A Flicker of Hope: Book IV of the Outcasts Series

By Chuck Abdella

“Sunrise and sunset may appear the same at first glance, but to be wise, you must be able to tell whether you're at the beginning or the end.” With their enemy ascendant, the Outcasts find themselves questioning whether the world is even worth saving. But what if magic could dwell in unexpected places? Or be wielded by unexpected creatures? In a story filled with page-turning suspense and non-stop action, Chuck Abdella brings a satisfying close to his series with contemporary themes woven into the fabric of an exotic fantasy world. There is beauty in the struggle, even if it’s hopeless. And no matter what forces may be arrayed against us, the power of friendship endures. For beneath an ocean of darkness, there is always a flicker of hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chuck Abdella
• Release date: Jul 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370976539

Chuck Abdella

Chuck Abdella is a History teacher at St. John’s High School in Shrewsbury, MA. With degrees in History from Boston College and Columbia University, Chuck has spent many long hours in the embrace of ancient and medieval civilizations. During July, he also directs an academic enrichment camp called College Academy, where he usually saves the world at least once per summer by spearheading an adventure during the camp’s popular Time Machine Day. Studying all that history, telling stories as a teacher, and seasonal world-saving have all helped inspire his writing. He has written poetry and prose for at least 25 years and has been published by the St. John’s Icon, the Boston College Stylus, Worcester Magazine, and the Boston Globe.His first novel, "The Outcasts: Book I, the Lies of Autumn" was published in June of 2015 and has enjoyed enthusiastic reviews. He published the sequel, "The Darkest Forests" (2016), the three-quel, "Whispers of Spring" (2017), and the conclusion of the series, "A Flicker of Hope" (2019), all to positive reviews.His newest book, a YA fantasy set in a high school, "The Sun and the Moon" was published in March 2021.

Book preview

Gwen’s eyes fluttered open. She dared to draw a breath into her lungs and marveled at the absence of pain. Pain had been her companion for so long that its absence was worth meditating over. To merely breathe in and out without a stabbing pain was glorious. Slowly the Elf raised herself into a sitting position and the room swam around her. Gwen gritted her teeth nervously and waited for the blurred room to resolve into reality. A wave of nausea washed over her but swiftly dissipated. Gwen focused her eyes on the sparse room: a small table with a flickering candle, an uncomfortable chair drawn up next to the bed, and a window with the shutters closed. Swallowing with some degree of effort, Gwen processed the room and its contents. It had not changed in two turns of the moon. She had been here—trapped as it were—for six Elvin weeks.

That’s two months for Quintus, she said aloud to no one but herself. Her voice was raw from underuse and she almost didn’t recognize it. A small sigh escaped her chapped lips. Quintus. Gwen had been on her way to rescue Quintus and Octavia from the Horsebreakers. She had been riding with Marcus, Synthyya, and the Morphs when it had hit her. Gwen could not tell you exactly what it was, but it had flattened the little Elf completely and delayed the reunion with her husband. It had delayed everything.

She stared at the window, shuttered against the world. Another small sigh wafted from her lips and her long eyelashes brushed her eyes as if they were the wings of a butterfly. The world had gotten worse while she lay in this room. Gwen could not help but feel it was all her fault. A broken world had crumbled even further into brokenness and she was the reason for it. But today is the day, she said and the voice which escaped her dry lips sounded more like her own. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and felt the smooth wood of the floor beneath the soles of her small white feet.

Gwen paused. She had attempted this feat several times over the last week and had failed each time. Simply standing, the act of putting her inconsiderable weight onto her feet and walking to the window, had proven too much. The Elf was still so weak. But she knew the world would continue to get worse unless she persisted. Walking to the window and opening the shutters would be a small triumph. But she hesitated, feeling that failure to stand up would simply empower the one they once called the Dark Lord.

Her sapphire eyes glistened as she tried to blink away the tears with those lovely eyelashes. Gwen felt soft fur brushing against her smooth bare legs and let out a small squeal. Looking down, a calico cat brushed against her dangling legs again. Gwendolyn smiled and knew that this was how cats expressed their love. The Elf reached down and stroked the cat’s soft fur.

Hello Alexia.

The cat morphed into Alexia’s mortal form. Sweet Gwendolyn, are you going to try to walk again?

I cannot stay in this bed any longer.

But you are still so weak, observed the beautiful Morph. Her bottom lip seemed to inflate as she pouted.

But this is the day, Gwen replied firmly.

Let me help you, lovely Elf, Alexia offered, as she went to put her tan arm beneath Gwen’s ivory one.

No no, dear friend, Gwen cautioned. I must do it on my own or it is not worth doing.

Shakily, Gwendolyn raised herself up. Her legs wobbled, but they held. She had made it this far yesterday, but the weight transfer involved with walking had proven too arduous. Today, she insisted, would be different.

I will catch you, Alexia promised, her brown eyes brimming with love. You know you are my heart’s one desire. I shall never let you fall.

Everything begins with one step, Alexia, Gwen said softly as she raised her right leg and stepped. Smiling, she repeated the gesture with her left. I took for granted the small miracles involved in a routine action, Alexia. I will not do that again.

This is the day, Alexia encouraged her.

Gwen made it to the window and threw open the shutters. She was rewarded with a beautiful crimson sky which seemed to stretch on forever.

It is a lovely sky, Alexia observed as she padded up behind Gwen and prepared to support her.

Quintus may be staring up at the same sky, Gwen observed. The sun is low, but I do not know if it is on its way up or down. The Elf permitted herself to giggle. It felt refreshing.

Does it matter to you? Alexia asked.

No, Gwen conceded. But think about it, my friend: if you fell asleep for a hundred years and woke up to see a red sky with the sun low on the horizon, how would you know if it was sunrise or sunset?

I suppose they look the same, Alexia said with a shrug.

Gwen smiled with determination. Sunrise and sunset may appear the same at first glance, but to be wise, you must be able to tell whether you’re at the beginning or the end.

***

The last report said Gwen was close to walking, Quintus observed. His voice was hopeful, even if bitter notes could be detected.

I prefer Alexia’s reports to the ones delivered by the owl who once served Beatrixx, Octavia declared sourly.

Marcus has no interest in Daphnae, Quintus said gently.

I have not seen him in two months, Octavia muttered. She is with him every day with that honey-colored hair and those impossible curves. I sound ridiculous. What is wrong with me?

You’re in love, that’s all, Quintus chuckled.

I’m impatient, she growled with her dark green eyes narrowing like a predator’s. One did not speak of love with Octavia Flavius unless one was brave. Why are we still here?

Synthyya has a plan, Quintus replied.

"How come we never get to have a plan?"

Quintus shrugged. She’s a Wizard. We’re not.

She did apparently come back from the dead, so there’s that, too, Octavia considered.

Marcus must be part of the planning, as well. I trust him, Quintus stated.

I trust him, too.

And you also love him, Quintus teased.

I’m getting some fresh air, she announced, pushing back the flap of the tent before Quintus could see her blushing. Octavia Flavius was being teased about some boy! What has happened to me? she asked as she looked up to the crimson sky.

Octavia knew she was not one to contemplate, but if she were, this would be a good evening for contemplation. The red sky almost pulsated with sublime beauty. It was as if the Golden One had drawn some divine paintbrush from His collection and painted the roof of the world in glorious reds, swirling this way and that. She felt so small and insignificant by comparison. A smile curled her lips for Octavia remembered sitting in front of the Salted Sea when she was a little girl and watching the waves lap the frozen shores of the North. Her father and one of her brothers had been sitting on either side of her and the tang of salt in the air had tickled her nose. Staring out at the dark sea had seemed like staring into infinity and she remembered unconsciously moving closer to her father to seek his protection.

Now her father was old and weak. Octavia had grown into a strong-armed warrior and the infinite beauty of the sky was humbling her as the sea once did. The eternal red sky stretched on and on, and she was just one Human drawing breath beneath its majesty. Under the red sky, she and Quintus were prisoners of the Horsebreakers, waiting for Gwen to recover from some ill-timed sickness. And the Wizard they’d supposed was the Dark Lord seemed on the precipice of victory if the reports of the Morphs and comments from her guards were to be believed. Was there hope under this red sky? Would she be reunited with Marcus, the Wizard who had kissed her? Had Synthyya truly turned back death? Would Gwen recover? And how would the broken beings who made up her circle of friends find a way to defeat dragons and Dark Lords in order to save the world?

The beauty of the sunset seemed to wash away those concerns. Whether it was purple flowers bursting through the snow or a glowing red orb bathing the eternal sky in glorious red, magic abounded in Octavia’s world. Perhaps there was magic in everyday events and tonight’s sunset certainly seemed enchanted. And hopeful. Octavia dared to smile as widely as she could.

A guard sidled over, the stench of horse, liquor, and sweat preceding him. You know what it means, right? he asked.

What are you talking about? Octavia asked tersely.

Red skies at night?

Octavia’s studied silence was meant to end the conversation, but he shook his head and laughed. Stupid Northern girl, don’t you know? Red skies tonight mean blood will be spilled tomorrow.

Octavia sighed. Some people ruined everything.

***

You are still pouting about it after two months? Get past it, Marcus.

"Magister, Marcus began, trying to choose his words correctly. Synthyya smoothed her bright blue hair and arched an eyebrow. We thought you were dead. One does not simply ‘get past’ that."

I left you a note wrapped in my staff, she sniffed.

"Your note said, ‘Not really dead. Will meet up with you by the by’. That was meant to be helpful?"

It was. I promise you that someday you will get the help you so ardently desire, Synthyya said with a smile.

You keep coming and going from the Ruined City. It is hard to pin you down for one conversation, Marcus sputtered.

The world is fracturing, Marcus. Her tone had shifted to somberness.

Marcus noted that no one shifted from playful to mournful as swiftly as Synthyya did. He’d missed that when he’d thought her dead before the ridiculous note Clovis had delivered. Not really dead. Will meet up with you by the by. He rolled his eyes just thinking of it. Only Synthyya...

Are you listening to me, Marcus? Ularriq has broken the Sea People and the Sand People. Harbortown holds out behind their walls, but their will is crumbling. The Elf Queen still holds one dragon and a small remnant of loyal Elves and Rangers. But the rumors say she has gone mad.

Ularriq has nearly cleared the board and yet we stay here instead of rescuing Quintus and Octavia, Marcus fumed. We remain safe behind the magic of this place but we are only one piece away from assembling the bow and arrow. Our enemy has truly become the Dark Lord and still we do nothing. Why?

Perhaps you are doing nothing, Synthyya said sharply. I have been crisscrossing the Realm with the stones, preparing the way for you.

For me, he repeated without emotion.

It is the beginning of the end and you will need to take responsibility for all which is coming to pass. It is dusk and all hope seems to be sliding into the horizon. It is your time, Marcus, son of Sargon. Her voice was almost tender.

For a long time, Marcus stared at the red sky. I will do whatever you ask of me, Synthyya, but I will not be right until I know Quintus and Octavia are safe.

They are safe right now. I am watching them.

They could be safer, he insisted. He regarded Synthyya with her absurdly colored hair. She was unique amongst Wizards in so many ways. Yet his eyes caught the sparkle of a new necklace around her neck. His ears caught the faint jingle of several new bracelets encircling her wrists. Her cloak was expertly embroidered and the precious stones in her rings had been set by a master jeweler. As unique as she might appear, Synthyya was, in some ways, like every other Wizard. He loved and admired her, but Marcus could not trust her—not with something as important as the safety of Quintus and Octavia. He held her gaze for a long time as if to signal this.

She smiled indulgently. I know how you love Quintus and Octavia. But you need not worry about them. Their ‘captivity’ is not what it seems.

Nothing is as it seems with you, Teacher, he observed coldly.

I know that I have frayed the fabric of trust between us and I take the weight of that upon my own shoulders. But you must trust me on this, Marcus. We need a little more time before we try to prevent the sun from sinking into the horizon, Synthyya explained as patiently as she could.

I presume this is a metaphor of sorts.

"Should we fail, discipulus, it will be as if the sun will slide into the sea, never to return. It is that important. See how there is still a slice of the glowing orb showing? She gestured at the sunset. That is where we are in the struggle."

Losing? he asked. She nodded. If it is dusk for us and the sun is descending, shouldn’t that mean we need to rush and not tarry any longer?

Perhaps it is not the right metaphor, she conceded. But the truth of the matter is I want to be sure Gwendolyn is strong enough before we venture from this place and resume the risks.

Marcus threw up his hands. I cannot believe Gwen fell ill at exactly the moment we were riding to save our friends and commence the endgame.

An impish smile emerged on the Wizard woman’s pink lips. You should not believe it, then.

What are you talking about? Marcus asked, shaking his head in frustration. I am only saying that if Gwen hadn’t gotten so sick, we’d be further along in thwarting Ularriq.

Oh dear, Marcus, Synthyya drawled, tapping him with her staff. "You are nearly half a centum old, and still so optimistic. Some would say ‘foolish,’ but I prefer to describe you as the optimist."

Per usual, I have no idea what you mean.

Marcus Marcus Marcus. Gwen didn’t ‘fall ill’ as you termed it, Synthyya explained. Gwen was poisoned.

Chapter 2: The Measure of Bravery

Spaetha, Ularriq bellowed from atop the throne.

Yes, my Lord, she answered meekly. Her head was unsteady beneath the large hat of an Archpriestess and she struggled to bow her head without losing the pointed hat entirely.

Ularriq smiled broadly. All was as it should be. He was sitting in an exquisitely carved chair a full twenty steps above anyone else. Spaetha, the Wizard who had replaced Beatrixx, had reminded him that in classical times, the Overkings and queens sat four steps higher than anyone. He had originally thought that five was more appropriate to his station, but Spaetha noted that Ularriq, son of Kambyses, was no mere Classical Overking. He was now, quite ironically, believed to be the Dark Lord of the Realm. In his spindly fingers, he turned over a gold coin he’d just ordered to be minted: The World is Not Enough read the inscription with the closed eye of the God of Darkness beneath it and his own likeness on the reverse. Gold coins were once inscribed with the Earth Goddess, he mused. The God of Darkness had been relegated to a mere half-copper in the days before Ularriq’s rise. Coinage reflected reality. Twenty steps were appropriate.

What news do you have for me? he asked. He affected the bored tone he presumed a divinely-sanctioned monarch should.

Spaetha went on and on with a long report which seemed to account for every blade of grass in his realm. The Humans had suspended their Charter and saluted Ularriq as Mandator, temporary ruler of their Realm. Morphs were being hunted to extinction. Elves were being enslaved. Wizards shrugged their shoulders and enjoyed the fruits of his reign which had fallen to them. On and on it went. He fell in and out of boredom, perking up when his name was mentioned or a triumph was described. She began to detail the infinite preparations which had begun for the Ars Amatoria Amor Artis.

The Art of Love, the Love of Art, he observed drowsily.

Yes, my Lord, she said cheerfully. As you requested, half of the artists who are competing will be doing so on your behalf. The other half will represent the Archpriests because your Curia no longer includes Archmasters.

And I shall judge the winner at the end of summer?

Who else could judge? she asked.

Indeed, he replied with a grin. Tell me of those who still resist me.

She nodded and Ularriq tried very hard to focus on her voice. It was hard with the new drapery set up in the throne room to ensure the artists could work on their masterpieces without observation. The drapes billowed now and then as people walked behind them and it distracted him. Ularriq tried to ignore the fluttering drapes. Yet Spaetha’s monotone voice kept nudging his attention towards the curtains. She was earnestly trying to answer his question and so he willed himself to listen. A few pockets of resistance continued to agitate, she explained, but it seemed as if the world was mostly resigned to his lordship over it. As it should be, he blurted out from his reverie. Spaetha patiently waited and then resumed her report. Harbortown was under siege and refusing to succumb. The accursed Elf Queen was holed up there with a dragon, which complicated matters, but every day more residents starved to death, so time was not on her side. The former Elf Queen’s support was melting away. Scattered Morphs waged a doomed campaign of sabotage. The holy men and women of Monk’s Point remained neutral. The Horsebreakers were putting together some elaborate game to decide whether to join Ularriq or oppose him.

And on the island of the Ruined City... Spaetha began.

Ularriq’s ears perked up. He suspected that Marcus and his friends were hiding in that cursed city, once the capital of the world. Shielded by ancient magic, they eluded his grasp. And yet he knew they sought an arrowhead somewhere in the Gray Mountains and so perhaps they were trying to slip into his very home. What if they were already in the Wizard’s Realm, that much closer to assembling the one weapon which could kill him? He dropped the golden coin and it clanged onto the marble beneath his throne and cascaded down the twenty stairs, landing at the bottom and spinning around until falling flat. Spaetha did not even look up from the report. She pretended that nothing had occurred. She was, Ularriq conceded, good at that.

Did you say something about Marcus, son of Sargon, Archpriestess? he asked.

I did not, my Lord, but you are so sharp because I was about to, she replied. Rumor holds that Marcus, Gwen, Quintus, Octavia, and Alexia are hiding in the Ruined City, but we cannot confirm.

Why are they hiding there? Shouldn’t they be trying to enter the Gray Mountains? he sputtered.

Our spies have no answer on this report, Spaetha answered. Her left hand subconsciously grabbed at her white cloak. It was a nervous habit Ularriq found tiresome.

Then it’s not much of a report, is it? he thundered. "A report by its very nature seeks to report and you are telling me that those who are paid to report have nothing for me but a suspicion that our most wicked enemies may be in the Ruined City. This is unacceptable. Make it known that I will richly reward anyone with information about the Outcasts."

We have already made that known, my Lord.

Then tell all the world my reward will be even richer! he hissed. We must know where they are and where they are going. Do you understand me?

Yes, Lord.

Yes what?

Yes, Dark Lord.

He smiled. If his enemies were going to portray him as the mythical villain of fairy tales, he would embrace that. What about ‘Dark Lord of Nightmares?’ Do you think that’s too much?

I shall address you by whatever title you wish, Spaetha replied. She had been a fine choice as Archpriestess of Air. Her obsequious nature suited his needs.

Very well. I shall get back to you on that matter. Dismissed. She bowed and turned with her white cloak fluttering ever so slightly while she departed his presence.

Ularriq waited a full minute after Spaetha exited until he got up and walked down the steps to retrieve the coin he had dropped. He grimaced as he stepped down and slightly turned his ankle on one of the stairs. They were steep and his black cloak was long, but Ularriq blamed Marcus for the turned ankle nevertheless. Had he not thought of the half-Wizard, he would never have dropped the coin in the first place.

***

Poisoned?! Marcus exclaimed.

Oh, is that your ‘aghast’ face? Truly, Marcus! Synthyya chided him. She was clearly relishing the moment. It is a bit unbecoming. Here you are, the most powerful Wizard in the Realm, filled with the magic of at least five other Wizards and yet you can be so very dense. Power is not wisdom, is it?

"You are saying that Gwendolyn was poisoned?"

I am saying just that, dear student. You really believed that she inconveniently fell deathly ill just as we headed to the lands of the Horsebreakers to commence our endgame?

When you say it like that, it makes me feel very stupid, Marcus groaned.

You’ll recover from that bruise, she chuckled. It is a good thing I did not actually die for it appears you still have need of my wisdom.

Will you finally tell me how you slipped the snare of death, Synthyya? he asked.

Tut tut, let us focus on one matter at a time. Yes, Marcus, someone clearly poisoned Gwendolyn and that is why she has been so sick.

Who poisoned her? he asked. Synthyya glared at him and he looked at her sheepishly. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?

Yes, but you realized it yourself, so that’s an improvement. Obviously, we don’t know who poisoned her or else I would have incinerated them by now.

Why did you not permit me to use my magic to heal her?

We must be very careful about your intentional use of the dark magic, Marcus. It is why I am grateful you let Julia go to the night sky where she belongs. She paused and looked sad. I am sorry about what happened to her.

He will pay for what he has done, Marcus said coldly.

He will, she agreed. Silence hung between them.

You told everyone Gwen fell sick because you did not wish for the poisoner to realize you knew the truth? Marcus asked.

There’s my student, she beamed.

Which means you suspect the poisoner is close to us?

There is the ‘aghast’ face again, she marveled. "One does not easily poison from afar. I did not poison Gwen and you did not poison her. Correct? It’s not you, is it?" Her bright pink lips peeled away from her teeth in a broad smile.

Of course not, he huffed. Does Gwen know?

That she’s been poisoned? Yes, Marcus, she recognized it right away. She is a bit sharper than you, but she was the one actually poisoned, we won’t credit her too much.

Someone has poisoned Gwen. He let it roll around in his head for a while. We are all in danger. I still don’t know why we have not rescued Octavia and Quintus.

Oh, how you long to hold that fire-haired girl in your arms! This gives me great joy, Marcus, for I have long predicted you and Octavia would end up together. I knew before you knew and you will admit that, will you not? the Wizard woman declared with a smile so broad it threatened to eclipse the room.

Synthyya, Marcus said through clenched teeth, answer my question.

It was not truly a question, she scolded him. Nevertheless, if neither you nor I poisoned Gwen, then the list of potential poisoners is very short indeed. We have to playact that we fear for the Elf’s health, so the culprit does not suspect we are on to her.

Her? Marcus asked.

You vex me when you’re like this, Synthyya lamented with a sigh so pregnant it could birth a litter of discontent.

You think it was one of the Morphs who betrayed us because Alexia and Daphnae were the only two who accompanied us, Marcus said evenly. I do not care for the casual racism of that theory. Morphs betraying their friends is a tired old story.

There is nothing casual or racist about it. Just because they traveled with us does not guarantee it was one of them, Synthyya conceded. But it does make the two of them logical suspects. Tired or not, that is the story.

We both know Alexia is madly in love with Gwen...

Says the Wizard who is madly in love himself! Synthyya interrupted with glee. You know of what you speak.

Marcus deflected her remark. Alexia would never harm Gwen, so she’s a terribly illogical suspect. And Daphnae came to us for protection after Ularriq killed Beatrixx. Gwen advocated for her. Neither of them has motive to kill her.

She paused for a moment and studied him. A fine line of argumentation. Bravo, Marcus, she said, removing her elaborate bejeweled hat and bowing. He was still missing a crucial piece, but she’d let that rest for a moment. It was a subtle and complex poison which was administered to our Gwendolyn. The poison did not seem to be given in a lethal dose, but it may have just served to severely weaken her for the last two months. My question is whether the poisoner sought to murder Gwen and failed or if she merely meant to delay us, which means she succeeded. That would tell us a great deal about what we are dealing with.

Which Morph do you suspect?

Synthyya merely smiled in response.

***

I’m sorry he ruined your moment, Quintus guffawed. I didn’t know you were capable of having a ‘moment’. I thought you Northerners were made of iron.

I wish I were made of iron, Octavia said softly. It would be easier.

You miss Marcus? Quintus asked. She did not respond. He knew the answer and refused to embarrass her by pressing the issue. I miss Gwen, too.

What stops us from simply escaping and returning to those we miss? Octavia asked.

It is not the plan, he said.

I confess that the plan makes no sense to me. Gwen falls ill and thus we have to stay here in captivity?

The hundred tribes of Horsebreakers meet every four years and celebrate with games, Quintus began. Each tribe puts forth its strongest captives. Those captives are put into teams and compete with some pan-tribe decision at stake.

Yes, and the outcome this time is whether they will oppose or resist the Wizard Emperor, Octavia cut him off. Blah, blah, blah. Seems a stupid way to decide something so momentous, but that’s their issue. Why are we mixed up in it?

I sense Synthyya wants us to compete to help tilt the scales in favor of resistance to Ularriq, Quintus said with a shrug.

Aren’t the losers sacrificed after every game?

I believe so.

Lovely.

Octavia untied her long red hair and removed her cloak as she prepared to sleep. Quintus stared for a long time at her and then asked, I’ve never asked, but I’ve always been curious. Why were you whipped?

You can tell where the marks on my back came from, she said with an approving nod. You know your scars, Quintus Agrippa Aureus.

Why did someone whip you? he asked in a gentle voice.

I was stupid.

I doubt that.

I was young and stupid, she replied.

Those two often go together, he said with a smile. And neither is a whippable offense.

That’s where you’re wrong. In my case... she began, but her voice trailed off.

You need not tell me.

The first time Flaminius took me for his pleasure, I thought he was wrong to do that, she said, pausing to swallow. Quintus just looked at her silently with an empathetic gloss to his features. As I said, I was young and stupid. So, I went to his superior officer and reported him.

You were whipped for that.

Breaking the chain of command was the official reason, she explained. It was so ridiculous. Octavia laughed bitterly. I was expected to address it with Flaminius first before going up the chain of command. I suppose I should have said, ‘Pardon me, sir, I did not appreciate what you did to me. Please punish yourself or I will be forced to go to the Colonel.’ The world is disappointing, Quintus.

I am sorry you had to endure that. Everything.

I got less young and less stupid, she observed. Then I met a Wizard who liked me more than most. Flaminius died horribly for his sins, so happy ending and all... She attempted to smile. Quintus thought it was the bravest thing he’d ever seen Octavia do.

Not all stories end so happily, he said with mock-cheer. But our story must.

I respect your attempts at optimism, Quintus, she observed. But we are prisoners, your wife has been obscenely sick for two months, our plan is to risk our lives in some stupid game, and the Dark Lord has pretty much taken over the world while we banter together in this foul-smelling tent. The story is not looking so good, right now, Quintus.

He shrugged. The story’s not over yet, Octavia, is it?

Chapter 3: A Good Day

Aurelia wiped the mixture of sand and sweat from her face with her forearm. It was a vain gesture for the sand and sweat pasted on her forearm did little to relieve the gritty mixture on her face. Her stance was wide and she gripped the metal staff with both hands. Arrows thrummed about her and the screams of the wounded fueled the cacophony of combat. An occasional camel’s groan or some absurd battle cry pierced the sand-wrapped conflict, but all Aurelia could do was focus on the warriors in front of her.

She smashed one in the face with the blunt force of her staff, and then used the other end to sweep the legs out from under another assailant. A third soldier swung his sword, but she blocked the blow and then thrust her foot between his legs. He sank to his knees, doubled over with pain and she drew her long knife and slashed his throat, effortlessly passing the pole to her left hand while ending the man’s life. A crossbow bolt whizzed by her face and another warrior closed on her. Aurelia deftly shattered his kneecap with her staff and backpedaled a little to buy herself time to gulp some sand-encrusted air.

As Aurelia sheathed her knife and filled her lungs with air, she realized that she was doomed. There were simply too many warriors for her dwindling ranks to defeat. Most of her adversaries were clad in the ridiculous black armor of the Wizard Emperor and so she was playing for time, hoping they would roast inside their iron clothing. But even if half of them dropped dead of heat exhaustion, Aurelia and her women were still outnumbered. The Wizard Emperor—who may or may not be the Dark Lord of a hundred terrifying stories—had seemingly broken the Sand People, and their Duchess’s eldest daughter Aurelia was part of a small remnant of resistance scattered about the secret oases and smuggling tunnels of the desert. She had dubbed her resistance The Legion of Defiance in the hopes that her ragtag group would grow into the grandeur of the name.

A curved sword slashed at Aurelia’s bare leg and she cursed while she slammed the butt of her staff into the exposed throat of the sword-wielder. He fell back with his windpipe crushed, one more eliminated in what seemed to be an endless swarm of Humans—nearly all males, she noted bitterly. The Wizard Emperor knew the culture of the Sand People and the gender of her attackers was likely no accident. She dared look back at the defenseless men of her people, cowering with the children while the women tried to keep them safe. So many of her men were already dead. Two dozen Elves had sought refuge with her, invoking guest privilege. She had failed them, too. Maybe one or two still breathed, but most of the small creatures lay on the sand unmoving with faces frozen in hideous death.

At least my mother lives, Aurelia consoled herself. The Duchess was well-hidden and protected. Aurelia might die, but she was determined to kill as many of the Emperor’s troops as she could before succumbing to the inevitable. In this way alone, it would be a good day for Aurelia.

A soldier with an enormous mace swung it at her skull and she blocked it with the staff. But the force of the blow sent reverberations through her arms and the metal staff broke in two. The mace-wielder smiled; his blood intoxicated by imminent victory. He leered at her uncovered body in a way which drove Aurelia to rage hotter than the baking sand which surrounded her. Before he could stop celebrating his victory and return to focus, she had driven one of the sharp ends of her broken staff into his eye. The mace dropped and she jammed the other jagged piece of staff into his side, just where the breastplate ended. Discarding the broken weapon, she drew her knife and finished him, when a voice cut through the maelstrom.

It is over, Aurelia.

If you are surrendering, then it is over, she called back to the voice on her left. Otherwise, you are mistaken.

A tall warrior in immaculate armor strode forward, flanked by two hideous orcs. He held up his hand and all of the Emperor’s warriors ceased fighting and withdrew to his rear. The break gave Aurelia a chance to scan the casualties on her side. Perhaps five or six bloodstained women still lived. All of the Elves entrusted to her were dead. So were the men. There were at least 50 of the enemy, not including the orcs whose red eyes glowed with malice. One orc held a blanket which it slowly unrolled and a fierce woman was unceremoniously dumped onto the coarse sand.

Mother! Aurelia exclaimed when she saw the Duchess look up from the sand.

***

Gwendolyn, Marcus began tenderly. She smiled her sunny smile and the Wizard’s eyes creased ever so slightly. Alexia says you are walking.

Gwen looked around at Synthyya, Daphnae, Alexia, and Marcus. The two Wizards and two Morphs fanned around her sickbed anxiously. I believe that I am close to recovering from my illness, she said as firmly as she could. A glimmer in Synthyya’s violet eyes indicated approval. I am so very sorry I caught this sickness at the worst possible time, my friends.

We do not choose when we get sick, Gwendolyn, Synthyya said. Marcus resisted rolling his eyes at her. He knew well that the charade was for the two Morphs, at least one of whom may have poisoned Gwen.

You know something about sickness, Synthyya, Alexia observed. Surely you owe us a story about how you cheated death itself.

I owe you many stories. That is true, Synthyya deflected.

When will you be well enough to leave this place, Gwendolyn? Daphnae asked.

A good question, Gwen conceded. She drew in a breath and exhaled. Not much longer if the Spirits are with me, but not quite yet.

You must mend, dear Elf, Marcus said. We cannot risk you... His voice trailed off.

I miss Quintus and Octavia and will not be whole until we are all together again, Gwen agreed.

There is also the matter of the Dark Lord swallowing the world, Alexia observed with a lopsided grin.

"And the last survivors of the Custodes, Synthyya added. They no longer walk the right path. We must eliminate them for they cloud the waters with their righteous indignation."

You mean kill them? Daphnae asked. Synthyya studied the Morph for a very long time in response to her question.

"The Custodes have been shorn of their Wizards, Marcus noted. Both Melchior and Beatrixx are dead."

Why did Beatrixx die? Alexia asked.

You would have to ask her murderer, Synthyya replied with a sugary sweet smile.

Regardless, Gwen interrupted, I think it is time we talk about the bow and arrow.

I am sure I can whip something up along those lines, Synthyya offered, her smile never wavering.

You are not baking small cakes, Marcus muttered. What do you mean, Gwen?

Synthyya knows what I mean, the Elf answered in her melodious voice.

Perhaps I do, Synthyya conceded.

The truth about the bow and arrow, Gwen pressed.

What is truth? Synthyya asked and while her smile persisted, her eyes grew sad.

Summer is a time to let in fresh air and the truths which blow with those gentle breezes, Marcus quoted an Elvin proverb.

You promised us an endgame, Synthyya, Gwendolyn added. But it must be an honest one.

Synthyya held her gaze for a moment. Give me a day and I will unleash your truths of summer. But do not complain if they ride fanged winds into our home.

It is always a good day for truth, Alexia observed.

We shall see about that, Synthyya said and she swept from the room.

***

The Human warrior in the immaculate armor reveled at Aurelia whose mouth had dropped open in mute surprise. His orc loomed over Aurelia’s mother, awaiting an order to strike. The Human grinned. Drop your knife, Aurelia. Your half-naked lady warriors can do the same.

The Duchess of the Sand People raised herself from the ground on which she’d been dumped and looked at her captors with undisguised contempt. Don’t do it, Aurelia, she bellowed to her daughter. The orc grabbed her with a clawed hand and the Duchess stared at it contemptuously with her dark eyes.

If you don’t drop your weapons, I will kill her, the commander promised. If you do, I swear I will not kill her.

Aurelia tossed her knife to the side and her warriors discarded all of their weapons, too. The black-clad soldiers gathered them up.

Excellent, the commander said, steepling his hands. And because you wear so little clothing, we can be sure there are no hidden weapons on your persons. His stare turned lewd.

Aurelia’s face was set like granite. What is your name?

Why do you care?

I like to know the names of the men I kill, she replied. It’s a game I play.

You are brave, Aurelia. I will give you that. My name is Pompeius and I am here on behalf of Emperor Ularriq, Dark Lord of the Realm. If your mother, the Duchess of the Sand People, surrenders her lands to his Lordship, I will spare her and all of her remaining people.

Aurelia looked up to the eternal blue sky and saw a dozen eagles circling overhead. She thought it odd because eagles did not travel in groups and she thus presumed it was a sign from the Golden One that she may yet have a good day.

I will not surrender to the likes of you and your monsters, Aurelia’s mother scoffed. Not on this day or any other.

Pompeius nodded and the orc dragged his jagged sword across the Duchess’s throat.

Mother! exclaimed Aurelia. Two of her companions held her from throwing herself unarmed at the orc.

Your mother is dead, so you are now the Duchess of the Sand People, Aurelia. Congratulations. I make the same offer to you that I gave to your predecessor, Pompeius stated simply.

You said that if we gave up our weapons, you would not kill her, Aurelia fumed. You are a man without honor.

You are a woman without understanding, he retorted. I kept my promise. The orc killed her. You should pay better attention. Submit to Emperor Ularriq and tell your people to end their resistance or die as your mother did.

I submit only to the Golden One who rules the sky, Aurelia said piously.

Then you may be the shortest-reigning Duchess in the history of the Sand People, Pompeius replied. He jerked his head and the two orcs advanced.

It had not been a good day, Aurelia concluded.

It seemed likely to get significantly worse, but she could not help but think about the eagles, whose shrieks could be heard for miles. A dust cloud caught her vision on the right and Aurelia wondered if a divinely-sent sandstorm would permit her and her remaining warriors to slip away.

The orcs turned their massive heads towards the storm, as well, muttering in their guttural voices.

It is just a storm, you fools, Pompeius snarled. Advance!

It was a storm of sorts. He was not altogether incorrect. But it was not wind and sand whipped up by the elements. And whether it was divinely-sent was open to interpretation. As the storm drew closer, it was clear that there were wolves and bears running towards the left flank of Pompeius’s force. The eagles at that moment dove down with talons extended.

Aurelia alertly scoured the bodies of the dead for new weapons and her comrades followed her lead. Two of her women fell to the ground in fear when they looked into the orcs’ eyes, but the others stayed strong and clashed with the fearsome monsters. The orc with the jagged sword swung at Aurelia, but she parried it with a sword of her own and then slid on the sand beneath the monster’s legs and popped up behind him—grabbing one of its horns in her left hand as she dragged the blade across his throat with her right. Black blood spurted everywhere and the orc crumbled to the ground.

She saw that the other monster had slain one of her comrades and grievously wounded another, who was on the sand, clutching wounds. The monster advanced on the two who were cowering in fear, affected by his red eyes. Before Aurelia could place herself between the orc and her warriors, an enormous paw came down on the back of the orc’s head. The force was so great that the creature’s skull caved in and it fell into the sand dead.

With the orc’s magic extinguished, the two women lost their uncharacteristic fear and joined the fray. Wolves were tearing limbs off of men, eagles were shredding flesh with talons and beaks, and bears were bludgeoning the Dark Lord’s army with their massive paws. The bear who had killed the orc wrapped his massive paws around Pompeius, whose shrieking abruptly ended when the air was forced from his lungs.

He is mine, Aurelia growled. The bear dropped Pompeius and morphed into a large naked man. He placed a large foot on the chest of the commander.

Why? the Morph asked.

He gave the order to kill my mother, Aurelia explained, gesturing to the corpse of the Duchess. The Morph bowed his head in acquiescence and Aurelia picked up her discarded knife. I told you I would kill you, Pompeius, she whispered to the blubbering soldier. With that, Aurelia thrust her knife into his open mouth until it came out the back of his head. His eyes glazed over in death and she stood up.

I owe you a life debt, she said to the bear Morph. My name is Aurelia.

She is now Duchess of the Sand People, one of her warriors added somberly.

I am Arktos, Chief of the Bear Morphs, he replied. We have met before when you helped to save my people. You owe me no debt, Duchess. I repay the favor to balance the scales.

I am so grateful you were here on this day. The One smiles on us all, Aurelia said.

If there is any One you need to thank, that one is the Elvin cleric, Arktos offered.

A small brown-skinned Elf in a blue cloak awkwardly dismounted from a camel and shuffled towards them.

Aurelia, he said with a bow. My name is Clovis and I have been sent to offer you and your people assistance.

Who do you represent, Clovis? she asked suspiciously.

Synthyya and Marcus, who are currently...

I do not recall those names, Clovis. Who are they?

Clovis thought for a moment. They are Wizards. But perhaps you remember a Sunrise Elf named Gwendolyn?

Aurelia smiled broadly. If you represent her, we are friends, Cleric. I love that little Elf.

***

This is a good day, Ularriq announced. His Curia was smaller, which suited him better. Since he’d banished the Archmasters of the House of Wisdom, only five Wizards joined him in the meetings, which made it easier to manage. He’d dressed it up in the clothing of piety to the gods whereby only the Archpriests would advise him, but in reality, he found it shortened the meetings. Few Wizards had advice worth taking because none had lived as long or seen as much as he had. Eliminating the Archmasters of the elements helped to prune the discussions. The Archpriest of Fire, Kephchu, was a simpering weakling who simply agreed with anything Ularriq said. The Archpriest of Earth, Qushnaar, only sought to pile up wealth and judged decisions solely on how much gold it brought to him personally. The young Archpriestess of Light, Borte, was currently warming Ularriq’s bed and could be easily fooled into thinking this gave her access to power. He’d recently appointed Spaetha the Archpriestess of Air, which caused some degree of scandal for she had not even earned primus at the House of Wisdom. The religious leaders grumbled and stomped, but let him have his way because it was easier. The only person he respected at this table was the Archpriestess of Water, who wisely asked him the question he had been waiting to answer as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the granite.

My Lord, why do you say that? she asked.

An excellent question, Qaidafa, he said, forcing his thin lips into a smile as he regarded the one who had freed him all those years ago. The one he believed to be his secret weapon. The only Wizard in the world who could break Marcus, son of Sargon. You see, so many have failed me in determining the whereabouts of the Outcasts. Spaetha averted her eyes in a way which positively delighted him. But I have not failed myself.

What have you learned, my Emperor? asked the Archpriest of Fire, seeking approval several beats too slowly—as always.

I have learned much, Kephchu. A Morph of unusual abilities has approached me and given to me what all the spies in the Realm could not: information on Marcus, Gwen, Quintus, and Octavia.

Curse them all! the Archpriest of Fire exclaimed.

I also have a report on Synthyya, daughter of Zarina, who lives and breathes, Ularriq noted, almost indifferently.

How can she live? Spaetha asked.

The others muttered amongst themselves in astonishment which he drank in like wine.

It matters not how Synthyya can live, Ularriq answered with an indifferent wave of the hand. It means only that I still have the opportunity to kill her.

What prompted this Morph to grant us this information? Qushnaar asked with narrowed eyes.

I promised her that she could have her heart’s one desire, Ularriq responded. In my vast experience, that always works.

Chapter 4: Plans

Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Gwen asked.

Marcus marveled that the spark which had been missing from her eyes for the last two months had returned. She was more herself today than any previous day since someone had administered poison to the Elf. Alexia still hovered over Gwen protectively. The Wizard noted suspiciously that the last two months had been good to Alexia: she had Gwen all to herself while Quintus remained a prisoner of the Horsebreakers, waiting to play some silly game.

Curious, he muttered to himself.

Both Alexia and Daphnae had assured Marcus that Quintus and Octavia were not being mistreated, but they were prisoners all the same. He was not certain he could trust Synthyya’s plan much longer. And it appeared that one or both Morphs could not be trusted at all.

Marcus? Gwen asked sweetly.

I’m sorry, he chuckled. Lost in my thoughts again.

Wizards have too many thoughts, Alexia observed acidly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. ’Tis a burden, to be sure. Yes, Gwen, I know what I’m