SylverMoon Chronicles: SylverMoon Chronicles, #5

By Confederacy of the Quill

Two gun-slinging friends reconnect across space and time… heroes discover the truth about death and loss… enemies are found in a cyber world of ones and zeroes… a young assassin must chase after what was lost… a dashing duelist defies a king… in a shadowy forest a band of adventurers find an otherworldly surprise…

An anthology of short stories by Quicksylver authors in the genres of Fantasy, Science Fiction, Horror, Futuristic, Archaic & everything in between, SylverMoon Chronicles is a fascinating romp through a myriad of worlds all guaranteed to fire the imagination!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Quicksylver Publications
• Release date: Feb 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386108474

Book preview

SylverMoon

Chronicles

Volume Five

© 2011 Quicksylver Publications

Table of Contents

Continuations

Champion of Destiny

Looking at the Other Side of the Grass

A Farewell to Arms

Space Gladiator – Training Secrets

To Win Again, We Must Often Begin Again

The Reunion

Reclamation, Interrupted

Preacher & The Pale Devil: Book IV

The Enemy Finally Revealed

The Bladed Shaft V

There Will Be Repercussions

Defending the Citadel

Bait & Lure

New Material

Even the End of the World Has to Begin Somewhere

On the Inside

Tempered Fate

Space Ice Age

Inclement Weather

Le Carnivale

One Last Errand

The Circus – Dark Princess

An Even Exchange

Passion & Pride

Having Sides Choose You

Into the Night

Author Bios

Foreword

––––––––

It is said that the number five is the most dynamic of all single-digit numbers... unpredictable and always in motion. Our artists have endeavored to provide material worthy of the imagination of our audience, creating stories that will indeed surprise and delight our readers.

From the very first section where you will find our serials, to the ever-popular New Material segment and our theme-specific component, each page is dedicated to the love of a good story.

The Confederacy of the Quill welcomes you to the fifth installment of the SylverMoon Chronicles, but never fear – as you reach the end of these adventures, rest easy knowing that we are already busy creating the worlds for the sixth. Enjoy!

And remember, we would love to hear from you!

You can find us at Confederacy of the Quill Online

Continuations

––––––––

Thirteen stories... Thirteen voices sounding from inside the mists of time. Our writers have heard the call of their characters and worlds already beloved by the readers, and have stepped up to the challenge.

So, be it the one you fear from pages gone by, or a tale that has found a place in your heart, look upon these familiar shadows and come to know a new light of the SylverMoon!

Champion of Destiny

Continuation of Hero of Junn-Gladeer (Vol. I),

The Bane of The WarloKs (Vol. II),

In the Wake of Shadows (Vol. III), &

Cometh the WarloK King (Vol. IV)

(Fantasy Serial)

by Reiter

––––––––

The streets in this part of the city were slender, as it was conceived that only foot traffic would pass through this part of the walled city. It was just as well that Deesaro Lugrazi was oblivious to the intentions of those engineers. It would not have helped his weakening heart one way or the other. Stretching his neck to look back over covered territory; his efforts would have been better received had he placed equal emphasis on eyeing the road ahead. Three collisions had failed to impress upon the man a need to alter his methods... resulting in a tumbling fall when his foot dropped into a hole in the walkway.

Lugrazi dropped so many of his things; vials... uncut gems... even a few coins fell from his person. Passersby stopped to help the man to his feet, returning to him his lost property. He was uninterested in their charity and pulled away from their hands the moment he had his feet under him. Several of the children who had collected some of his things chased after him, holding up what they had gathered.

If he will not thank you... I do, here and now, a young man said, patting one of the children on the shoulder.  A suggestion: place his belongings around the hole. I am sure he will know the reason for the stacking. And if not, let it serve as more of a motivation for the masons to replace the missing bricks, eh? The children smiled up at the hooded face of the young man who had spoken and scampered off to do as he had suggested. "So few good and clean children in this sort of city these DoaH. It would be a shame not to acknowledge their efforts. Mother was right; haste makes waste.

I wonder where that frightful man hobbled off to, the man mused as he walked by the mouth of a slender alley. A length of chain came flying out of the alley passing over the young man’s lowering head. Lugrazi stumbled out into the street, having put considerable effort into attacking the man. He gasped at the fact that he had missed his target. It seems that I found him, the young man said in a delighted tone.

What do you want with me? Lugrazi spat, taking a two-handed grip of the chain. Speak quickly, or I’ll open your skull!

As you did so well in your first attempt, the young man pointed out, stepping back to lean against the building corner that served as the frame for the alley mouth. He folded his arms and allowed his head to tilt toward his left shoulder. You’re obviously more of a pole man, he remarked. Your hands are too far apart to work that chain effectively... though there are few times anyone would recommend a two-handed grip on a flail of any sort.

Damn you! Lugrazi yelled, lunging into another attack. The end of the chain smacked against the brick and mortar of the building, but his target was nowhere to be seen,

I’m afraid life’s beat you to that branding, Deesaro Lugrazi, the young man said, slowly turning to face his opponent now that he was in the middle of the street. He reached up to pull back his hood. His wavy hair appeared to be a silken blend of soft brown and gold mixed into each strand. His green eyes were a soft shade of jade, but they were so very penetrating, despite the whimsical smile the young man wore. I am damned already. That was even before I was forced to be in your company... and you can see how such a turn has not improved my position. Lugrazi turned around and was actually startled to see the young man standing there. A frown formed on the young face, confused at the level of surprise.

"Where did he think my voice was coming from?" he pondered. 

Be gone! the older man commanded. You trifle with a man of spells and incantations!

"Oohhh... spells and incantations, eh? No, you’re certainly not a man to be trifled with! What say we then conclude this nasty business so I can let you be about your way, eh?"

Deesaro panted as he talked. I will ask you only once more, what do you want?!

Believe me, you old bag of bones, if you could give me what I wanted, I would have ripped it from your spine by now, the young man stated, losing his smile, a hazy white light flaring from the center of his eyes. No, you cannot give me what I truly want. But my mother has given me the treasures of patience and scheming. You don’t have what I want, Deesaro Lugrazi. You’re just a step closer to the path.

Then it must be me you’re seeking, Altaira Kathdenn said as she walked down the middle of the slender street, pushing her way through the forming crowd of spectators. Her arms came away from her sides, just far enough for her to flex her fingers away from her palm. Though I must admit I have never been called a path before. Her arms stretched under the black and green fabrics of the dress that had been cut to allow her ease of movement. Her knee and thigh could be seen peeking through the lace-framed slit of the long skirt because of her long strides. The jaw muscles on her face flexed as her yellow eyes squinted. By all other accounts, the slender-framed woman appeared to be a dark-haired Alderonn, most likely of the D’Gardi Tribe.

Perspective, the young man whispered after turning to look at the woman.

Lugrazi seized the opportunity and rushed toward the youth. He maintained his two-hand grip on the length of chain he had found in the alley, but it no longer slinked. It was straight and stiff, like an iron rod. He lifted his weapon and swung down for the head.

Told you, the young man said, smiling at Lugrazi as he caught the weapon before it could reach his head. "Definitely a staff man.

Al-Fury, he whispered. Another glint of hazy white light shone in the young man’s eyes and the length of chain turned red with heat. Deesaro screamed, letting go of the stiff chain. He backed back away, looking at the smoke coming from his charred palms. The rod of heated iron links twirled around the young man’s hand as his nostrils flared. His smile was down to a smirk and he increased the speed of his spin. I could never be the man who separated you from your property.

No! the woman cried as she watched the weapon fly from the hand of the youth. It struck Deesaro in the face, losing its rigidness and wrapping about his head and neck.

The young man put his eyes to the street and started toward the woman. He appeared to be removed from consideration of Deesaro who was now on the ground wailing in agony. His face was on fire and the metal, beyond the heat of what it had taken to forge the links, was rigid once more, holding on tightly to the man’s face.

I shall see to it that your cries exceed his, the woman vowed.

I think not, the young man replied, still not looking at the woman. Though I hope you are open to the resolution of our conflicting perspectives.

But my position is so abundantly supported, the woman snapped, stepping forward and thrusting her left hand toward the youth. Slender bolts of electricity burst from the center of her palm.

Al-Tempest, the young man whispered. All five bolts turned wide of striking the young man, sparking against the street and the walls of the buildings instead. If that is the bulk of your substantiation, I would strongly suggest an amendment to your perspective... while that option remains within your grasp.

The woman made no direct verbal response. She took one step back, lifting her hands above her head and crossing her wrists. I call forth the servants of my Master! Two bursts of black and orange light flashed at the flanks of the woman. Two Terran figures emerged from the light; their naked, muscular bodies trailing red smoke.

"Prisoners from the Pits of Meldahb, he thought. Things are falling into place."

Neither Altaira nor her opponent paid any heed to the screams coming from the onlookers as they turned and ran from the engagement.

With his smile returning to his face, the young man stepped back, looking at the two assistants the woman had just summoned. They were both at least two meters in height and twice the weight of the smiling youth. Your master certainly believes in keeping the finest stock on hand.

The woman smirked as she uncrossed her arms, directing the smoke to wrap around the bodies of the men. When the vapors faded, they were clad in blood-red armour. The man to Altaira’s left held a sword and shield, the other held up spiked pounders that covered his fists; plates of armour over his wrists and forearms.

Though his arsenal could certainly withstand a renovation, he quipped.

Punish him, Altaira commanded as she staggered back a step. But I want him alive. He has questions to answer.

Most interesting, the young man stated, looking at the woman’s stumbling feet as she backed up another four strides. First the spitting of sky-fire, much like I would expect to see coming from an EnervationisT... and now this summoning... no doubt a prepared entreaty. Easy feats for many of the various strides of SpellCasteR. Your efforts, however, seem to be quite costly. And all of this to satisfy you inquisitive nature?!

Speak, boy, while such is still your option, Altaira barked. Who are you? Who sent you?

And there it is, the young man said softly, turning his left shoulder toward the woman. His feet were shoulder-width apart, with only a slight bend of the knees. "Let us begin our discussion.

Like any Kindred of the two-legged sort, I am the product of my parents, he continued, throwing his body into a back-bend. The red steel of the sword whispered doom through the air passing just over the young man’s chest. The armour-clad man lost his footing for a stride, recovering from the force he had put into his attack. And you’re rusty, my friend, he muttered. How many ages has it been since you last held that blade?

I serve the Master, the man replied, coming back with a hasty backhand swing that passed over the head of his target.

Ah, the step I needed, the youth whispered as he rushed forward and jumped up. He landed on the shield-arm shoulder of the man and jumped again, spinning through the air.

Al-Thorn! His foot extended and his boot smacked against the helm of the man wearing the pounders. The contact sounded like anything other than flesh striking metal, giving a surprisingly hard clanging noise. The man was sent spinning into a building front that he tumbled through.

The young man landed and looked at Altaira, knowing his jump from the sword-wielding combatant had pushed him off balance. His head gestured toward the hole in the wall and he said, "I get the feeling he’ll be back, and sooner than I’d like.

Where were we? Ah yes, a product of my parents! Turning to face his closer opponent, the young man smiled as he walked quickly to close the distance his leap had created. Perhaps you’ve heard of them, he continued, side-stepping a lunge for his chest. He then ducked and spun under the swung shield. They are both well-noted SpellCasteRs, he stated, hopping just out of range of the spinning swing of the sword. Lunging forward, his split-fingered thrust found the eyes of the warrior. "And please believe that I do not speak through bias.

We must go up, he whispered, taking hold of his cloak and jumping. Al-Stalagm. A small mound of dirt erupted under the youth sending him up, and he lifted his knees to his chest, tumbling in mid-air as the second combatant flew out through the same hole in the wall, passing under the tumbling body and colliding with his summoned compatriot. The young man landed in the street, the mound seeming to soften his fall as it lowered back into the ground.

My mother is a gifted WiZarD, the young man claimed. And while it might be stereotypical to say that an Ashari is gifted with MajiK, my mother exceeds their norm as well. In fact, you could say she is gifted in the arts. The young man turned to see both creatures getting up from the ground. "Not sure exactly what all the armour is meant to do, but it certainly allows them to take some punishment. I suppose this will become a testament of relative depths.

And before I lose my place again, I should mention my father, the young man said, moving toward the center of the street. He too is a SpellCasteR; a SorceroR, actually. He’s accumulated all sorts of names... though most of them should not be spoken when there is a lady present. However, his most noted appellation... The young man looked around as the two men decided to take up posts on opposite sides of him but not directly in line with one another. ... is the Hero of Junn-Gladeer.

Altaira gasped slightly as her eyes flared wide. The swordsman hopped toward the young man. He was surprised that his opponent did not hop back into the range of the fighter wearing the pounders. Instead, he maintained his ground and smiled up at the swordsman.

Ahh, she’s heard that one. That is very good! Moving his left foot back, the young man turned to avoid the thrust for his chest. Unlike your thrust, friend. He barely managed a duck under the swing of the shield as he stepped behind the swordsman and then leaned to his left. The right-handed pounder passed over his right shoulder and it was quickly followed by a hammering left fist. The arc of the attack had just begun when the young man caught the wrist and flipped the fighter so that he landed hard on his back. The face of the shield bashed into the back of the young man and he was sent stumbling past the watering trough and into an alley.

Owww! he complained, rubbing his back and the back of his head. How rude! Still, I know that since I am in the eyes and ears of this poor, tortured soul, you can still see and hear me, can’t you, Altaira Kathdenn?

Just as you can hear me, my nimble little liar, Altaira’s voice came out of the open mouth of the swordsman as he slowly approached. The brawler was also up and making his way into the alley. You cannot possibly be who you claim to be!

And why is that? the young man asked as he took his stance after making sure he was clear of the stacked crates. 

Because you are too old to be that child!

Looking confused, the facial expression suggested he might actually be in pain at the words he was hearing. And she calls herself a SpellCasteR, he whispered. For a moment, the swordsman looked as if he might be reflecting over the commentary. Mind on your work, my good man. The swordsman fixed his black eyes on the young man who nodded for him to approach.

"Oh, they cannot be serious, the young man thought, watching the swordsman put a more deliberate bend in his knees while leaning slightly forward. He could hear rushed footfalls approaching and then the brawler was suddenly flying up over the back of the swordsman. And yet they are.

Al-Stone. Six bricks flew up from the floor of the alley, following the gestures of the young man. Four bricks streaked up and collided with the face and chest of the airborne brawler, stopping his forward progress and sending him straight down to the ground. One brick bounced off the shield of the swordsman, while the last brick struck the man’s knee. Both the swordsman and the young man winced in pain as the former fell to the wounded knee.

I do not mean to be rude... but I believe I know why you were at the pit, he stated as he made his way out of the alley. "Mind you, not everyone can be the greatest warrior that has ever lived. I think you might have been better served pursuing a career as an artisan.

Ahh, there you are, he said when he put his eyes on the woman. She did not appear to have recovered her strength. "These interruptions. Dreadful, aren’t they?!

Let us now return the heart of the matter, he said, sweeping his hand into the water to rinse his hands. Too old you say. Yes, I suppose there is a point to that. It has been just over six MooNs since the incident at Opal Gate... and I was an infant at the time... but a lot can happen in six MooNs’ time.

Impossible, Altaira panted as she stepped back.

Only the muddle-minded believe in such a word, the young man quickly returned, losing most of his mirth. "And be careful, milady. You are also making a commentary regarding my father’s genius and talents.

How intriguing though, he started again, gesticulating with his hands as he looked up, imagining the actions he was about to describe. ... to open and then enchant a portal... one pointed at the dimension FantasioR... just imagine, if you can, the wonder you would behold!

EnzariO! Altaira whispered.

Yes, he replied, flashing a bright smile and pointing of the woman. You’ve heard of it, yes? Altaira nodded, wrapping her arms around her shivering body. "That is where my father took us.

And I know what you’re going to say, the young man said as he reached to the back of his belt, producing a pair of black gloves. "You’re about to evoke another ‘impossible’. It isn’t any wonder that you would. Entrance into the realm is strictly regulated, and it takes a member of the royal bloodline of MoGo to even be considered.

Holding up his finger, the young man caught himself. "Actually, that’s not altogether accurate. All one would need is a key that is normally found on the person of a member of the demonic hierarchy. If you’re informed as to who my parents are, then surely you were told of the time when my mother, who was pregnant with me at the time, was claimed and taken into MoGo.

"You know, one thing that is missed by so many... is how my father came to be at the castle of the WarloKs in the first place. I was there, mind you... but one could say I was not in a position to actually put things to memory. My father had managed to capture and keep a Broken Witch, forcing him to betray his order and lead my mother, father, and godfather to the meeting place of the coven. Oh well. The things you gloss over when you’re about the business of taking over the entire world!

Much better, the young man remarked, stepping out of the way of the tip of the blade which was set to remove his head from his body. See, you put some thought into it, accessed your threshold with KaA, and made it so your body wouldn’t make a sound. Had you only bathed after getting out of the pit, your scheme might have been more effective. It would appear, however, that your colleague is still overwhelmed by the kiss of the stone bricks. Passionate kissers, those bricks!

Die! the man cried as he launched into a series of attacks. It was a daring dance the young man engaged in, never jumping as he moved in closer to the man – always either dodging the attack, or striking the weapon or the sword-arm to make the attack miss.

So, as you know, my father chased after her, the young man explained as he dodged, "... taking with him a campaign of adventurers including one very enterprising RoguE. Well, guess what that one came back with!

"So there we are in the Realm of the Perpetual Dream, and my father decides he’s going to enchant the moment. We fall into the spell where we think time is passing normally. And don’t forget, I have Ashari blood to me, so it takes a measure more than ten YahrtoN for me to reach the Age of Mahn.

But I trained, the young man said, catching an off-balance attempt at a shield-bunt. With a quick spin, he removed the shield from the arm of the warrior and swept it across the warrior’s ankles. The large creature fell to its back and the young man flipped the shield before hurling it. The brawler was just coming to consciousness when the shield crashed against the side of his head. The back of the brawler’s head thumped against the stone of the alley floor. "A gifted Mistress of MajiK, a Master SorceroR, and a Sword Dancer that would lead one to believe he had been enchanted by his master.

But still, to raise a child like that? the young man said, jumping over the shoulder of the swordsman. With no contact to the outside world?! Well, my mother took care of that! She wove a spell that would allow my mind to drift into the minds of others. Something akin to a waking dream. It was very tricky at first, I was initially received more as a nightmare than a friend. But I eventually mastered the process. In another flurry of swings, the only solid matter the blade of the swordsman managed to claim was the street. So for nearly thirty YahrtoN – we must remember the Ashari blood – I touched the minds of four people especially. And from time to time, I would aid them in their endeavors. Do you know what you get when you do that successfully for over a score of YahrtoN? Two arrows and a spear found the chest and back of the swordsman respectively. Each weapon sparked against the armour, and the spear managed to push through to the other side of the body before stopping. You get some fairly loyal friends! JaRath looked at a tall, muscle-toned figure that was approaching. He smirked before commenting, It certainly took you two long enough!

You’d be surprised how many fools she had waiting to pounce on you, K’Sava, a Red Zahm woman, said before she reclaimed her spear. Braydu has your torch. The young man turned to see a slender K’Danu man hop down into the back of the alley from a ledge. He carried a bow in one hand and an iron torch in the other. Tossing the latter to the young man, the K’Danu man shook his head in disgust.

I am almost out of arrows, he reported. And K’Sava used all five of her knives!

We’re just about done here, the young man replied. You two need to remain here... no matter what. The two looked at one another before K’Sava turned and thrust her spear into the brawler’s chest. He screamed in pain, but not for long.

Looking back at the dying swordsman, the young man made a gesture with his free hand and the sword flew to his grasp. It was of some obvious labor for him to carry the weapon as he rested the blade on his shoulder. I think that about brings us up to the moment, Altaira. Wouldn’t you say?

Not quite, artful storyteller.

The young man snorted, shaking his head and waving his finger at the woman. "You see? Brilliant! You came to that so much quicker than I did. Because if I was in the Realm of Dreams, how was I visiting the lives of others without time passing in the realm from which they came? The moment I returned to the moment from which I left, they would be children once more, wouldn’t they? And, as you can see, they’re quite mature. So that would appear to be a hole in my tale. But it isn’t. You see, my friends might be from this realm, but they weren’t in this realm when my thoughts found them. They were in MoGo. It would seem that you and I pulled from the very same realm."

Altaira could not keep her eyes from flaring. Depending on where in MoGo one was, time could very well be irrelevant. The swordsman and the brawler had come from an age over a thousand YahrtoN prior to this DoaH. The boy had been right to question how long it had been since the warrior had last swung a blade, but Altaira had not expected the boy to engage them physically. The armour she had chosen had been fashioned to protect them from MajiK.

I can see it coming to you, the young man said as he started walking back to the woman. Her nostrils flared as she breathed in sharply. She was still inexplicably weak, but she could afford to wait no longer.

Master of masters, empower me! Black light shone all over the woman’s form, changing her skin to dark steel. Altaira laughed, reveling in the newfound strength of her body. She cackled as she took to running toward the young man who stepped toward the side of the street, looking at the trough.

Al-Squall. A geyser of water erupted from the trough and arched downward, splashing down on Altaira’s head. The weight of the water made her stumble, but she continued toward her target, stopping only to swing her metal fist for his skull. The weight of the sword had not slowed him in the least and he moved easily.

Enchanted metal, Altaira proclaimed as her fist passed over the young man’s head and he gave ground to avoid her off-balance uppercut.

Don’t overextend, he instructed. Keep your hands as close to the body as you can. Altaira screamed in frustration and charged at him. Her metal face collided with a building, and the stone and mortar gave.

You have called for the Storm Forms of each of the elements, Altaira noted. ... but you’re not an ElementalisT. You don’t have the aura of their power about you!

Quite right, he replied. ... and it seems we’ve entered into a private residence. What say we keep the breakage to a minimum, eh? Altaira sent her fist through the dining room table, shattering it easily. Now that was simply petulant.

And I have you now, JaRath Lokbane, she hissed. You chose the wrong element to go against steel, boy. It’ll take ages for me to rust! She threw her body into a desperate lunge at JaRath, believing if she could just get one hand on his person, she could end him. But he didn’t move to dodge her. Instead he took his cloak and wrapped it around her body as she reached him. Everything went black and she felt something solid hammer into her face. When she could see again, Altaira knew she had flown into the fireplace. It was far sturdier than the walls, and she was stunned by the sudden stop.

Yes, because rusting metal is all that water can do, JaRath replied, gesturing toward the woman. All the water on her body and in the room gushed toward her face, forcing its way into her mouth and nose. Her body thrashed as she tried to find a place, a means, to breathe. You are so busy looking for the stroke of power you overlook the sublime. Lowering his hand, the water fell to the floor and Altaira coughed. Her skin slowly reverted to its normal texture though several measures paler. The woman appeared to be aging rapidly. It is your fortune I am not here to kill you. As I said, it is a matter of perspective. You considered yourself to be the path I mentioned... but you were merely–

Red smoke burst from the fireplace and enwrapped JaRath, lifting him from the floor and slamming him into the wall. The impact forced the sword from his hand, and the hole in the front of the domicile was suddenly mended though not with brick or mortar... it was a red substance appearing to be a cross between blood and a spider’s webbing.

The column of smoke holding JaRath in place slowly became a large hand, and the red smoke shifted into a burnt orange-hued skin. The well-dressed figure stood two and a half meters above the ground with two black, upward-curved horns protruding from the front of its skull and three straight spike horns of the same color jutting from the back. The horns were adorned with jeweled chains and golden rings and laid atop the thin, fine white hair that covered the creature’s head.

Just another step? the creature guessed. Its purple eyes glared into the stunned face of the young caster. Is that what you were about to proclaim?

Given how... you are here... my Prince, JaRath panted. The creature was undoubtedly strong, and the way it continued to press JaRath against the wall made it difficult to breathe. ... would it be... a foolish... assumption?

You call me Prince. Do you now dare to presume that you know who I am?

Cloak! JaRath cried, and his cloak fired to life with a golden light that burned the creature’s skin. JaRath fell to the floor as the large demon staggered back, looking at its burning hand.

What sorcery is this?!

My father calls it Demon’s Bane, JaRath explained as he slowly got up to his feet. "It is an enchanted herb of his own making. His cloak carries several charges of it. I would apologize for the burning, but I’m trying to – at least on this DoaH – refrain from spouting absolute falsehoods.

I think it is time we were formally introduced. I am JaRath Lokbane, the WarloK King. And you are High Demon Prince Valiestro, the one who fears the prophecies regarding me might spell doom to your ambitions. You needn’t fear that possibility any further, Your Majesty. Because of the actions you have taken against my family, I am here to see to it that the prophecies were most accurate in what I am meant to do to you.

A mortal take a seat in the High Blood Line in MoGo?! Valiestro laughed. You are insane!

Actually, I didn’t think the prophecy was worded in such a way, JaRath replied, quickly dismissing the point. But you are the Prince here, so if you say it is so, then sure, why not?

You are indeed young... so incredibly naïve, Valiestro said calmly as red smoke wrapped around the wounded hand. You shall have quite the experience, realizing your shortsightedness as you slowly age throughout all time in the pits!

Now who is showing their naiveté? JaRath asked, confusing the demon prince. "How many prophecies circulate in such a way that you hear of them? And of those, how many actually earn your interest?! You say that I am young, implying that my youth equates to a lack of experience and therefore a relatively diminished capacity for thought. Yet here you are, a High Demon Prince of MoGo, in the realm of the mortals attacking a supposedly brain-addled boy.

Yes, by all means, JaRath barked as white light returned to the center of his eyes. ... insist on your power and position whilst you react through fear and what is ultimately ineptitude. Because, my most powerful prince, for all your station and power... it requires your direct hand to contend with the likes of me! Now tell me once more, as I am so young and thick of skull, which one of us is truly naïve?!

I have seen your gift with agility, boy, Valiestro said as the smoke faded away, revealing a fully restored hand. Tell me, how will you dodge when I bring this entire building down on your head?

You forget my trusty blade, JaRath returned, holding out his hand. The blade came from the floor and into his hand where it whirled around the young man as he demonstrated the influence the aforementioned Sword Dancer had on his life. He closed his eyes as he completed the movement and breathed out from between his lips as he took his combative stance.

Valiestro laughed as the walls, floor, and ceiling began to glow with a red light. Vapors began to come from the surface and the sounds of cracking and grinding stone began to fill the room. Let this be your last lesson then. Swing away, boy, and see what that steel can do against my skin.

With your invitation then, JaRath replied, taking a step toward Valiestro before lunging over and stabbing Altaira in the leg. The woman awoke screaming, reaching for the wound.

The pact has been sustained and I submit to the costs! the young man yelled, speaking to something that was not inside the abode. A very cold and evil smile flashed across JaRath’s face as he looked up at Valiestro. And you thought all that blade movement was fanfare, didn’t you?

Valiestro took one step back before his body shuddered. The red light faded as the vapors quickly dissipated. A look of stark confusion took hold of his visage as his body shuddered a second time; more violently than the first. What is this? he whispered, looking at his hand. The skin was beginning to crack, and dark purple fluid began to fall from the breaches. It was Demon’s Blood, and a purer strain had seldom been seen by mortal eyes.

My Master! Altaira cried, forgetting the pain in her body. She reached for the High Demon Prince, but the heavy blade kept her pinned to the floor. No!

Yes, JaRath hissed as he turned to look at the woman.

How?

I told you of the four minds that I touched, JaRath said softly. "K’Sava and Braydu are only two. You pushed past the third, but not before he placed something on your person. Something of my summoning.

"This blade was something of your summoning, JaRath said, standing up and pulling the blade out of the woman as quickly as he knew how. Add a bit of spell-weaving and enchantment into that mixture–"

You forged a feed link, Altaira gasped, realizing that the boy was describing what happened in a ceremony when a WarloK would kill a person and then feed on their energies. But...

The fourth mind was my mother, JaRath revealed, allowing the heavy sword to fall to the floor. He looked at Valiestro and winced as he could see the cracks in the prince’s skin now covered his body. The feed had a hold of him, and the drain was taking more than just his physical form. JaRath shook his head and turned at the sound of the mended hole losing its mortar. You see, Altaira, in my mother’s dreams I found Lynneas, the Ashari God of MajiK. Seems the two of them have a very special relationship. He calls her his little ingot. What that pertains to is a private matter. But it was through him that I made a bargain and a wager.

Young Master? Poxtrun called out as he entered the dwelling. Altaira recognized the fair-haired Gylkren man. He was one of the more complaintive people she had pushed aside before she first addressed JaRath, and she had wanted to discipline him but the thought had not remained with her for long. Apparently, like most Gylkren, this one was gifted in the PsyoniK Arts. In just thinking of the moment of their meeting, she could recall him placing a bracelet on her wrist, a piece of jewelry which she was convinced was hers and should never be removed.

I am alright, Pox, JaRath quickly answered, holding up his hand to keep the DreamCasteR from coming too close. The amount of power passing through the three bodies was tremendous and would have had devastating effects for anyone coming close enough to be engaged in the feed. The good prince had been... maneuvered into paying for my castings.

By the gods, Poxtrun gasped.

No, my friend, JaRath quickly returned. "Just one of them.

But that does remind me. I have seen to the bargain... now to the wager, JaRath muttered before taking in a deep breath. He called out, Veracitors of the Universal Church... hear me!

The walls of the dwelling faded from view as five figures clad in black and white armour appeared out in the street. The most striking of the five was a winged woman who wore mostly white armour which brought out the color of her black wings and hair.

Good to see you again, Lieutenant, JaRath smiled.

Surprised to see you still alive, Lokbane, the Ahr-Varone woman replied. Lord Yek did say that in your case I should keep a more open mind.

Don’t tell me you refused your Lord, JaRath ribbed.

I’m here, child, the woman said in a tone that suggested a warning. The promise of my Lord has been kept. Do you have a complaint to register with the Universal Church?

I present you with High Demon Prince Valiestro, JaRath said, gesturing to the demon that was still slowly dying. The winged woman winced at the sight of him and the cracks in his body. As you can see, this is the realm of mortals and the prince is here without the benefit of being summoned. If I recall—

That is indeed a violation, the woman said, holding out her right hand. Glass fetters formed in her grasp and she approached the pain-locked prince. The Ladies and Lords of Law will want a word with this one as well as the regal family of MoGo. The woman approached and the line of the feed was disrupted, greatly surprising the young man. A wave of relief fell over Altaira as she collapsed to the floor. And who is this?

Oh, her? She is an accomplice. A WarloK who is fed by the prince there.

Then we’ll need to talk to her as well, the Veracitor said as she bound Valiestro. With a nod of her head the same was quickly done to Altaira. Little regard was given to her wounded body as the fetters were locked into place. Is there anything else?

Nothing at the moment, Lieutenant, JaRath said softly. Thank you for coming.

Just doing my job, she returned, reaching to her belt and producing a small disc that she flipped toward JaRath. You might want to hold onto that.

A summoning disc?

"Child, you have just taken part in an enterprise which resulted in the apprehension of a High Demon Prince. In this business, we call that a pebble... and you just threw it into an incredibly large pond. I think you might need that in the very near future.

Veracitors! the woman called as her wings unfolded. A flash of white light removed them and their captives, returning the dwelling to the state it was in before a hole had been made in the wall.

Well, that was a kindness, JaRath remarked as he started for the door.

Because you weren’t going to leave it in disarray, were you? Poxtrun asked, folding his arms and smiling. Over the YahrtoN, he had come to know the young man very well and had been even more moved to see what he had witnessed in his dreams had been sustained in the waking world.

These people didn’t ask for this visitation, JaRath said as he stepped outside, coming to an abrupt halt. We should only have to contend with the crimes we commit ourselves.

How poetic, Jharsen said, glaring at his son. I am not sure I could have put that any better. Behind his father, held back by a relieved Efam, stood a crying Tharra. He could see the love that woman had for him in each tear that rolled down her face. Off to the side, standing in what was his normal, humble silence, Tunshior maintained watch over the scene.

I am sure you could, Father... if you were pressed to. And I am sorry, Mother. It was wrong of me to use your dreams the way I did. JaRath then turned to his friends and started to speak but the DreamCasteR moved too quickly.

Just tell us how old you are truly, Poxtrun said softly.

I am not yet two YahrtoN, my friend, JaRath explained.

But how?

The fourth mind, JaRath said softly. He looked to the ground and put his hands behind his back. While my mother was teaching me to reach your minds, I was reaching into hers. In her dreams, I led her to weave a spell... one that would age me.

And since you were in a realm of dreams...

Her imagined incantation became real. I then set everything in motion... removing the three of you from the pits... entering into a pact and wager with Lynneas... and–

What? Tharra asked, as the mentioning of the name brought an end to her crying. You did what?!

He challenged me, Little Ingot, a voice replied as a flash of light took the friends and family of JaRath Lokbane from the street to a crystal chamber floating in a sea of swirling blue and pink vapors. Light sparkled outside the glass, and upon closer inspection, one could see that they were not lights at all, but small fairy-like creatures that exuded light from their bodies.

We are back in EnzariO, Efam stated. This is our dream chamber.

That it is, Lynneas said as he walked toward the center of the room. The thick white hair on his head blew in an absent wind as he moved. His skin was silver and his eyes were white and without pupils. Tharra stood still with her eyes and mouth gaped wide in wonder. It was better to keep things here and her alone. The last thing the mortal world needs is an increase to the number of reckless campaigns trying to find the Realm of Dreams.

Agreed, Jharsen answered softly. Might I know your reason for appearing before us?

Indeed a father, Lynneas smiled, holding up his hand. Fear not, it is not a mark of harm I seek against your child. I simply mean to keep my word.

Your word?

‘Grant this measure unto me and I will prove the prophecy true’, Lynneas said, reflecting over the conversation he and the boy had shared. And we entered into an agreement: I suspend the cost of his castings and he would best a High Demon Prince without ever using wizardry. He used ElemahntiA, enervations, and he even used MannA in the form of sorcery... but not one incantation of a wizard. And, thanks to the intervention of the Veracitors, the eventual cost of his castings did not come to claim his life.

I’m curious, JaRath said, stepping toward the deity. Would it have killed me?

Lynneas smiled as he looked at the young man. When the feed was interrupted, Valiestro was nearly dead and not quite one fifth of your castings had been accounted for. JaRath’s eyes flared wide and he swallowed hard. "Poor choice for a reservoir, child. You were right to presume that even demons have the capacity for wielding MannA, but not to the measure you needed.

Also, as per our arrangement, the spells you used to create the body of JaRath Lokbane will be waiting for you when you present yourself to me as a caster of the Ashari. I might even make a few corrections. With the spells keeping you at this age fading, it seems that I will have time. Lynneas then turned to the three travelers and held out his hand to them.

What of you three? he asked.  While you are indeed allowed this visitation, only Jharsen and his family will be allowed to stay once I depart. Where shall I take you?

If he’s turning back into a child... take me wherever I can go to wait for this one to come into being, Braydu quickly answered. I would still be in the Pits of Meldahb were it not for him. Poxtrun nodded in agreement as he looked to the female Zahm. They traded looks and the Gylkren man turned to speak.

The same goes for us all. If such is within your power.

So be it, Lynneas said, waving his hand across the three. They fell asleep and were instantly encased in glass as the Ashari deity started for the wall of the chamber. Here they shall sleep, untouched by time, until they are summoned. Parents, I trust you will tell the child when he is of the mind to remember?

We will, Tharra replied with a bowed head.

It is done. You should be especially proud, Little Ingot. Your MajiK is a light of hope in an ever-darkening world. But your heart has forged an expression of love that will change the realms! I can say that because it has already happened. For behold, you are the parents of a High Demon Prince. A flash of light carried the Ashari deity and the three compatriots of JaRath away from the chamber and the realm.

JaRath staggered back a step as his body began to glow. Tharra reached him first, but it was a four-way race.

My son, she gasped.

I am alright, Mother, JaRath said, taking hold of her hand. I am to return to my infant state.

But what about the years we lived in the dream?! Efam snapped.

Look at us, Efam, Jharsen said calmly. Even with Ashari blood, I cannot see that we have aged at all. That would lead me to conclude that what we thought was the training of JaRath was itself nothing more than a dream.

So we’ve gained nothing in being here?!

Efam, the WarloKs no longer have a source to feed them. JaRath has indeed become their king, banishing them from their own kingdom of power. And... he’s defeated a High Demon Prince. If he wants, JaRath can make claim to all that Valiestro owned and commanded. This quest is done. The sound of Tharra gasping took their attention back to JaRath. His green eyes were closed and his near-gold hair was thin and fine, just beginning to grow to thickness on his head. Mother stood, holding her sleeping child close to her chest.

What will we do now, Master?

Jharsen chuckled, taking hold of Efam’s shoulder. I have absolutely no idea. But we have time before we need to make any decisions.

"You have the time, my Master, Efam said as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jharsen. Call for my blade and blink; when your eyes open... that blade will be in your hand!"

Where will you go, my Brother?

After Junn-Gladeer... I’m not sure. But I do want to ride free.

A respite well deserved, Tharra commented. And do not think that it is only we who can call upon you. Efam will forever be part of this family, and if there is need, our light will empower his blades.

In that case, take care of my Brother and Master. He’s a handful!

Jharsen laughed heartily as he waved his hand in a wide circle. A hole formed in the wall and the foyer of the house at Opal Gate was revealed. Efam waved without turning back. He ran, jumping through the aperture and quickly dashing out of sight.

He didn’t look back, Tharra said softly.

Had he done so, he would have never left, Jharsen said confidently. Come, my light. Let us put this tired boy to bed and then I will cherish my wife in the manner she deserves.

You have never done otherwise, husband. She continued to carry JaRath as they all walked to the portal. Before stepping through, she giggled.

Yes, I know, Jharsen said, nodding in agreement. A prince of MoGo!

Well, it was his destiny to be the WarloK King, she returned. I suppose we didn’t fathom that might mean he would have to dethrone one first.

Oh, we did... but I don’t believe either of us thought that would mean engaging with a High Demon Prince in order to lay claim to the title. A damn High Demon Prince! And Efam wants to know what we will do next.

He’s not the only one, my husband.

Oh? Jharsen asked with a smile curling his lips as he wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, slowly walking her toward another forming portal. My light, we are duty-bound parents. Our son has just come into the possession of an estate and will not be of the mind or body to manage it for some time.

I see, Tharra nodded as she spoke. Then we must attend to his holdings until he is of age to do so himself.

Indeed we shall.

I’ve seen that look before, she said, looking into her husband’s eyes. Do you suppose we can wait a while before we start ransacking the holdings of Valiestro?

Let’s give it at least a MooN, he suggested.

Seriously?! Tharra returned, shocked at the suggestion. That long?

Why not? We have a WarloK King in our family line now. He will need siblings to help him manage his court.

Siblings? But what of the three he has already befriended? Tharra asked.

Bah! Jharsen replied, waving off the implication. "A general, a scout, and a counselor they will be to him, nothing more. Nothing spells certain doom