Xythrax's End: Book 5 of The Redemption

By Clyde B Northrup

After much fruitless searching, leading them through the Mariskal and finally to Aperkolu, the chosen have recovered Melbarth’s rod. In the process, Rokwolf showed his prowess, defeating Gwenatera, the Fire Queen, almost singlehandedly, releasing the trapped spirit of fire, Atala, from the flesh that imprisoned her. Before taking the rod, Gar tries to stop them himself, offering to heal the damage done to each of them, if they will leave Melbarth’s rod where it is. The Lord of Evil shows them Sutugno, blind and old, having spent fifty years in the breeding pits of Kolu, worn out from producing son after son; he changes her back to her natural age, repairing her eyes. He reveals facts about each of the chosen, telling them that if they will leave thought-giver alone, he will ensure that the child Klare carries is actually Klaybear’s; although stunned by this revelation, the chosen refuse, taking the rod and rejecting Gar’s offers. Sutugno returns to her blind and aged form; after Gar flees in anger, the voice of the One tells them that with possession of all three keys, they are invulnerable to attack while together, but that the three keys together will draw the servants of Gar to them like a beacon, that they must separate for a month, meeting next together in the entrance to Shigmar’s tomb, where they will hear the last message of the founders. Thus, Xythrax’s End: Book 5 of The Redemption begins. . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clyde B Northrup
• Release date: Oct 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311043993

Clyde B Northrup

Who am I?–a question I often ask myself, without ever coming up with a satisfactory answer: am I just a husband, father, professor, scholar, writer, poet, or some combination that changes from moment to moment, depending on the day, and time of day. . . . Nah, not really–but it is an intriguing way to begin–kind of mysterious and tormented, with a hint of instability that promotes empathy in the reader, and lets all of you know that I am a professor of English, down to my bones, and I cannot help but play around with language. My areas of specialty are 19th-20th century British Literature, the novel, Tolkien & fantasy; my dissertation was on Tolkien’s 1939 lecture “On Fairy-stories” in which he created a framework, as I discovered, for the epic fantasy that I used to critique several modern/contemporary works of fantasy, including Tolkien’s. I have taught at the university level for 14 years. My wife, of 30+ years, is an elementary school teacher.As a poet, I am much like Wordsworth, while as a novelist, I am more like his pal Coleridge, both of which illustrate the influence of my education and areas of expertise. My poems are predominantly narrative in nature, reflecting, no doubt, the overwhelming impulse to tell a story, using the compact, compressed form of the poem to narrate significant moments in the daily life of the poet. As a novelist, my biggest influence is Tolkien, flowing out of my study of his ideas for what he called a “fairy-story” for adults, what we term epic fantasy.

Book preview

Author’s Preface

After much fruitless searching, leading them through the Mariskal and finally to Aperkolu, the chosen have recovered Melbarth’s rod. In the process, Rokwolf showed his prowess, defeating Gwenatera, the Fire Queen, almost singlehandedly, releasing the trapped spirit of fire, Atala, from the flesh that imprisoned her. Before taking the rod, Gar tries to stop them himself, offering to heal the damage done to each of them, if they will leave Melbarth’s rod where it is. The Lord of Evil shows them Sutugno, blind and old, having spent fifty years in the breeding pits of Kolu, worn out from producing son after son; he changes her back to her natural age, repairing her eyes. He reveals facts about each of the chosen, telling them that if they will leave thought-giver alone, he will ensure that the child Klare carries is actually Klaybear’s; although stunned by this revelation, the chosen refuse, taking the rod and rejecting Gar’s offers. Sutugno returns to her blind and aged form; after Gar flees in anger, the voice of the One tells them that with possession of all three keys, they are invulnerable to attack while together, but that the three keys together will draw the servants of Gar to them like a beacon, that they must separate for a month, meeting next together in the entrance to Shigmar’s tomb, where they will hear the last message of the founders. Thus, Xythrax’s End: Book 5 of The Redemption begins. . . .

We again express our thanks to all who have aided us in this long, and sometimes tedious, process–to our first readers and their invaluable suggestions, to my family for their staunch support, and to all of you, our readers, who continue to stick with us and share our works with your friends–without you, none of this would be possible!

Prophecy of the Chosen

At the center of the ages come those chosen of the One, they who will end Gar’s dominion; two from my own order: one more powerful than all others, doubled of another; one who opens the forbidden way, sprung from my home; one from Karble, myth reborn, dear to the people, bearing the living waters; one from Melbarth, fire of logic burning in his mind; three from the new order, one king, one queen, mirroring each other, one aperu slayer, sacrifice for another; and the cunning mouse, who penetrates all secrets; all maimed and marked by the burden of their choosing.

Darkness and evil go with them, light guides them, rumor precedes them, destruction and disturbance follow them; choose to aid them to suffer, choose to oppose them to die. . . .

Prophecy of Shigmar

Prologue

Atno 3522, Early Summer

Come on, the tall, sandy-haired Rokwolf said to the blonde, shapely Sutugno standing beside him; they stood looking out of the trees onto a strip of sand on the north shore of Krystal Lake. The air was warm, almost hot, but a cool breeze blew from the west, gently rustling the branches of the pine and fir trees around them. They were looking at Klaybear and Klare relaxing on the blanket where all four had eaten lunch; Klaybear was shorter, and of heavier build, than Rokwolf, with darker, curly brown hair, and Klare shorter and smaller than Sutugno, with honey-flecked brown hair. The pair were so close together, so interested in each other, that they did not notice their companions watching them from the shadows under the trees.

Sutugno, nearly as tall as Rokwolf, smiled at her best friend reclining on the beach with the twin brother of her sandy-haired companion. "I think they might have some news for us, she said softly, almost to herself; she looked at her companion. Where to?"

Rokwolf eyed the pair on the beach wolfishly; he jerked his head to the hill beside them. Up there, he said, and went on, speaking to himself, out of sight. He turned away and started to climb the hill; Sutugno watched him for a moment before following. Quickly, she caught up with him.

Aren’t you happy for them, she began, and then added, for him?

Rokwolf stopped and turned to face Sutugno; he stared at her for a long moment, but his face was unreadable to her, half covered by shadow. The breeze rustled through the birches and whispered through the pines; Rokwolf finally shrugged, turned, and started up the hill again. Sutugno pushed a stray lock of her golden hair out of her face and bit her lip, afraid she had said the wrong thing. She followed him, although more slowly, thinking carefully about what to say next. She had noticed, over the past few months, that as her best friend and Rokwolf’s brother moved closer to each other, as their relationship became more serious, her companion had become more moody during those days he had been allowed to leave his seklesi company in Holvar to visit his twin brother in Shigmar. As often as they could, the four of them came to Klare’s parent’s home in Kalbant, just so they could borrow the boat and sail across the lake to this particular beach; it was a pleasant place to spend lazy summer days on holiday from their studies. She reached the top of the hill and saw her companion moving toward a shady spot on the north side of the hill’s strangely flat top, which made her smile, admiring his lithe movements as he strode to the spot to which they had often resorted. When she saw him recline on the ground and turn in her direction, she altered her stride, knowing that he was watching her closely.

You do that on purpose, Rokwolf noted as she swayed over to where he lay on the grass, especially when you know I’m watching, he added.

She knelt beside him, then reclined on her side on one elbow, bringing her face next to his. I don’t know what you mean, she replied innocently, giving him a smile that would turn any young wethi’s knees into water, and before he could reply, she leaned closer to him, her lips parted, and kissed him gently. She could tell immediately that he was troubled by more than just his twin’s increasing intimacy with her best friend; she pulled back to look at him.

What is bothering you? she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Rokwolf tried to look away, but her deep, blue eyes held him. I . . . , he stammered, I can’t . . . , I mean, I shouldn’t . . . , he hesitated again.

"Is this about that seklesa, she put in when he stopped, that you have been pursuing for years, who keeps turning you down?"

Rokwolf was suddenly shocked. How do you know about that? he asked.

She laughed softly, smiling that same knee-melting smile at him. Klare told me ages ago, she replied, when your brother first started seeing her, and you first came to visit. I told her I thought you were quite handsome, and would she introduce me, and so she told me the whole story.

How did she . . . ? Rokwolf started to ask, but he changed direction, I mean, once you knew . . . , he stuttered to a stop a second time, flustered. And that didn’t . . . , doesn’t . . . , bother you? he finally managed to ask.

She shook her head, still smiling. Would I still be here, with you, if it did? she countered. Besides, she treats you more like her brother than . . . , she thought for a moment before she went on, well, than like this, she added, leaning closer to him and kissing him again.

No, he said, I cannot, and eyed her more shrewdly, and isn’t there one of my twin’s classmates who has been seeing you?

She shrugged. Yes, she admitted, but it is nothing serious, and besides, I’d rather be with you; I enjoy spending time with you: your presence is soothing, she added, sinking onto his chest and wrapping her arms around him; he held her tightly, and the moment he did, her mind went black.

With these two we must do the most subtle work of all, Gar noted to Motodu, we must create a trigger in each mind that will both conceal and, at the proper time, reveal the memory.

We should do him first, Motodu hissed, it will be easier to plant the memory, place the trigger, then alter the patterns of his mind to cover it.

Gar reached out with both hands, holding them over Rokwolf’s head, opening the seklesi’s mind so that Motodu could work. He stood silently for a time, doing nothing but standing over the young wethem who were lying in the shade under the trees.

Consider, my master, Motodu hissed, "that with this rod I could do more than this: I could plant in both their minds the belief that they are in love, he spoke the word with undisguised derision, remove the mores of their orders, and you could have them produce the offspring much sooner than you plan, allowing you to produce the army much sooner . . . ," he went on, but Gar cut him off.

All things have to be done at the proper time, Gar growled, angry at his servant’s stupidity, "and if we tamper with them that much now, their masters will discover it, and they will discover what we are doing, putting them on guard against us. This will cause my plan to fail. If we follow it, as I have already told you, then all will turn against them at the proper time, making my plan succeed."

As you wish, master, Motodu inclined his head. What about the two down on the beach?

Gar turned his head in the direction of the shore of the lake below. Not yet, he said, more to himself, I will deal with them both when the time is right. He looked back at the pair in front of them. "Now the wetha," he noted, and moved his hands over her head to open her mind; Motodu worked quickly to alter the patterns of her mind, inserting both the memory and the trigger, then covering both; the two hooded and cloaked figures turned and disappeared through a black archway that winked out as quickly as it had opened.

Atno 3524, The Great Year, Early Summer

Sir Kenawon felt the tension crackle like lightning across the field in central Karble, where the kortexem assembled to begin a contest that had only happened twice before in all their history, a contest to decide who would become the next Wesento. When no clear candidate could be chosen by the senior kortexem, Sir Karble had decreed that a contest be held, open to all kortexem, regardless of their status, to decide who their next leader would be. Two factions had developed, and Kenawon’s glance strayed across the field where the leaders of the larger faction, Sir Patorken and Sir Sokosen, sat on their horses waiting for the contest to begin. Kenawon and his cousin, Sir Nepawon, led the smaller faction, and they had fought long and hard to delay this contest, hoping they could find Sir Blakstar and convince him to enter the contest. Failing this, Kenawon and his cousin finally agreed to let the contest begin, secretly hoping that Sir Blakstar would show up.

A trumpeter climbed to the top of a tower, ready to start the contest when a shout from the gatekeeper halted him. The shout drew Kenawon’s eyes from contemplating the double line of kortexem, dressed in full armor with lances ready, facing each other across the field. Kenawon saw a group of riders approaching the field gate and hope blossomed inside; he shielded his eyes to get a clearer view, his hopes dashed when he saw the newcomer’s colors: instead of white and gold, he saw red and black, the newcomer astride the biggest black stallion he had ever seen. The newcomer was followed by a lady in red on a chestnut mare, and an older wethi on a gray gelding. Across the field, Kenawon saw Patorken and Sokosen ride out of the line and move toward the gate.

This looks like trouble, Kenawon noted to his cousin, putting his heels to his mount and directing him toward the gate. He arrived just after Patorken and Sokosen, stopping opposite these two, both behind the gatekeeper, who was speaking with the newcomer.

Do you doubt my credentials? the rider asked.

Your credentials must be verified, the gatekeeper replied, the irregular manner of your training requires this.

I will do my best to answer all your questions, the newcomer replied.

State your name, the gatekeeper said.

Sir Whitesun, he replied, "son of Sir Blakstar eli kerdu ghebi," and when he said this, Kenawon gasped in astonishment and heard the others do the same.

That is impossible, the gatekeeper replied, since you appear to be the same age as he whom you claim as father; how do you explain this anomaly?

By a series of misfortunes, Sir Whitesun replied, involving the Lord of Evil, my mother, he added, pointing to the lady riding with him, "and my father, before he came to Karble to become a kortexi, but it would be best if my mother, Lady Marta, tells the tale."

The gatekeeper turned to the lady in red on the chestnut mare. My lady, please explain.

I will, sir, Marta replied. "In the summer before Blakstar came to Karble, he and I spent much time alone together, crossing the threshold into the adult world, exploring the intimacies of relations between the sexes. We did it every time we could slip away and be alone, and a short time after he left, a healer told me I was with child, so I ran away rather than face my parents; I was caught by a pura who had been set to watch Blakstar. They took me away to some other place, where time runs faster, and Gar took my son when he was born and trained him to destroy his father and the kortexem, but I taught him his father’s dreams, and all I knew of the ways of the kortexem, and he dissembled before Gar and his minions, learning all they had to teach him, until the chance came and we escaped."

"Fortune smiled on us then, for we happened upon the estate of a retired kortexi, Whitesun took up the tale, one I’m sure all of you know, Sir Kuresmo."

Patorken snorted. Everyone knows Kuresmo, he laughed, and Sokosen joined him, so it is a name you could have heard anywhere. Kenawon found himself in agreement with Patorken for the first time in many weeks; something about the story sounded odd to him.

Whitesun smiled. Exactly, he replied, which is why I have here from him, he signaled to the man on the gray gelding, a letter of introduction, from my benefactor that includes the details I have related to you, carried by Sir Kuresmo’s own steward, Mankapi.

Mankapi rode forward and delivered the document to the gatekeeper, who looked the parchment over, then passed it up to Patorken and Sokosen. It appears to be genuine, the gatekeeper said.

Yes, Sokosen said, I recognize both his handwriting and his seal, although I do admit that it is possible to duplicate them.

Can I see it? Kenawon asked, and Sokosen grudgingly passed it to him. It does look like his writing, he noted a moment later, passing it back to the gatekeeper.

How long ago did you arrive at Kuresmo’s estate? Patorken asked.

Five years, Whitesun replied, "which, when he learned my story, were spent in training me to be a kortexi."

Can you verify this? the gatekeeper asked, turning to Mankapi.

I can, my lord, Mankapi replied with a nod.

Sir Nepawon galloped up and reined hid steed to a halt next to Patorken and Sokosen.

What is the delay? Sir Nepawon asked, raising his visor.

We are verifying the credentials of this latecomer who wishes to enter the contest, Sokosen replied with and evil grin, he says he is the son of one Sir Blakstar, and he has the evidence to prove it, he added with relish.

He lies! Nepawon exclaimed, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

Whitesun urged his mount forward, taking out and lowering his lance, pointing it at Nepawon and stopping his mount when the point was within an inch of Nepawon’s throat. You doubt my word? Whitesun asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Kenawon intervened, pushing the lance away and turning to Sokosen and Patorken. What game is this? he asked.

Sokosen laughed aloud; Patorken shook his head. No game, Patorken said, "this is the first we have heard of this kortexi, but have just verified his credentials; here is a letter of introduction from Sir Kuresmo himself, verifying his identity and his story." He went on to retell the story as he had heard it.

I say that he should not be allowed to compete, Kenawon said. We must have time to verify the details of his story; these are serious charges, and a quick judgment cannot be made under pressure.

Sokosen snorted. I’m surprised you do not want to delay us again, he scoffed.

Patorken shook his head. There is one final bit of evidence, he noted, sir, if you will remove your helm, we will be able to see for ourselves.

Whitesun nodded and pulled off his helm; Kenawon saw that the resemblance was obvious: he had the same black hair, gray eyes, and shape of face, but the shape of his eyes and mouth were different, both having cruel lines etched at their corners.

Do we need any more proof? Patorken asked.

"A puri, at Gar’s behest, Kenawon noted, could put on such a form."

Sokosen snorted again. Fine, Patorken noted, I say we put it to the vote, since all five of us are here: I say he competes.

I agree, Sokosen said.

You already know my vote, Kenawon said, against allowing him.

And I say he is a liar, and I challenge him to single combat to prove it! Nepawon exclaimed, grabbing for his sword.

Does that mean you’re voting to allow him to compete? Patorken asked.

"No, I said single combat, Nepawon replied, I agree with my cousin: he should not be allowed to enter this contest."

Patorken turned to the gatekeeper. It is down to you, Wolsonto, he said, how do you vote?

Wolsonto looked from one face to another as he slowly considered, until his eyes fell upon Whitesun. I am satisfied by the evidence: he should be allowed to compete.

Kenawon turned his steed to ride back to his place in the line; his cousin did not follow immediately, but instead looked at Whitesun. I’ll be seeking you on the field, sir, Nepawon said in a cold voice, then he turned and spurred his mount.

I look forward to it, Whitesun called after him, a cruel smile on his face.

When Nepawon caught up to his cousin, Kenawon looked around to make sure none were near them. I take it that you don’t believe his story, Kenawon whispered.

I do not! Nepawon hissed. And I swear he will not leave this field alive!

Kenawon’s eyes widened. You must master this fury, he whispered, or it will be your undoing. He cast a hasty glance over his shoulder, where he saw Whitesun riding with Patorken and Sokosen. Something is terribly wrong here, he went on, looking at his cousin. I feel it inside, a feeling I have never experienced: fear. I feel that we should take those that agree with us and flee from here before it is too late.

Nepawon looked at his cousin as if seeing him for the first time. This is unlike you, he admitted, but where would we go? If we leave now, they will brand us traitors as they have Sir Blakstar.

To find and join him, Kenawon shrugged. But mark this, he went on, grabbing his cousin’s arm and holding it, I feel it in my bones that to stay here, to compete in this contest, will be the death of us both and of all who feel as we do.

Nepawon cast a furtive glance back and saw the three others taking their places in the line; he frowned, his face hardened, and he looked back at his cousin. I cannot run, he admitted, shaking his head, "that impulse was beaten out of me when we were novices. Besides, he has insulted the chosen, his very appearance insults them: I cannot stand by and do nothing in the face of this insult, and the lies he told must be proven upon his flesh!" he gesticulated with his free arm.

Kenawon gripped his cousin’s arm once and released it. I know exactly what you mean, cousin, he noted, and they both reclaimed their places in the line, waiting for the signal that would begin the contest. Kenawon looked up and down his line, and when he saw that all were ready, he raised his left hand in a fist; across the field, he saw Patorken imitate his gesture. The herald, waiting patiently upon his tower, blew a single blast on his golden trumpet. Two lines of shining kortexem, the best warriors in all the land, spurred their steeds into motion, lowering their lances and quickly accelerating to a full gallop. When the two lines met at the center of the field, a resounding crash echoed across the field, followed by many crunching sounds as nearly half of those on the field were unhorsed and hit the ground. Kenawon had the satisfaction of catching a glimpse of Sokosen, his eyes widening as he was knocked from his steed by the kortexi to Kenawon’s right; he himself unhorsed Patorken, much to his own pleasure, but in the instant he did he caught a flash of red light out of the corner of his eye to his left, where his cousin rode, and when he turned back to look, saw the black steed of Whitesun riding past the body of his cousin, twisted on the ground in an unnatural position. As he turned his mount to reenter the fray, he caught a glimpse of black and red charging at him and instantly spurred his mount forward to avoid the lance directed at him, a lance that had by some miracle escaped breaking when all the others had splintered. He felt the wind of their passage, then heard the crash and crunch as another kortexi was unhorsed by Whitesun. Looking in that direction, Kenawon saw that another of his close associates lay in an unnatural position on the field, but before he could process this fact, he again saw a flash of red and black streaking toward him. For the second time, Kenawon spurred his steed at a right angle, narrowly avoiding Whitesun, and he heard three crashes and crunches in quick succession. Changing tactics, since he was beginning to suspect that Whitesun was after him, he turned his mount and followed Whitesun as he passed, and saw, to his horror, that three more of his associates lay twisted on the field, and Whitesun was already wheeling to meet him, but he was shocked by the speed of this move: both horse and rider seemed to blur, so that, one moment they were riding away, then they blurred, then they were riding at him, full gallop. Kenawon was so stunned by this action that he did not prepare himself, did not have his lance or sword ready, and his steed was only trotting; all he had time to do was slide off his mount away from Whitesun, then leap out of the way as Whitesun removed his mount’s head. Kenawon knew he had only moments before Whitesun came back to finish him; he looked around and saw his cousin’s mount wandering nearby, looked around again for Whitesun and saw that he seemed content to have unhorsed him, so he jogged over to the riderless steed, mounted, and left the field, firmly recognizing that Whitesun would win, believing that he must be an agent of Gar.

Xythrax stalked down the tunnel with a rattling of bones, pushing his way past the ghelem moving mine carts into place, connecting them to other carts, and preparing to take the train of mine carts out of the mine for emptying. The ghelem fell back when they recognized the purgle, and felt the heat of his anger, none of the small creatures wishing to become the outlet for his wrath. Xythrax paused, and although nothing could be seen of his face beneath his hood, the way it moved showed that he was looking for something or someone.

Where is Kaudorfu? Xythrax snapped impatiently.

The ghelem cowered at the mention of their ponkolu taskmaster; several of them pointed back the way they had come, then all of them scurried away, coaxing the lizard-like creatures to pull the train of mine carts filled with broken stone, sand, and dirt down the tunnel and away from the purgle’s wrath. Xythrax watched them for a moment, contemplating striking several of them down to ease his anger, but he could almost feel the Great Lord’s fingers tightening around his neck; instead, he turned away in disgust, with a clinking of bones, continuing to stalk in the direction indicated by the ghelem. Xythrax found Kaudorfu whipping several ghelem whose efforts the taskmaster believed were flagging; the ponkolu taskmaster was shorter and broader than the average ponkolu, his arms and hands were huge, strong enough to snap a gheli in two like a dry twig.

Our master demands an update, Xythrax said without preamble.

Kaudorfu did not respond or turn immediately around but continued to whip the cringing gheli at his feet; the taskmaster grinned widely, showing that his fangs were broken, and that he was missing several teeth. As he turned, Xythrax saw the crooked smile and missing teeth, and an ugly scar splitting the left side of his face, cutting across the place where his left eye should have been.

"What do you want, purgle?" Kaudorfu growled in a raspy voice.

A progress report for our master! Xythrax snapped. "Have you become hard of hearing as well as half-blind? Perhaps if you stopped tormenting the ghelem, they would get more work done, and you would not be going deaf from hearing them scream!"

"Shut up, purgle!" Kaudorfu shouted in reply, raising his whip.

"As if that toy could harm me in any way, Xythrax replied with contempt. Could we lay aside the usual fighting and get to the report?"

Slowly, Kaudorfu lowered his whip and grinned, which made him look even more frightening; then he laughed. "Fine, purgle, he continued to laugh, but I heard that the chosen have been to visit the Fire Queen, and the only thing left of Gwenatera is a few bones: how does that make you feel, purgle? Kaudorfu asked in a low whisper. I hear the footsteps of doom pursuing you, purgle."

Xythrax raised his hand to strike, and Kaudorfu mirrored his gesture. Your report? Xythrax hissed through clenched teeth.

Both figures held their hands ready to hurl elemental forces at each other. We are on schedule, Kaudorfu said, "and we will finish the project as planned. Now, get out of here before I decide you need to join the ghelem tunneling beneath Melbarth!"

Xythrax did not turn but backed away, still watching Kaudorfu. As the purgle started to turn, the ponkolu hurled a ball of fire at Xythrax; the latter immediately raised a shield of ice, which consumed the flames.

Don’t try that again, Kaudorfu, Xythrax noted in a cold voice, else I will have to report to the Great Lord just how far you are from reaching Melbarth: if he knew, he might decide to use his toy knife on you, and as he finished, Xythrax opened a black archway and stepped out of the mine and into the Luflina. The Magsamel looked up when he heard the sound of bones clinking together as Xythrax stepped into his private chamber.

My lord, the Magsamel bowed to Xythrax, how goes the mining beneath Melbarth?

Xythrax ground his teeth before responding. That fool is still behind schedule, Xythrax noted, "and he continues to torment the gheli miners rather than allowing them to work, putting them further behind."

My lord, the Magsamel said, have you not told our master this?

I have, Xythrax replied, and he only smiles, and says that it will still be completed on time, but I don’t see how. I suspect the he is keeping things from me, Xythrax added, and then he paused in thought.

If I might suggest something, my lord, the Magsamel put in cautiously, and only went on when Xythrax looked at him, "it seems to me, from all that has happened recently, especially involving the chosen and Gwenatera, that our master has set us up as decoys."

Xythrax stared at his servant for a time before speaking. "I’m glad to see that your wits have not been dulled by your appetite for wetham, he said finally. That is precisely what I think he has done, because he fears me, and the power I wield with all of you behind me, he added, and so we had the kortexi’s mate, and bent her to our ways; we took the seklesi’s mate and used her to help create the Graycloaks that have now taken over Holvar and the seklesem. Both these wetham have been so damaged that the chosen will see this as sufficient provocation to move against us, and since, by the death of Gwenatera, we know they hold all three keys, none can prevail against them. Xythrax paused for a moment before speaking again. They must not discover that this place is not the true home of the red kailum. You must make sure that there are no references anywhere in this fortress to Nekrokolu, Xythrax’s End, or even the Wolpoti Swamp or River; you must remove this knowledge from all the remaining masters’ minds, and if you betray me, I will tie your spirit to your body and torture you for a thousand years! Understand?"

The Magsamel swallowed once before nodding. Yes, my lord, he noted. "What about Melufa? I do not know if she escaped the wrath of the chosen when they were here."

You were lucky to escape, Xythrax noted, "it was only being tricked by that awemi, whose father managed to steal one of the Guild tokens before he was driven from Belford, that saved you from their wrath; I told the Guildmaster he should have killed him then, but he would not listen, believing that banishment would be a worse punishment than death; it’s too bad he did not live long enough to see how wrong he was. Melufa is still alive, Xythrax went on, finally answering the question, and she will not give away information she does not know. He paused for a moment. Besides, she has a job to perform for our master, but do not ask what it is, he added, holding up one bony hand when he saw the Magsamel open his mouth to ask, your concern is with those who are here and their knowledge of our true center of power, our true home." Xythrax let his arm fall slowly to his side, clinking as the bones struck each other.

Yes, my lord, the Magsamel replied. I will make sure that there are no references to our true home and erase the knowledge from the other masters. He hesitated a minute before speaking again. Are you sure that will be enough? he asked. "They are the chosen, and they seem to know things, and find out secrets that have been lost since the beginning."

Of course it won’t be enough! Xythrax snapped, and in his mind he heard reptilian laughter, echoing above the sounds of the bubbling, molten rock that filled the cavern where the Fire Queen had made her lair, a cavern that no longer existed, and an aperu whose bones now lay scattered along the sides of the mountain that was her home. Echoing whispers filled the recesses of his mind, whispers of oblivion, and before he lashed out at his servant in anger, burning the Magsamel to ash, Xythrax opened a black archway. "Make sure no one knows the secret of Xythrax’s End," he added as he stepped into the arch and disappeared from Luflina.

Chapter 1

How easy it was for Gar to cloak one of his servants in the guise of good, and even easier to slip this masked servant into our ranks! How quickly this servant rose to prominence, becoming the right hand of the Fereghen himself, where he flattered him into taking an irretrievable course that led to our downfall. . . . I fear that the same will happen again, for we are too easily swayed by appearance. . . .

from 2039: A Survivor’s Tale

Atno 3524, The Great Year, Summer

Skerapi looked into the throne hall and saw that all was in readiness, and he smiled, but if anyone could have seen his smile, that person would have thought that the former Chief kailu of the seklesem was grimacing in pain; that same person would have seen a strange red gleam in Skerapi’s eyes as he turned to the pair who waited behind him.

All is prepared, my lord, Skerapi said. The command squads of all six legions, along with the captains of each company, in full battle dress, are assembled and waiting your entrance, with breathless anticipation, I might add.

Excellent, one of the figures, cloaked in shadows, replied. And the representatives of the other orders?

"My own order, Skerapi said the word with derision, if you could call what is left of it an order, is represented by Storga Keney, the only council member to survive the destruction of Shigmar, and she is so obsessed with catching and punishing the chosen, that one could steal the clothes she is wearing and rape her without her noticing. The kortexem are, sadly, absent, still quarreling over who will be the next Wesento, and the maghem refused to attend, stating that you, my lord, have no legitimate claim to the throne."

The figure in the shadows laughed. Skerapi saw two points of gleaming blue light in the shadows of the figure’s hood. No matter, he noted, "our plans go forward against Melbarth, and the kortexem will soon have a new leader, or they will be utterly destroyed, he finished and fell silent, as if he were lost in thought. What is the disposition of my Graycloaks?" he asked after several minutes had passed in silence; the second figure in the shadows was as motionless as if she were a statue.

I have deployed them as you commanded, my lord, Skerapi replied. We unsealed the fortress this morning, again as you commanded, he added and then hesitated, carefully considering his next words. Are you sure this action is wise, my lord? he asked.

It is, my foolish and doubting servant, the figure replied, the gleaming eyes shifting color, from blue to red.

I only asked, my lord, Skerapi went on, feeling his danger, "because, as you know, we have been able to keep the chosen in the dark as to what we were doing inside Holvar."

Yes, and you have done well, the figure replied, the eyes changing to steel blue, but the time has come for them to learn what we have done in Holvar.

Y-you want them to know, my lord? Skerapi stuttered, surprised.

Yes, it is time, the figure replied, and how do you suppose they will respond?

That is what frightens me, my lord, Skerapi replied, since they now have all three keys . . . , he went on but was interrupted.

Precisely, the figure interrupted, and as soon as they gather, we will know, and we will be able to crush them in the next moment, he added and his eyes flashed violet in the darkness.

They fell silent again. After several minutes passed, the figure finally spoke again. It’s time, my servant.

Yes, my lord, Skerapi replied, and pushed past the curtain and walked into the hall and onto the dais where the two thrones sat. Taking a position in front of the thrones, he raised both his hands for silence, and the assembly fell quiet at once, all eyes focused on him.

My friends, Skerapi spoke aloud to the assembly, and his voice carried so that all heard him, the time has come for you to know your benefactor as I have known him, to meet he who was the architect of our recent victory, he through whose help and intelligence we were able to flush out the traitors among us, and through whose support, we drove them from among us! He paused here to allow those assembled several moments to clap and cheer; he held up his hands again to signal silence. And with his help, when the traitors dare to show their faces, dare to come out of their hiding places, we will crush them! The cheering was loud and long, and Skerapi smiled as the assembly applauded and shouted; he waited until it died into silence. My friends, you will recall, when I accepted your allegiance a few months ago, I did it provisionally, only until one greater than I was come, the one who would replace me, the one who would replace he who has fallen, he said, his voice increasing in volume and his hand pointing to the Fereghen’s seat, and she who betrayed him, he went on, pointing to the other seat, the one whose forces drove the traitors from their secret lair and have made it possible for us to control the masses, and at this point, he lowered his voice, so that all had to lean forward to hear his next words, the author of a new order, and then he nearly shouted his final words, turning and pointing to the curtain through which he had entered, "our new general, and our new Fereghen: Lord Krell, and his consort, Lady Rupansa!" Lord Krell, dressed in black satin, was a tall, well-formed man, with curly brown hair and beard, hair graying at his temples, leading Lady Rupansa by the hand, and it was the lady who drew all eyes, in her close-fitting dark red velvet gown with a plunging neckline, narrow waist, full, bushy, long, black hair and copper colored skin. She had full red lips and dark smoldering eyes that wandered. For a moment after the lord and lady entered the hall, there was stunned silence and then tumultuous clapping broke out as suddenly as the silence fell, although the approval was not universal among the ranks: here and there Skerapi saw those whose clapping was less than enthusiastic; he made mental notes of whom for later.

Skerapi took one step off the dais as the lord and lady ascended, Lord Krell leading his consort to the smaller of the two thrones, where Lady Rupansa sat, her eyes continuing to wander over the assembly. Lord Krell turned back to face those assembled.

We accept this responsibility, Krell said aloud, and we will fulfill it to the best of our abilities. He looked down on Skerapi. Master Skerapi, I believe you have some things to give us, he noted.

I do, my lord, Skerapi replied, withdrawing something from inside his robes, I have your crown and scepter.

Lord Krell bowed stiffly from the waist, allowing Skerapi to place the small, golden crown upon his head, and as he straightened, Skerapi handed him the scepter.

"Behold, Fereghen Krell!" Skerapi exclaimed, stepping down into the crowd so that all had a clear view and beginning to clap and cheer; the entire assembly followed his lead.

As they clapped and cheered, Krell sat upon his throne, examining the scepter; he raised one hand for silence. As our first royal act, Krell said, we appoint Master Skerapi as our Chief Minister. Come, Minister Skerapi, stand by our side, he commanded, and as Skerapi ascended the dais, Krell took off the crown to examine it. "This scepter and crown are not befitting our new stature as Fereghen, he noted, we require something more magnificent, he added, laying both upon his lap then waving one hand over them, he changed both into larger, gem encrusted objects. He placed the multi-pointed crown upon his head, and the many large jewels glittered in the light of the hall. This one is more suitable, he said, examining the new scepter, topped with a fist-sized fire ruby, this will do nicely, he added, turning to Skerapi. Come, Skerapi, we will have your oath, and you will set an example for the rest."

Skerapi moved in front of the throne and knelt; Krell held out the scepter, the ruby glowing brightly. Place your right palm on the tip of our scepter, Krell noted, and Skerapi noticed the cruel twist to the smile Krell wore, and swear your oath of fealty.

Skerapi placed his right hand over the glowing ruby and was immediately encased in the same red light; his voice sounded as if he spoke out of the ground as he swore the oath: "I, Chief Minister of Holvar, swear loyalty to Fereghen Krell, to do as he bids, to keep his secrets, and to serve him and none else, and should I betray him in any way, whether knowingly or not, I will breathe my last breath in the moment I do." The red light encasing Skerapi flared and shook him; he cried out in pain as his palm burned, smoke curling from under his hand on the ruby, but this lasted a moment only before the light winked out.

Rise, my servant, Krell said, and take your place at my side.

Skerapi stood and moved back to his place to the right of the throne, surreptitiously touching his right palm with the fingers of his left hand out of view of Krell; he could feel a new mark inscribed there, a mark at which the part of his mind that was his own recoiled, while the part that was the invader rejoiced. Skerapi turned and faced the assembly, making his face blank, unreadable.

All of you, Krell said, will have that same opportunity to swear an oath of fealty to us in private, once we have had a chance to interview each of you. We will begin with the legion commanders and move down the ranks from there. We will begin with the commander of the First Legion. You may approach us, commander, Krell noted waving the First Legion Commander forward. The tall, gray-haired seklesi, with a scarred face, took a hesitant step toward the dais, then, as he took each step, he stepped more firmly, until he knelt before Krell and placed his right palm upon the glowing ruby. At once, he was encased in the same red light, but unlike Skerapi, the commander began to shake, more and more violently, until his body was hanging from the scepter and writhing in pain, a howl of agony exploding from lips that he had desperately tried to keep closed. Fereghen Krell’s look as he watched his First Commander writhing in pain was impassive, but his consort eyed the suffering wethi with pure delight. This action went on for nearly a minute before his shaking slowed, his howl trailed away into silence, and the commander of the First Legion went limp, his dead hand sliding off the still glowing ruby. Absolute silence stretched for what seemed to those present an age before the new Fereghen spoke; Skerapi fought an internal battle to maintain his composure.

He was obviously less than worthy, Krell said in an amused voice, or he was hiding secret plans against our person. He looked over the assembly, and Skerapi saw the face of the dead commander’s second go deathly white, one hand held out to her fallen commander, one hand over her