Highness,’ he said in way of a greeting.
‘Your message, sir?’ she asked sternly, portraying nobility in her voice that was more forced than she cared to admit. I was raised by soldiers in a time of war. Blunt men with blunt attitudes. Forgive me for missing lessons on elegant behaviour.
Her mother always had a gift for being regal, even in the most mundane of situations, yet she never seemed too far above anyone to be uncaring, or to force them into begrudging her. ‘That is how you can make the people love you,’ her mother always said. ‘Give them a leader who deserves their loyalty, not one who demands it.’ If only her mother hadn’t perished in the early years of the war, who knows what may be different.
The messenger stepped closer so that he could speak quietly. Sarina felt a cold shiver run down her spine with every word.
She glanced to her left, then to the right. The Fargolkan guards and escorts were more than a hundred strides away. How is it, that with just a few words everything can seem so different? The warm smiles of the Fargolkan’s now seemed a mask of malice. The welcoming eyes a glassy cover of leering hatred.
The message changed everything. Despite all she had claimed in the years since the end of the wars, Sarina found she could not trust these people. Every smile could be false, every nice word merely a distraction.
‘Start the hovart, we leave at once.’ She did the rare act of opening a door herself and climbed into the hovart's passenger compartment.
The messenger stepped into the hovart’s pilot compartment without question. Did you send him for this very reason, father? Do you suspect that I’m surrounded by enemies?
With the wave of a hand and the Casting of a spell, the vehicle droned to life, lifting from the ground.
Sarina expected a blockade, or at least an attempt at stopping her, but she could swear one of the Fargolkan’s went as far as opening the gate.
Still Alive
Day 3329
Year 10 of the Spell Caster Wars.
Soldarso, Region of Soledor. Kingdom of Dalzia.
I’m alive. Why? I don’t deserve this. My brother, I killed you. I led you to your death. I led them all to death!
He heard himself scream but somehow the sound was far away, like an echo from a distant world. He may have believed himself dead if not for the throbbing pain in his back. It was there again at his shoulder, burning hot.
You trusted me, my brother. They all trusted me. The last mistake they’ll ever make.
He tried to move, the pain roared through his body. Poking the fire was a bad idea.
It’s all my fault. I tried to be someone I’m not. You tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen. Now you’re gone and I survived. Why didn’t I listen to you? All you’ve done for me. All you’ve taught me, and still I wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!
Caution To The Wind
Quey desert
Neutral lands
A thick dust cloud was thrust into the air in the wake of the hovart vehicle. It hurtled across the desert floor at a far greater speed than its near cuboid shape implied possible. The cloud that was left behind created the only interference in the otherwise seamless landscape.
Inside, Sarina Oraye sat with tense anticipation. She rubbed her hands on the cushioned seat beneath her, trying to wipe away the insistent sweat that kept reforming in her palms.
Hovart’s were the peak of luxury, ridiculously expensive and incredibly fast. There were few left in the world, in that moment Sarina was incredibly grateful for hers.
A single wave of the hand from the pilot supplied the magic fuel needed to power the vehicle. It would keep going until a counter spell was Cast, or until the pilot's magic was otherwise lost.
Sarina found herself fighting the urge to pace, if not for the unsteady shaking caused by the movement she might have.
She stood and took a few shaky steps to the opposite end of the cabin where she slid down the small hatch through to the pilots’ compartment.
‘Pilot, increase our speed, we must reach Naurea as soon as possible.’
The pilot turned to her for a split second before returning his attention back to the land ahead, the brief moment was enough to clearly take in his nervous expression. He replied with a wavering voice.
‘Your Highness, we’re already highly visible, we run the risk of detection. This land is ripe with bandits. Perhaps we should have allowed the Fargolkan’s to prepare an escort.’ As he spoke, he quickly looked from side to side, peering out of the windows as though expecting something to happen at any moment.
‘I understand your fears,’ she said in a firm tone. ‘But we need to reach Naurea as soon as possible, no matter the risk.’
The answer she received was barely audible ‘Yes, Your Highness.’ The pilot knew better than to question her.
She slid the cover back down and sat back in her chair. Alone again, the look of apprehension returned to her face. I’m running too high a risk travelling in unclaimed lands, leaving my Elite Guard back home doesn’t sound like the good idea it once did. But how was I to know? What else could I do? Get an escort from the Fargolkan’s. They could be more dangerous than any bandits. Perhaps it’s the only reason I got away so easily. What if they want me out here in the desert? All alone, defenceless. That’s it Sarina, walk straight into the trap. Great work.
She felt the increase of speed and knew the dust cloud at the rear of the vehicle would now be even more visible. The risks entailed with such an audacious announcement of her presence were obvious.
The Quey desert was neutral land, belonging to no kingdom, making it a favourite area for bandits. A hovart trail blasting hundreds of feet into the air would be a beacon to them. No, the desert is big. There won’t be anyone close, not with a hovart. They won’t catch me. At least I can hope so.
The goal was to reach the border town of Skizar, once there, she'd be back within Dalzian territory, and bandits didn’t often dare enter the kingdom lands, she knew it couldn’t be far now, they'd been travelling for hours, it could only be a matter of minutes before they reached safe territory. Sitting back in her chair, the only option was to wait and hope for the best, the problem was, in her experience, when hoping for such things, the most likely thing to occur was the exact opposite.
She looked to the pilot’s compartment again after a muffled sound, did he just call? she wondered. Why did the few steps over feel so much longer that time? As she pulled at the sliding panel again why did it feel so much heavier than before? A familiar feeling crept up her spine.
‘Pilot, did you say something?’ No response but for another twist in her gut. Leaning forward to see into the compartment, her expression turned from concern to horror. The colour drained from her face and her mouth dried in an instant. Dead! The pilot’s eyes still displayed the look of horror and pain that took him just before death. A small cloud of smoke rose from a burnt patch on his chest. The hovart began to lose momentum and started its inevitable fall to the ground. Sarina glanced at the window to see the small hole where a magical attack had pierced the glass.
Her heart began to pound as she stared at the small opening in the otherwise perfect surface. Be calm, Sarina. Think! She cursed herself again for not bringing her Elite Guards. At what point did that seem like a good idea.
So where are they, whoever they are?
CRACK!
Only a hand grasping the side stopped her from falling all the way back across the cabin. When her eyes looked forward again they were met by another pair staring right back at her.
A man clung to the outside of the hovart, gripping tight to the frame of the vehicle. He pressed one hand against the glass, dragging it down the smooth surface, smearing a dirty trail across the clear material. The look of malice in his eyes and the grin of a man gone insane sent shivers down Sarina's spine. From that one look, she knew his intentions.
Sickening eyes stared at her as he began to strike at the window with a bare fist, a heavy thud sounded through the cabin. On the third attempt the glass cracked, small smears of the man's blood splattered the window as he continued to smash at it, regardless of the damage being caused to his hand, choosing for some inconceivable reason not to use magic to break the barrier between them.
As the glass shattered, wind rushed into the cabin, forcing Sarina back. She held up an arm to shield her eyes and screamed as the wind rushed in like a hurricane.
The sound of hideous laughter could be heard over the already dying noise of the hovart.
Whoever he was, whatever he wanted, it didn’t take long for him to force his way into the pilots’ cabin. Don’t panic. Panic is my enemy. Use my surroundings. That’s what Jonus would say. Find an advantage.
Her eyes fell to the small space between the cabins. That’s it. It only took seconds to pull the sword from beneath the seat. The unmistakable sound of metal scraping on metal rang through the cabin, setting an alarm ringing within the intruders mind. He quickly looked up in sudden panic, just in time to see the weapon before it was pushed down through his neck into his chest, his laughter turning to a sickly gurgle.
Sarina looked on coldly and saw his dirty face contort in agony; she felt no pity as he fell back through the shattered window to the ground, his body immediately washed away under the moving vehicle.
A sudden jolt made her legs buckle as the hovart hit the ground and came to a sudden stop. Could he have been the only one? No more hoping for the best.
She opened the cabin door and felt the warmth of the desert fill the cabin. Sand fell slowly around the hovart as the dust cloud dropped back down to the desert floor from which it came.
What have I done? She wondered, contemplating what waited beyond the sand.
Through the dust cloud, she could make out three other hovarts just yards away, old and battered machines, creaking as they came to a stop. They hit the ground and their dust clouds began to dissipate, joining her own in its descent, adding to the translucent layer that surrounded them all.
Staring at the falling dust, Sarina knew she’d brought this upon herself. They saw my cloud trail, they used it to hide their own advance. I’m a fool. Father, forgive me.
It seemed to her now that all those years at war, all the lessons learned, were for naught. If her Elite Guards could see her now they would be shamed. All her life she'd tried so desperately to impress them, to prove that she was more than a defenceless woman, yet now she had played into the hands of such expectations. It’s as though they always knew this was coming. It is I, your noble princess and future queen. The one who can’t even look after herself.
Slowly the doors of the other hovart's opened. She watched as three figures stepped out of each, making nine in total. She squinted in a feeble attempt to see better and could just make out the shapes of the approaching figures. Each wrapped in rags, obscuring their faces and protecting their eyes from the falling sand. They cautiously moved closer, still unsure of who or how many people were inside. Soon they stood just a few feet from the open door. Sarina pushed her body hard against the cabin side to remain unseen.
Breath, remember your lessons. I can get through this. I can get through this.
Carefully, one of the masked figures began to climb into the cabin. He took one step in, leaning to peer inside. The figure looked to his right, Sarina heard a small gasp as the man behind the mask realised his fate. The last thing he saw was Sarina Oraye as she thrust her sword into his chest.
There was no time to reposition herself and prepare for the next attack. The moment her sword was pulled from the dying body of the first intruder, a second and third were already within the hovart, Sarina screamed as she felt hands grabbing at her. She struggled but to no avail, their grip was tight, and the touch of cold steel against her skin sent the message that any further action would only be met with one response. If that wasn’t enough, a fist rocketed into her midsection, knocking the breath from her lungs and forcing her to keel over. Only her captures stopped her from falling.
She was pulled outside and thrown to the floor, landing hard despite the soft ground. Sand filled her mouth and nose, she coughed and choked, lying on the ground disoriented. Voices could be heard all around, laughing and sniggering.
Two old and worn out black boots stomped into the sand directly in front of her face. Sarina wondered how she'd managed to end up there, laid upon the desert floor, staring at a pair of boots barely fit for a man's feet, the sniggering faces of bandits all around her, each thinking depraved thoughts.
This is all my fault. I left my protectors where they could not protect me. I let vanity and my own desires cloud my judgment. Now what? I have no hope.
