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The Archsage War takes place in Phates Tak, a world of my own creation. It is a stand alone story, but one of many that I have written in my universe. This is a work that has taken me years to put together, so I hope you enjoy.
Phates Tak has seen peace for over 2,000 years, protected by the mighty archsages and their lord, Garen Aercho. Now, two powerful witches seek to destroy the utopia Garen has created, while the aging half-elf searches for the means to attain immortality. Swept up in the conflict is a strange group of friends, led by the enigmatic Tarapak Berem. Together, they must race across the continent to halt the ambitions of the power-hungry sorcerers before their conflict destroys the world.
EVERYBODY.
-Fantasy and Magical Violence. No Blood and Guts.
CHAPTER 1: Meeting in the Dark
Malferna slipped over the windowsill and into the darkness beyond. She clasped the sheer wall of the tower calmly, a hundred feet above the ground, and in no danger of falling. Below her, the sleeping city of Arcadia sprawled out in three directions. To the west, she could see the large homes of wealthy merchants and craftsman, while the eastern portion of the city was dominated by the quaint domiciles of the working class. A huge market district sprawled out over the sourthern section of the city. By mid-afternoon, foreign traders peddling their wares would occupy the myriad of stalls that lined the streets and smoke would be curling upward from the chimneys of the permanent, local businesses. Above her, the five towers of the Temple of Meno'a loomed dramatically over the sleeping city. The Temple was meant to be a symbol of light to the world, but Malferna knew its true purpose was as dark and sinister as the overcast night she found herself in.
Noone moved in the courtyard below her and few people moved about the library she was forced to call home, but a clandestine meeting called for clandestine movement and she knew the Lord Archsage had employed a spy network to watch perceived threats. In his old age, that included a large number of people, but she knew she was near the top of his list. To his credit, I am a threat, she chuckled to herself.
She maneuvered silently down the face of the northeast tower, guided by her potent magic, and landed softly on the lush grass at the base of the tower. The witch glanced back once at the edifice towering over her before she glided toward the wall of fir trees reinforcing the iron fencing that surrounded the Library of Arcadia. Technically, the library and the temple were separate buildings, built over one hundred years apart, but the seamless construction made them appear inseparable from one another. The Great Library was the crowning magical achievement during the Age of Magic and housed a collection of magic, history, and knowledge that rivaled even the Queen's Library, deep within the heart of the elven homeland. The Temple of Meno'a was built around it to honor Garen's first wife.
Malferna recoiled at the thought of such devotion to any individual, but Meno'a was long dead now and few remembered the dedication that the temple represented. The witch's progress out of the courtyard was unimpeded by the fir trees as she effortlessly glided through them and it took her only moments to dismantle the enchantments woven into the iron fencing. Now in one of the wide streets surrounding three sides of the library, the fourth backed up to the wall surrounding the city, she looked both directions and pulled her dark hood further over her head. She feared little in this world, but the timing of her plan was everything and she didn’t want anyone recognizing her moving about the city in the early hours of the morning. No other soul occupied the well-maintained dirt street. Moving effortlessly toward a nearby alley, her feet barely touching the ground, Malferna was on high alert for anyone who might surprise her.
A bright orange streak moved between the roofs above her and she melted into the shadows of the alley. She could feel eyes on her, but their source was a mystery. Preparing a spell to incapacitate an assailant, the witch made to step from the shadows when the streak dartrf back across the rooftop. A cat, she sighed, releasing the spell. The small, ginger colored animal dropped from the rooftop to a barrel in the alleyway, its blue eyes trained on Malferna. The witch probed its simple mind to ascertain whether it was being controlled, but sensed no magic within. Suddenly, Malferna kicked out and another cat scampered into an adjacent alley. Almost immediately a third began rubbing itself against her leg. Rolling her eyes and sighing, she bent and picked up the black cat by the scruff of its neck. Bringing it to eye level, she again magically peered into bright blue eyes, but again sensed nothing. Frustrated, she threw the cat toward the street. It landed on all fours and starred back at her.
Malferna hated cats. The animals had always had a strange fascination with her, but that only fed her dislike of them. She moved deeper into the complicated backstreets that ran through the older parts of the city in an attempt to lose them. Arcadia, built just after Sereda’s War, in the early 900s had a long, but rather boring history. It had never weathered a war or political upheaval and the poor organization of the old city was due more to bad planning than anything else. Its size, wealth, and population now rivaled the ancient cities of Intreva and New City, but these dirty back alleyways were a blunt reminder of a time when the city struggled to grow.
The witch knew the twisted paths well, having traversed them dozens of times on other clandestine missions within the city. The Lord Archsage had long attempted to limit the power and reach of his fellow archsages by confining them to this city and forbidding them to leave the temple at night. Malferna, however, wasn’t one for rules. Another cat darted across her path and she showed great restraint in letting it prance on unscathed. Coming to the end of an alley, she peeked her head into the wider street beyond. Bakeries and butcher shops lined the road, the lights in all of the windows doused, save for a single candle in an upstairs window three buildings to the left. A sign that someone was having trouble sleeping.
A loud creak, amplified by the stillness of the night, sounded behind Malferna. Whipping around, her cowl moving backwards ever so slightly on her head as she did, she came face-to-face with a rather ugly human male. Face-to-face was relative, given how short the man was, but the abject terror on his mottled face indicated that he knew exactly who the woman standing before him was.
A single, incoherent sound escaped his mouth before the witch swept forward, whipped the man around, and held her long fingernail to his throat like a dagger.
”Who are you,” she whispered in a raspy voice.
”Ha…Han…,” the man spluttered, but was unable to mutter even the short word.
”Speak quickly or lose your tongue.”
”Hank,” he finally said, at the risk of maiming.
”Why are you here,” Malferna continued, looking up at the cloud-obscured moon. The sun wouldn’t rise for another two hours and everyone else had long retired, exhausted from celebrating the new year the previous day.
”This is my shop,” Hank answered, some confidence returning to his voice, perhaps because his throat was still in one piece, “I thought I heard the cats sneaking in again.”
His story was believable and Malferna pushed the disgusting man away from her and into the dirt. He smelled of rotten meat and, in addition to his unattractive face, he was missing pieces of two fingers. The dangers of being a butcher.
The man landed hard on his hands and knees. He quickly turned once more to face the terrifying woman. Brushing the dirt off his mangled hands, he stared up at her with bright blue eyes.
Blue eyes?
The cats, Malferna realized. Again, she was on the man, pinning him down, black eyes fixed on his blue ones. As with the cats, she probed his mind, looking for the magic that linked him to the filthy creatures. Again, she was disappointed.
”Why are your cats following me,” she hissed.
”My…my cats,” his stammer and his fear and returned in an instant, “I...I...I don't have any cats?”
Malferna looked around, but, for the first time since she had entered the twisting maze of backstreets, she could locate no cats. But he had just mentioned cats. They were trying to steal his meat. She was confused and her frustration was growing. The cats showed no indication of magic, the man showed no gift for the arts, and why would any self-respecting mage moonlight as a disgusting butcher?
She pierced the small man with her dark gaze a second time, peering past the man’s mind and into his soul. Nothing. Malferna wanted to throw back her head and scream to the heavens, but she had already been delayed long enough. Hank was breathing fast and hard beneath her. His fear will keep him quiet, she rationalized. Standing, she made to leave the alley and heard the terrified man rise behind her. She turned and there, standing behind the butcher, was the orange cat with blue eyes. Changing her mind, the witch lashed out with her right hand and slit the man’s throat with her long fingernails. She was gone before he hit the ground and felt no remorse at the innocent man’s slaying.
Out in the street, Malferna found her destination with ease. A window sat open on the second story of an abandoned bakery and, with an effortless leap, she glided through the air and through the narrow opening. Landing deftly in a crouching position, she muttered an incantation to allow sight in the dark room and looked around. Sitting on a low crate in the far corner was another hooded figure, but the rest of the room was barren. No furniture or carpeting adorned the floor, save the crate the stranger sat upon, and the weak moonlight shining through gloomy clouds revealed nothing upon the walls either. The hooded figure opposite Malferna stood and raised its left arm, but the hand was completely hidden by the voluminous robe.
"Thomra," it stated, in a clearly feminine voice.
Malferna nodded ever so slightly. The figure took a step forward and pulled the sleeve back on the cloak to reveal a tiny stone. It was round, smooth, and clear, but a mist appeared to be swirling inside it. The stone rose steadily from the delicate hand that held it and floated toward Malferna. She clasped it between her index finger and thumb, inspecting it closely.
"He is positive of its effects?" the witch queried.
It was the hooded figure's turn to nod briefly. Satisfied, Malferna stashed the strange stone in the inner folds of her cloak and turned her penetrating gaze on the woman whose features were still hidden beneath the other hood.
"Step one begins today at sunrise, make sure you are seen."
The other woman chuckled softly, "with pleasure."
In the same manner as the witch moved, her opposite floated across the ground with ease, alighted on the narrow windowsill and disappeared into the night without a backward glance. Malferna turned back to the window as well, but waited before following her lesser. She swept her malevolent gaze over the quiet city, relishing in the ominous night that foreshadowed a darker morning. She had failed to conquer her home world, but she would not fail again.
CHAPTER 2: The Witch
“Where is the girl,” demanded a man sitting upon a grand throne carved of the purest gold and silver with elaborate runes carved into its head.
The throne, though resplendent, was but the centerpiece of a grand hall that competed with even those of the kings of the five nations. Hanging from the high ceiling were five elaborate crystal chandeliers, rising so high from the ground that a balcony was built on one side of the hall so servants could light the dozens of candles that adorned each. The smooth marble walls were covered in murals depicting epic scenes from ages past and covering much of the flawless granite floor was thick, rich carpet of woven purple silk which silenced the heavy footsteps of the lone soldier cowering beneath the wrath of his master.
“She could not be found, sir,” stated the lone soldier, his voice ringing clearly through the chamber as he regained his composure, “it is as you suspected, she has fled the city.”
The soldier’s entirely gray uniform denoted him as a common soldier with no magical ability and the lone bar on his shoulder showed his rank as lieutenant. His appearance was in complete contrast to the man seated before him.
Garen Aercho, the Lord Archsage, ruler of Arcadia, was the picture of royalty in every way. His hair, once a soft blonde, had turned a brilliant white with age and was kept short and neat. His beard was much the same way, for the archsage hated the sensation of his hair falling about his shoulders and neck or waving listlessly in the breeze. Though taller than an average human, he was very slender, evidence of dedicating his long life to magic, not physical exertion. The nails on his fingers and toes were short and smooth, while the smell of lilacs seemed to cling to his pale, clean skin. He was dressed in a simple, but resplendent, royal purple robe made entirely of silk and strong leather sandals of elven design.
Rising gracefully to his feet with an ease that belied his age, he grasped a staff that leaned against his throne and descended the three stairs which led to his lofty heights. Now standing at eye level with the lieutenant, he scanned his plain face, looking for any signs of deception. Seeing nothing but fear in the middle-aged man’s face, he turned from his presence before giving his instructions.
“Bring the girl’s mother to me, if she resists, use force.”
“Yes, Lord Archsage,” the soldier returned, and, turning on his heel, exited the hall as quickly as he could without running.
Sighing, the lord of Arcadia returned to his lofty chair and, leaning on his staff for support, gently resumed his seated position. Age showed more on his tired face now that his underling had left the room and a low grumbling emanated from his stomach.
As the thick oak double-doors at the end of the grand hall closed with a low boom that echoed through the high-ceilinged room, a young girl stepped from behind the tall throne where she had been hiding during the interview with the lieutenant.
“Are you in need of anything, master,” she asked quietly, bowing slightly.
“Ah, Tricia,” the old man’s face lit up as he looked down at the girl, “indeed I do. Please inform Master Berem I require his presence and have the chef prepare my lunch.”
“Of course, my lord,” Tricia responded with little emotion, bowing again, “and what of your daughter? She wishes to see you.”
Closing his eyes in thought for a moment, having forgotten about the audience with his daughter, he finally replied, “have her meet me in the grand dining hall.”
“Yes, master,” his apprentice answered, bowing a final time and exiting the hall through a side door hidden within one of the murals.
Garen watched the mage leave and his thoughts wondered to her mysterious past. Tricia Jae, or TJ as most people called her, had arrived in Arcadia several years prior seeking a master to teach her the finer ways of magic. Such an occurrence was not uncommon, for there were only two places on Phates Tak to seek a master, the other being the Tower of Sages in western Emag. Tricia, however, was special. Her abilities upon arriving in Arcadia were already highly formidable, far beyond that of most mages her age, especially for someone devoid of a master. The Lord Archsage had not taken a pupil in many years, but he saw a challenge in the then teenage prodigy and had never once regretted his decision to train her. In addition to being a quick, steadfast learner, she had proven to be extremely loyal and Garen quickly found many uses for her within his kingdom.
The quiet thud of the door closing behind Tricia snapped Garen from his thoughts. Pushing himself up from his throne and grasping his staff, he slowly descended the stairs and made his way to the grand dining hall for lunch.
***
On the far side of the Library, Lieutenant Lars Redols II collapsed into a small wooden chair outside of his commanding officer’s study and waited to be summoned. Redols, who was in his mid-30s, had been at this post for nearly seven years, yet after all that time, he was still terrified to approach his liege lord. Being assigned to the Library was supposed to be an honor for a soldier, but for Lars it was more often a nightmare. He spent more time running errands or pretending to be invisible than commanding troops and he was charged with “protecting” a bunch of sorcerers who could kill him with a single word.
Originally, he had been happy with the assignment. Phates Tak had not seen war in nearly two and a half millennia, so what could be better than following in his father’s footsteps and commanding the small garrison of soldiers assigned to Garen and the Temple? As it turned out, everything. The archsages either avoided or looked down at the few soldiers patrolling the wide corridors. Some elven and dwarven archsages gazed at the lowly human with such contempt; he often expected to explode into flames or slowly gag to death on nothing but air. Fear permeated the lieutenant’s life and now it was worse than ever.
Several months earlier, Lieutenant Redols had met with Garen in a secret meeting that included only himself; his father, Colonel Lars Redols; and a pretty young girl who couldn’t have been much older than 20, whose name he couldn’t recall. His lord had told him that he feared a plot was afoot to dismantle the kingdom and it was to be led by Morigan Drachil.
Of all of the archsages the lieutenant had encountered, she was, by far, the scariest. She swept through the hallways and various rooms of the library like a silent specter, her black hair and robe flowing behind her, reminding the fearful man of the ghost stories his parents told him as a child.
The result of the secret meeting was that either Lars or his father had to keep an eye on the potentially rogue archsage at all times. Although originally a fearful notion, the assignment became rather fulfilling. Sneaking about the library, spying on the terrifying woman wasn’t exactly a soldier’s work, but after a few weeks, the younger Redols discovered he had a knack for it. Successfully spying on a woman who had frightened him for years also gave him a great deal of satisfaction. Two weeks ago, however, all of that changed.
Colonel Redols had assigned his son the late night shift, but the lieutenant, unaccustomed to the late hours, drifted off to sleep just after first hour. Three hours later, just before sunrise, a loud noise from within Morigan’s bedchamber jolted him awake. Worried that his charge had escaped him, Lars leapt to his feet and crept from his hiding place, a small broom closet adjacent to Morigan’s rooms. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard movements on the other side and, fearing the worst, pushed the door open enough to slip inside.
The bedchamber, like most of the temple, had marble walls and a granite floor, but dark covers obscured what little light was seeping through the windows, hiding most of the room in shadows. A pristine silence pervaded the room as Lars’ eyes slowly adjusted, revealing an overturned side table beside a bed copious enough to sleep three full-grown humans. Assuming the overturned table was the cause of the commotion, the intruder turned to leave when movement from the far corner of the room caught his eye.
Stepping from behind a dressing screen, wearing no more than a lightweight, black nightgown, was the enchantress Morigan. Lars had but a moment to admire the beautiful curves of her body before she held out a hand and the entire chamber burst into bright light. The spell blinded the shocked officer, but sheer terror overruled common sense as he spun around and sprinted in the direction he thought the door was in. He slammed hard into the smooth walls twice before finding the opening and flying into the hallway.
He had only taken a few strides, however, when Morigan’s laughter at his misery faded away and he heard her high voice utter an incantation:
Rätav nï eth rï'a, frëz ta ëm mokman
Immediately, the lieutenant’s feet grew cold, his paced slowed and, as the freezing sensation climbed up into his knees, his movement stopped altogether. Tugging with all his strength, Lars attempted to free himself, but to no avail. Eventually his sight recovered from the flash of light, only to see that his legs were encased up to the knee in thick ice, which held him fast to the cool, stone floor.
His father had discovered him standing in that same place three hours later, as he made is morning rounds, and it took another two hours for the soldiers to free him using ice picks. Lieutenant Redols shivered just remembering the experience and wondered if the feeling would ever return to his feet.
Lars looked up as the sharp slap of sandals smacking on the hard floor indicated someone approaching the door from the other side.
“Your father will see you now,” intoned a plump, elderly lady who opened the door and stepped backwards to let him enter.
Smiling and he thanked the woman, Martha he thought, or maybe Marie, he couldn’t remember, the servants changed constantly. He entered the small room that served as the officer’s study. His own desk sat in one corner with a chair pushed under it, while the colonel’s desk sat in the middle of the room with two more chairs arrayed before it. No beautiful tapestries or exquisite murals decorated the walls and the only other piece of furniture occupying the small room was a table in the opposite corner from the lieutenant’s desk with layouts of both the city and the library. Plopping down in one of the chairs before his father’s desk, he crossed his legs and waited for the colonel to finish perusing the document he had in his hand. After several moments, the elder Lars placed the missive upon a large stack to one side of his desk and addressed his younger in a deep, somewhat gruff voice.
“Where do we stand?”
“It is as the Lord Archsage predicted, the enchantress Morigan has defied his order and left the city, I followed her to the gates this morning,” Lieutenant Redols took a breath to continue, but his father cut him off.
“They let her pass,” he questioned, knowing that many guards who watched the gate were skilled mages and would not let her pass without attempting to stop her.
“She did not pass directly through the gate, but through the wall itself,” the lieutenant continued, shaking his head slightly as he remembered, “she strolled leisurely up to the outer wall, looked quickly in both directions, placed a hand on the wall and disappeared.”
Lars shuddered and continued, “I investigated the wall after her departure, it was solid as ever. Naturally, I reported directly to Master Garen.”
“Magic is a powerful and dangerous art,” the colonel stated the obvious to a son who had seen too much magic in his short life, “what is it Master Garen expects us to do, we can not hunt down this witch.”
“Thankfully he has commanded us to do nothing so suicidal,” the younger Redols responded with a sigh, the thought of personally finding the escaped enchantress had not even crossed his mind, “all he wishes us to do is bring Morigan’s mother, Malferna, to his audience chamber tomorrow at midday.”
Pushing his chair back from the heavy, wooden desk, the elder Lars rose and began pacing behind it.
“Even that seems a tall order, if an archsage doesn’t want to accompany us, who are we to make her?”
***
Garen was sitting at the head of a long, beautifully carved, redwood table, large enough to comfortably seat fifty people, when his daughter entered the grand dining hall. Lindae Aercho looked bored as she glanced at the epic murals, elegant candelabras, and rich purple carpet that adorned most of her home. She ran her fingers over the even walls, tracing a path through history from the God Mage War to the War of Darkness and coming to a halt upon a mural that depicted a strikingly handsome man and a mammoth golden dragon.
The man was an archsage, like her father, but, in her opinion, greater in every way. The art on the wall portrayed the final battle of The Second Great War, which concluded just prior to the building of Arcadia, and essentially ended the Age of Creation. Tarapak Berem was shown leading an army of humans, elves, and dwarves against the evil Nagrom Nakuda, who wished to usurp the throne of the dwarven kingdom, Kyndmentunok, and march his army of darkness across Phates Tak.
The archsage, already several centuries old at the time, wore only a pair of leather breeches and a long, red cloaked fluttered behind him in the breeze. His long, white hair, decorated with small, colored braids representing the seven elements of magic flowed out behind him as well, a sharp contrast to the deeply tanned skin of his well-defined torso. Upon his shoulder was the tattoo of a dragon, a mark of his order, the Black Dragons, and he wielded the legendary blade, Koobi’s Fury.
Unlike other archsages, Berem trained both his mind and body, making him adept at both magical and physical combat. Standing beside him, her head stretched towards the heavens as if emitting a mighty roar, was a mighty golden dragon. Supposedly, the first dragon to bond itself with a human since the third century, when Vaquan Maltazar acquired the Dragon Ring and claimed the title, Dragon Master. Berem was now considered the Dragon Master, and a single glance at this mural illustrated why.
“Lindae, you are daydreaming again,” her father’s voice sounded from across the table.
“I apologize, father, it will not happen again,” she stated...again, and turned to approach her father, who had eaten very little of the meal set before him.
Lindae spent most of her time daydreaming of ages past, wishing she could wield her magic in the grand wars and battles she could only read about in the multitude of history books lining the shelves of the Great Library. She had always loved history and adventure, but her desires had increased ten-fold after meeting the legendary Tarapak Berem two decades prior.
Berem was the one archsage who was not, by law, confined to the city of Arcadia. He was the first archsage, and the most powerful, thus Garen would have been unable to contain him if he tried. Instead, her idol traveled the world, living the adventures she wished she could have and rarely gracing Arcadia with his presence.
Their one meeting had occurred just after the Council of Magic had recognized her as an archsage, though the purpose of his trip to the city of the archsages remained a mystery to her. Having concluded whatever business brought him within her grasp, she cornered him in the atrium of Great Library and begged to hear his own accounts of his adventures.
Though she probably looked the fool jumping around like a small child, he conceded to her enthusiasm. From just past midday until well after the sun had set, the Dragon Master had regaled her with stories of witches and warlocks, dragons and minotaur, love and war, and everything in between. When finally he had concluded his stories, the young Lindae had been too tired to stand, so he assisted her to her bedchamber and tucked her in, something her father had never done. Smiling down at the girl, millennia younger than he, he delivered a single modicum of wisdom:
“Never lose your curiosity.”
Lindae had taken his wisdom to heart, satiating every curious notion she had, for better or worse.
“It would seem you are incapable of living in the present, dearest,” her father’s voice broke in on her reverie for a second time, but it was the insult of calling her ‘dearest’ that smarted more than her interrupted memories.
His precious TJ had been his ‘dearest’ for a long time now, but the slighted daughter skimmed over the insult and returned to the business at hand.
“I’m sorry, father,” Lindae repeated, “I have a request to ask of you.”
Garen took a small bite of an apple and wiped his hands on a cloth before turning his full attention to his daughter, “what is it you wish?”
“The Guild Council has sent a message to the Library requesting a representative of Arcadia attend their annual governance assembly,” Lindae took a deep breath, knowing she was about to ask her lord to bend a law for her, “I wish to travel to New City and represent our order.”
“No.”
The short, one word answer hit her harder than if he had struck her on the side of the head. She had not expected him to acquiesce, but the bluntness of his answer of lack of an explanation as to why hit her like a blow. Recovering from his response, the upset woman took a deep breath to find her courage and ask why, but the Lord Archsage cut her off.
“If the council wishes an archsage to be present, then they must hold the meeting here” he stated matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument, “if that is their decision, then you have my permission to attend.”
“Yes, my Lord Garen,” mumbled Lindae, looking downcast and wishing she had spent the day in the library reading her favorite histories instead of approaching her father on what ended up being a pointless errand, “do you wish anything else of me?”
Returning his attention to his plate, and motioning for a servant to refill his drink, Garen allowed her to leave his presence. As the girl drug her feet across the expensive carpet, tearily eyeing the murals on the wall, he couldn’t help but remembered the promise she had once held.
Lindae was not actually his daughter, though few were privy to that secret. Over 60 years ago, an unknown half-elf was found dying upon the steps of his library clutching a new-born child to her breast, that child was Lindae. Garen’s second wife, Belano’a, had convinced her husband to adopt the child and the two raised the half-elf as their own. Although Garen took no interest in Lindae at a young age, she began to show signs of magic and the once unloving father took her under his wing. Having shown a knack for light magic, her father’s dominant discipline, allowed her to learn quickly under his tutelage. The Council of Magic conferred to her the rank of Master in her twenties and by her 40th birthday, he was the proud father of an archsage. Her discipline and concentration faltered after that, however, as she became more interested in childish fantasies of war and glory, fueled by the visit of Tarapak Berem and the death of her foster mother.
Cursing Berem, who had been nothing more than a thorn in his side for centuries, he hoped the endeavor he was about to undertake would rid himself of the meddlesome hero forever.
Phates Tak has seen peace for over 2,000 years, protected by the mighty archsages and their lord, Garen Aercho. Now, two powerful witches seek to destroy the utopia Garen has created, while the aging half-elf searches for the means to attain immortality. Swept up in the conflict is a strange group of friends, led by the enigmatic Tarapak Berem. Together, they must race across the continent to halt the ambitions of the power-hungry sorcerers before their conflict destroys the world.
EVERYBODY.
-Fantasy and Magical Violence. No Blood and Guts.
Index:
Chapter 1: A Meeting in the Dark
Chapter 2: The Witch
Chapter 3: Malferna
Chapter 4: Escape
Chapter 5: A Change of Plans
Chapter 6: The Curse
Chapter 7: Army of Darkness
Chapter 8: Action
Chapter 9: Dragon
Chapter 10: Hidden
Chapter 11: A Thief in the Night
Chapter 12: Lichalla
Chapter 13: Infiltration
Chapter 14: A Wedding
Chapter 15: Hidden Power
Chapter 16: Ambush
Chapter 17: Desert Interlude
Chapter 18: Seperated
Chapter 19: Tricked
Chapter 20: Trials
COMING SOON
Chapter 21: The Beginning of the End
Chapter 22: Troll
Chapter 23: Desert Rats
Chapter 24: History
Chapter 25: Unwelcome
Chapter 26: The Final Battle
Chapter 1: A Meeting in the Dark
Chapter 2: The Witch
Chapter 3: Malferna
Chapter 4: Escape
Chapter 5: A Change of Plans
Chapter 6: The Curse
Chapter 7: Army of Darkness
Chapter 8: Action
Chapter 9: Dragon
Chapter 10: Hidden
Chapter 11: A Thief in the Night
Chapter 12: Lichalla
Chapter 13: Infiltration
Chapter 14: A Wedding
Chapter 15: Hidden Power
Chapter 16: Ambush
Chapter 17: Desert Interlude
Chapter 18: Seperated
Chapter 19: Tricked
Chapter 20: Trials
COMING SOON
Chapter 21: The Beginning of the End
Chapter 22: Troll
Chapter 23: Desert Rats
Chapter 24: History
Chapter 25: Unwelcome
Chapter 26: The Final Battle
CHAPTER 1: Meeting in the Dark
Malferna slipped over the windowsill and into the darkness beyond. She clasped the sheer wall of the tower calmly, a hundred feet above the ground, and in no danger of falling. Below her, the sleeping city of Arcadia sprawled out in three directions. To the west, she could see the large homes of wealthy merchants and craftsman, while the eastern portion of the city was dominated by the quaint domiciles of the working class. A huge market district sprawled out over the sourthern section of the city. By mid-afternoon, foreign traders peddling their wares would occupy the myriad of stalls that lined the streets and smoke would be curling upward from the chimneys of the permanent, local businesses. Above her, the five towers of the Temple of Meno'a loomed dramatically over the sleeping city. The Temple was meant to be a symbol of light to the world, but Malferna knew its true purpose was as dark and sinister as the overcast night she found herself in.
Noone moved in the courtyard below her and few people moved about the library she was forced to call home, but a clandestine meeting called for clandestine movement and she knew the Lord Archsage had employed a spy network to watch perceived threats. In his old age, that included a large number of people, but she knew she was near the top of his list. To his credit, I am a threat, she chuckled to herself.
She maneuvered silently down the face of the northeast tower, guided by her potent magic, and landed softly on the lush grass at the base of the tower. The witch glanced back once at the edifice towering over her before she glided toward the wall of fir trees reinforcing the iron fencing that surrounded the Library of Arcadia. Technically, the library and the temple were separate buildings, built over one hundred years apart, but the seamless construction made them appear inseparable from one another. The Great Library was the crowning magical achievement during the Age of Magic and housed a collection of magic, history, and knowledge that rivaled even the Queen's Library, deep within the heart of the elven homeland. The Temple of Meno'a was built around it to honor Garen's first wife.
Malferna recoiled at the thought of such devotion to any individual, but Meno'a was long dead now and few remembered the dedication that the temple represented. The witch's progress out of the courtyard was unimpeded by the fir trees as she effortlessly glided through them and it took her only moments to dismantle the enchantments woven into the iron fencing. Now in one of the wide streets surrounding three sides of the library, the fourth backed up to the wall surrounding the city, she looked both directions and pulled her dark hood further over her head. She feared little in this world, but the timing of her plan was everything and she didn’t want anyone recognizing her moving about the city in the early hours of the morning. No other soul occupied the well-maintained dirt street. Moving effortlessly toward a nearby alley, her feet barely touching the ground, Malferna was on high alert for anyone who might surprise her.
A bright orange streak moved between the roofs above her and she melted into the shadows of the alley. She could feel eyes on her, but their source was a mystery. Preparing a spell to incapacitate an assailant, the witch made to step from the shadows when the streak dartrf back across the rooftop. A cat, she sighed, releasing the spell. The small, ginger colored animal dropped from the rooftop to a barrel in the alleyway, its blue eyes trained on Malferna. The witch probed its simple mind to ascertain whether it was being controlled, but sensed no magic within. Suddenly, Malferna kicked out and another cat scampered into an adjacent alley. Almost immediately a third began rubbing itself against her leg. Rolling her eyes and sighing, she bent and picked up the black cat by the scruff of its neck. Bringing it to eye level, she again magically peered into bright blue eyes, but again sensed nothing. Frustrated, she threw the cat toward the street. It landed on all fours and starred back at her.
Malferna hated cats. The animals had always had a strange fascination with her, but that only fed her dislike of them. She moved deeper into the complicated backstreets that ran through the older parts of the city in an attempt to lose them. Arcadia, built just after Sereda’s War, in the early 900s had a long, but rather boring history. It had never weathered a war or political upheaval and the poor organization of the old city was due more to bad planning than anything else. Its size, wealth, and population now rivaled the ancient cities of Intreva and New City, but these dirty back alleyways were a blunt reminder of a time when the city struggled to grow.
The witch knew the twisted paths well, having traversed them dozens of times on other clandestine missions within the city. The Lord Archsage had long attempted to limit the power and reach of his fellow archsages by confining them to this city and forbidding them to leave the temple at night. Malferna, however, wasn’t one for rules. Another cat darted across her path and she showed great restraint in letting it prance on unscathed. Coming to the end of an alley, she peeked her head into the wider street beyond. Bakeries and butcher shops lined the road, the lights in all of the windows doused, save for a single candle in an upstairs window three buildings to the left. A sign that someone was having trouble sleeping.
A loud creak, amplified by the stillness of the night, sounded behind Malferna. Whipping around, her cowl moving backwards ever so slightly on her head as she did, she came face-to-face with a rather ugly human male. Face-to-face was relative, given how short the man was, but the abject terror on his mottled face indicated that he knew exactly who the woman standing before him was.
A single, incoherent sound escaped his mouth before the witch swept forward, whipped the man around, and held her long fingernail to his throat like a dagger.
”Who are you,” she whispered in a raspy voice.
”Ha…Han…,” the man spluttered, but was unable to mutter even the short word.
”Speak quickly or lose your tongue.”
”Hank,” he finally said, at the risk of maiming.
”Why are you here,” Malferna continued, looking up at the cloud-obscured moon. The sun wouldn’t rise for another two hours and everyone else had long retired, exhausted from celebrating the new year the previous day.
”This is my shop,” Hank answered, some confidence returning to his voice, perhaps because his throat was still in one piece, “I thought I heard the cats sneaking in again.”
His story was believable and Malferna pushed the disgusting man away from her and into the dirt. He smelled of rotten meat and, in addition to his unattractive face, he was missing pieces of two fingers. The dangers of being a butcher.
The man landed hard on his hands and knees. He quickly turned once more to face the terrifying woman. Brushing the dirt off his mangled hands, he stared up at her with bright blue eyes.
Blue eyes?
The cats, Malferna realized. Again, she was on the man, pinning him down, black eyes fixed on his blue ones. As with the cats, she probed his mind, looking for the magic that linked him to the filthy creatures. Again, she was disappointed.
”Why are your cats following me,” she hissed.
”My…my cats,” his stammer and his fear and returned in an instant, “I...I...I don't have any cats?”
Malferna looked around, but, for the first time since she had entered the twisting maze of backstreets, she could locate no cats. But he had just mentioned cats. They were trying to steal his meat. She was confused and her frustration was growing. The cats showed no indication of magic, the man showed no gift for the arts, and why would any self-respecting mage moonlight as a disgusting butcher?
She pierced the small man with her dark gaze a second time, peering past the man’s mind and into his soul. Nothing. Malferna wanted to throw back her head and scream to the heavens, but she had already been delayed long enough. Hank was breathing fast and hard beneath her. His fear will keep him quiet, she rationalized. Standing, she made to leave the alley and heard the terrified man rise behind her. She turned and there, standing behind the butcher, was the orange cat with blue eyes. Changing her mind, the witch lashed out with her right hand and slit the man’s throat with her long fingernails. She was gone before he hit the ground and felt no remorse at the innocent man’s slaying.
Out in the street, Malferna found her destination with ease. A window sat open on the second story of an abandoned bakery and, with an effortless leap, she glided through the air and through the narrow opening. Landing deftly in a crouching position, she muttered an incantation to allow sight in the dark room and looked around. Sitting on a low crate in the far corner was another hooded figure, but the rest of the room was barren. No furniture or carpeting adorned the floor, save the crate the stranger sat upon, and the weak moonlight shining through gloomy clouds revealed nothing upon the walls either. The hooded figure opposite Malferna stood and raised its left arm, but the hand was completely hidden by the voluminous robe.
"Thomra," it stated, in a clearly feminine voice.
Malferna nodded ever so slightly. The figure took a step forward and pulled the sleeve back on the cloak to reveal a tiny stone. It was round, smooth, and clear, but a mist appeared to be swirling inside it. The stone rose steadily from the delicate hand that held it and floated toward Malferna. She clasped it between her index finger and thumb, inspecting it closely.
"He is positive of its effects?" the witch queried.
It was the hooded figure's turn to nod briefly. Satisfied, Malferna stashed the strange stone in the inner folds of her cloak and turned her penetrating gaze on the woman whose features were still hidden beneath the other hood.
"Step one begins today at sunrise, make sure you are seen."
The other woman chuckled softly, "with pleasure."
In the same manner as the witch moved, her opposite floated across the ground with ease, alighted on the narrow windowsill and disappeared into the night without a backward glance. Malferna turned back to the window as well, but waited before following her lesser. She swept her malevolent gaze over the quiet city, relishing in the ominous night that foreshadowed a darker morning. She had failed to conquer her home world, but she would not fail again.
CHAPTER 2: The Witch
“Where is the girl,” demanded a man sitting upon a grand throne carved of the purest gold and silver with elaborate runes carved into its head.
The throne, though resplendent, was but the centerpiece of a grand hall that competed with even those of the kings of the five nations. Hanging from the high ceiling were five elaborate crystal chandeliers, rising so high from the ground that a balcony was built on one side of the hall so servants could light the dozens of candles that adorned each. The smooth marble walls were covered in murals depicting epic scenes from ages past and covering much of the flawless granite floor was thick, rich carpet of woven purple silk which silenced the heavy footsteps of the lone soldier cowering beneath the wrath of his master.
“She could not be found, sir,” stated the lone soldier, his voice ringing clearly through the chamber as he regained his composure, “it is as you suspected, she has fled the city.”
The soldier’s entirely gray uniform denoted him as a common soldier with no magical ability and the lone bar on his shoulder showed his rank as lieutenant. His appearance was in complete contrast to the man seated before him.
Garen Aercho, the Lord Archsage, ruler of Arcadia, was the picture of royalty in every way. His hair, once a soft blonde, had turned a brilliant white with age and was kept short and neat. His beard was much the same way, for the archsage hated the sensation of his hair falling about his shoulders and neck or waving listlessly in the breeze. Though taller than an average human, he was very slender, evidence of dedicating his long life to magic, not physical exertion. The nails on his fingers and toes were short and smooth, while the smell of lilacs seemed to cling to his pale, clean skin. He was dressed in a simple, but resplendent, royal purple robe made entirely of silk and strong leather sandals of elven design.
Rising gracefully to his feet with an ease that belied his age, he grasped a staff that leaned against his throne and descended the three stairs which led to his lofty heights. Now standing at eye level with the lieutenant, he scanned his plain face, looking for any signs of deception. Seeing nothing but fear in the middle-aged man’s face, he turned from his presence before giving his instructions.
“Bring the girl’s mother to me, if she resists, use force.”
“Yes, Lord Archsage,” the soldier returned, and, turning on his heel, exited the hall as quickly as he could without running.
Sighing, the lord of Arcadia returned to his lofty chair and, leaning on his staff for support, gently resumed his seated position. Age showed more on his tired face now that his underling had left the room and a low grumbling emanated from his stomach.
As the thick oak double-doors at the end of the grand hall closed with a low boom that echoed through the high-ceilinged room, a young girl stepped from behind the tall throne where she had been hiding during the interview with the lieutenant.
“Are you in need of anything, master,” she asked quietly, bowing slightly.
“Ah, Tricia,” the old man’s face lit up as he looked down at the girl, “indeed I do. Please inform Master Berem I require his presence and have the chef prepare my lunch.”
“Of course, my lord,” Tricia responded with little emotion, bowing again, “and what of your daughter? She wishes to see you.”
Closing his eyes in thought for a moment, having forgotten about the audience with his daughter, he finally replied, “have her meet me in the grand dining hall.”
“Yes, master,” his apprentice answered, bowing a final time and exiting the hall through a side door hidden within one of the murals.
Garen watched the mage leave and his thoughts wondered to her mysterious past. Tricia Jae, or TJ as most people called her, had arrived in Arcadia several years prior seeking a master to teach her the finer ways of magic. Such an occurrence was not uncommon, for there were only two places on Phates Tak to seek a master, the other being the Tower of Sages in western Emag. Tricia, however, was special. Her abilities upon arriving in Arcadia were already highly formidable, far beyond that of most mages her age, especially for someone devoid of a master. The Lord Archsage had not taken a pupil in many years, but he saw a challenge in the then teenage prodigy and had never once regretted his decision to train her. In addition to being a quick, steadfast learner, she had proven to be extremely loyal and Garen quickly found many uses for her within his kingdom.
The quiet thud of the door closing behind Tricia snapped Garen from his thoughts. Pushing himself up from his throne and grasping his staff, he slowly descended the stairs and made his way to the grand dining hall for lunch.
***
On the far side of the Library, Lieutenant Lars Redols II collapsed into a small wooden chair outside of his commanding officer’s study and waited to be summoned. Redols, who was in his mid-30s, had been at this post for nearly seven years, yet after all that time, he was still terrified to approach his liege lord. Being assigned to the Library was supposed to be an honor for a soldier, but for Lars it was more often a nightmare. He spent more time running errands or pretending to be invisible than commanding troops and he was charged with “protecting” a bunch of sorcerers who could kill him with a single word.
Originally, he had been happy with the assignment. Phates Tak had not seen war in nearly two and a half millennia, so what could be better than following in his father’s footsteps and commanding the small garrison of soldiers assigned to Garen and the Temple? As it turned out, everything. The archsages either avoided or looked down at the few soldiers patrolling the wide corridors. Some elven and dwarven archsages gazed at the lowly human with such contempt; he often expected to explode into flames or slowly gag to death on nothing but air. Fear permeated the lieutenant’s life and now it was worse than ever.
Several months earlier, Lieutenant Redols had met with Garen in a secret meeting that included only himself; his father, Colonel Lars Redols; and a pretty young girl who couldn’t have been much older than 20, whose name he couldn’t recall. His lord had told him that he feared a plot was afoot to dismantle the kingdom and it was to be led by Morigan Drachil.
Of all of the archsages the lieutenant had encountered, she was, by far, the scariest. She swept through the hallways and various rooms of the library like a silent specter, her black hair and robe flowing behind her, reminding the fearful man of the ghost stories his parents told him as a child.
The result of the secret meeting was that either Lars or his father had to keep an eye on the potentially rogue archsage at all times. Although originally a fearful notion, the assignment became rather fulfilling. Sneaking about the library, spying on the terrifying woman wasn’t exactly a soldier’s work, but after a few weeks, the younger Redols discovered he had a knack for it. Successfully spying on a woman who had frightened him for years also gave him a great deal of satisfaction. Two weeks ago, however, all of that changed.
Colonel Redols had assigned his son the late night shift, but the lieutenant, unaccustomed to the late hours, drifted off to sleep just after first hour. Three hours later, just before sunrise, a loud noise from within Morigan’s bedchamber jolted him awake. Worried that his charge had escaped him, Lars leapt to his feet and crept from his hiding place, a small broom closet adjacent to Morigan’s rooms. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard movements on the other side and, fearing the worst, pushed the door open enough to slip inside.
The bedchamber, like most of the temple, had marble walls and a granite floor, but dark covers obscured what little light was seeping through the windows, hiding most of the room in shadows. A pristine silence pervaded the room as Lars’ eyes slowly adjusted, revealing an overturned side table beside a bed copious enough to sleep three full-grown humans. Assuming the overturned table was the cause of the commotion, the intruder turned to leave when movement from the far corner of the room caught his eye.
Stepping from behind a dressing screen, wearing no more than a lightweight, black nightgown, was the enchantress Morigan. Lars had but a moment to admire the beautiful curves of her body before she held out a hand and the entire chamber burst into bright light. The spell blinded the shocked officer, but sheer terror overruled common sense as he spun around and sprinted in the direction he thought the door was in. He slammed hard into the smooth walls twice before finding the opening and flying into the hallway.
He had only taken a few strides, however, when Morigan’s laughter at his misery faded away and he heard her high voice utter an incantation:
Rätav nï eth rï'a, frëz ta ëm mokman
Immediately, the lieutenant’s feet grew cold, his paced slowed and, as the freezing sensation climbed up into his knees, his movement stopped altogether. Tugging with all his strength, Lars attempted to free himself, but to no avail. Eventually his sight recovered from the flash of light, only to see that his legs were encased up to the knee in thick ice, which held him fast to the cool, stone floor.
His father had discovered him standing in that same place three hours later, as he made is morning rounds, and it took another two hours for the soldiers to free him using ice picks. Lieutenant Redols shivered just remembering the experience and wondered if the feeling would ever return to his feet.
Lars looked up as the sharp slap of sandals smacking on the hard floor indicated someone approaching the door from the other side.
“Your father will see you now,” intoned a plump, elderly lady who opened the door and stepped backwards to let him enter.
Smiling and he thanked the woman, Martha he thought, or maybe Marie, he couldn’t remember, the servants changed constantly. He entered the small room that served as the officer’s study. His own desk sat in one corner with a chair pushed under it, while the colonel’s desk sat in the middle of the room with two more chairs arrayed before it. No beautiful tapestries or exquisite murals decorated the walls and the only other piece of furniture occupying the small room was a table in the opposite corner from the lieutenant’s desk with layouts of both the city and the library. Plopping down in one of the chairs before his father’s desk, he crossed his legs and waited for the colonel to finish perusing the document he had in his hand. After several moments, the elder Lars placed the missive upon a large stack to one side of his desk and addressed his younger in a deep, somewhat gruff voice.
“Where do we stand?”
“It is as the Lord Archsage predicted, the enchantress Morigan has defied his order and left the city, I followed her to the gates this morning,” Lieutenant Redols took a breath to continue, but his father cut him off.
“They let her pass,” he questioned, knowing that many guards who watched the gate were skilled mages and would not let her pass without attempting to stop her.
“She did not pass directly through the gate, but through the wall itself,” the lieutenant continued, shaking his head slightly as he remembered, “she strolled leisurely up to the outer wall, looked quickly in both directions, placed a hand on the wall and disappeared.”
Lars shuddered and continued, “I investigated the wall after her departure, it was solid as ever. Naturally, I reported directly to Master Garen.”
“Magic is a powerful and dangerous art,” the colonel stated the obvious to a son who had seen too much magic in his short life, “what is it Master Garen expects us to do, we can not hunt down this witch.”
“Thankfully he has commanded us to do nothing so suicidal,” the younger Redols responded with a sigh, the thought of personally finding the escaped enchantress had not even crossed his mind, “all he wishes us to do is bring Morigan’s mother, Malferna, to his audience chamber tomorrow at midday.”
Pushing his chair back from the heavy, wooden desk, the elder Lars rose and began pacing behind it.
“Even that seems a tall order, if an archsage doesn’t want to accompany us, who are we to make her?”
***
Garen was sitting at the head of a long, beautifully carved, redwood table, large enough to comfortably seat fifty people, when his daughter entered the grand dining hall. Lindae Aercho looked bored as she glanced at the epic murals, elegant candelabras, and rich purple carpet that adorned most of her home. She ran her fingers over the even walls, tracing a path through history from the God Mage War to the War of Darkness and coming to a halt upon a mural that depicted a strikingly handsome man and a mammoth golden dragon.
The man was an archsage, like her father, but, in her opinion, greater in every way. The art on the wall portrayed the final battle of The Second Great War, which concluded just prior to the building of Arcadia, and essentially ended the Age of Creation. Tarapak Berem was shown leading an army of humans, elves, and dwarves against the evil Nagrom Nakuda, who wished to usurp the throne of the dwarven kingdom, Kyndmentunok, and march his army of darkness across Phates Tak.
The archsage, already several centuries old at the time, wore only a pair of leather breeches and a long, red cloaked fluttered behind him in the breeze. His long, white hair, decorated with small, colored braids representing the seven elements of magic flowed out behind him as well, a sharp contrast to the deeply tanned skin of his well-defined torso. Upon his shoulder was the tattoo of a dragon, a mark of his order, the Black Dragons, and he wielded the legendary blade, Koobi’s Fury.
Unlike other archsages, Berem trained both his mind and body, making him adept at both magical and physical combat. Standing beside him, her head stretched towards the heavens as if emitting a mighty roar, was a mighty golden dragon. Supposedly, the first dragon to bond itself with a human since the third century, when Vaquan Maltazar acquired the Dragon Ring and claimed the title, Dragon Master. Berem was now considered the Dragon Master, and a single glance at this mural illustrated why.
“Lindae, you are daydreaming again,” her father’s voice sounded from across the table.
“I apologize, father, it will not happen again,” she stated...again, and turned to approach her father, who had eaten very little of the meal set before him.
Lindae spent most of her time daydreaming of ages past, wishing she could wield her magic in the grand wars and battles she could only read about in the multitude of history books lining the shelves of the Great Library. She had always loved history and adventure, but her desires had increased ten-fold after meeting the legendary Tarapak Berem two decades prior.
Berem was the one archsage who was not, by law, confined to the city of Arcadia. He was the first archsage, and the most powerful, thus Garen would have been unable to contain him if he tried. Instead, her idol traveled the world, living the adventures she wished she could have and rarely gracing Arcadia with his presence.
Their one meeting had occurred just after the Council of Magic had recognized her as an archsage, though the purpose of his trip to the city of the archsages remained a mystery to her. Having concluded whatever business brought him within her grasp, she cornered him in the atrium of Great Library and begged to hear his own accounts of his adventures.
Though she probably looked the fool jumping around like a small child, he conceded to her enthusiasm. From just past midday until well after the sun had set, the Dragon Master had regaled her with stories of witches and warlocks, dragons and minotaur, love and war, and everything in between. When finally he had concluded his stories, the young Lindae had been too tired to stand, so he assisted her to her bedchamber and tucked her in, something her father had never done. Smiling down at the girl, millennia younger than he, he delivered a single modicum of wisdom:
“Never lose your curiosity.”
Lindae had taken his wisdom to heart, satiating every curious notion she had, for better or worse.
“It would seem you are incapable of living in the present, dearest,” her father’s voice broke in on her reverie for a second time, but it was the insult of calling her ‘dearest’ that smarted more than her interrupted memories.
His precious TJ had been his ‘dearest’ for a long time now, but the slighted daughter skimmed over the insult and returned to the business at hand.
“I’m sorry, father,” Lindae repeated, “I have a request to ask of you.”
Garen took a small bite of an apple and wiped his hands on a cloth before turning his full attention to his daughter, “what is it you wish?”
“The Guild Council has sent a message to the Library requesting a representative of Arcadia attend their annual governance assembly,” Lindae took a deep breath, knowing she was about to ask her lord to bend a law for her, “I wish to travel to New City and represent our order.”
“No.”
The short, one word answer hit her harder than if he had struck her on the side of the head. She had not expected him to acquiesce, but the bluntness of his answer of lack of an explanation as to why hit her like a blow. Recovering from his response, the upset woman took a deep breath to find her courage and ask why, but the Lord Archsage cut her off.
“If the council wishes an archsage to be present, then they must hold the meeting here” he stated matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument, “if that is their decision, then you have my permission to attend.”
“Yes, my Lord Garen,” mumbled Lindae, looking downcast and wishing she had spent the day in the library reading her favorite histories instead of approaching her father on what ended up being a pointless errand, “do you wish anything else of me?”
Returning his attention to his plate, and motioning for a servant to refill his drink, Garen allowed her to leave his presence. As the girl drug her feet across the expensive carpet, tearily eyeing the murals on the wall, he couldn’t help but remembered the promise she had once held.
Lindae was not actually his daughter, though few were privy to that secret. Over 60 years ago, an unknown half-elf was found dying upon the steps of his library clutching a new-born child to her breast, that child was Lindae. Garen’s second wife, Belano’a, had convinced her husband to adopt the child and the two raised the half-elf as their own. Although Garen took no interest in Lindae at a young age, she began to show signs of magic and the once unloving father took her under his wing. Having shown a knack for light magic, her father’s dominant discipline, allowed her to learn quickly under his tutelage. The Council of Magic conferred to her the rank of Master in her twenties and by her 40th birthday, he was the proud father of an archsage. Her discipline and concentration faltered after that, however, as she became more interested in childish fantasies of war and glory, fueled by the visit of Tarapak Berem and the death of her foster mother.
Cursing Berem, who had been nothing more than a thorn in his side for centuries, he hoped the endeavor he was about to undertake would rid himself of the meddlesome hero forever.
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