Legend of the Tragik

By Chad L.E McGhie

Not all fires are welcoming.

After decades of war, this had never been more true for the neighboring kingdoms of Tristren and Zemotze. Locked in a tense armistice, there was a promise of a treaty in the air. However, as the Blademage Volgare flees from his enemies, he can see through the wall of deception that clouds the land.

Meanwhile, in the bustling city of Brigandee, the shadow of the weapon known as the Tragik has crept in closer than comfortable. The young man named Hinro Gaskette lives a simple life, expecting little other than to be a soldier like his father before him.

Those expectations are shattered, however, when tragedy awakens a nightmarish power from within . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Sep 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228862338

Chad L.E McGhie

Chad L.E McGhie, also known as Chad W. McGhie, is a diverse and exciting entertainer from Alberta, Canada. A father of five, author, and hip-hop musican, his life is full of adventure and excitement that he only hopes translates into his creative works. Whether you are enjoying his music, attending a performance, or now reading his novels, Chad L.E McGhie aims to please his audiences wherever they may be.You can find Chad L.E McGhie on YouTube, streaming platforms, most social media websites, as well as www.everestingenuity.com.Chad sincerely hopes you enjoy the journey that is Legend of the Tragik, and thanks you for coming along.

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Copyright © 2022 by Chad L.E McGhie

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-6232-1 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-6231-4 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-6233-8 (eBook)

For Nan and Pa.

Thank you for taking us on our first adventures, and for teaching us that family is most important of all.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 - Rumbling Riverbank

Chapter 2 - Heirloom

Chapter 3 - Endarken

Chapter 4 - Specter in the Dark

Chapter 5 - Crystal in the Chest

Chapter 6 - Wisdom and Wariness

Chapter 7 - Rustlings in the Rain

Chapter 8 - Shaded Swords

Chapter 9 - Lord Prince

Chapter 10 - Ripples

Chapter 11 - The Spider and it’s Prey

Chapter 12 - Diamonds and Devilry

Chapter 13 - Prying the Barrel

Chapter 14 - Into Mist

Chapter 15 - Red Rage

Chapter 16 - Slumber and Ice

Chapter 17 - Lineage

Chapter 18 - Circles in the Dark

Chapter 19 - Cold As Stone

Chapter 20 - Awakening

Chapter 21 - Flags in the Fog

Chapter 22 - The Lock Within

Chapter 23 - Disrupt the Waters

Chapter 24 - Power and Peril

Chapter 25 - Partings

Chapter 26 - Hazards in the Highs

Chapter 27 - Broken Walls

Chapter 28 - Unfriendly Lands

Chapter 29 - Of Man and Monster

Chapter 30 - Legend of the Tragik

Epilogue

Characters

About the Author

©Chad W. McGhie/Everest Ingenuity 2021/2022

Map by Adam Drader

Prologue

The wooden shutters did little to soften the wind that battered against the walls of the ageless building, the hinges creaking as the wind swung them back and forth. The cracking stone of the structure towered over the gaping river canyon that led to its steps, a wide, neatly arranged bridge covering its gap. The condensed city that sat across from the great building was nestled in the mist, still asleep in a rainy slumber.

Stopping his walk, a cloaked man adjusted the heavy sword at his belt. Pulling the hood back from the front of his head, the man’s booted footsteps pressed onward passed the trickling of the great round fountain, its chamber opening to the many levels above. Thunder danced across the sky, tapping its toes on the great roofing of the hulking fortress he walked within. With every boom, a shaking roar was sent bellowing through the walls, echoing downwards upon the denizens of the floor. The torches that lined the walls of the massive, gray brick hallways flickered as a low hiss of wind passed through the cracks that formed in the stone window frames over the ages, the story that had eroded them long since deceased.

It was early morning, and most souls would likely still be trying to find sleep in their quarters: cries of children could be heard clattering throughout the hallways, afraid of the thrashing nature that moved about the outside of the secure bricks that sheltered them. The small footsteps of the few servants who were awake at this hour were hurried, overtaken by a sudden urgency that perhaps if they moved their feet at an urgent pace, the storm might pass more swiftly.

Indeed, the Tristren Time Academy was finding itself waking up more anxious than usual. The energy of the place was usually far more bright, memories dancing within the man’s mind of the times he was a child that ran down these very hallways. But now, his aging bones carried him, and the shadow of the chilly morning dawn would be welcome: his purpose had a dark nature, and the knowledge of it, he wished upon no other.

The citizens of the Academy ranged greatly in rank as many different operations were undertaken within it. The main castle hung on a great cliff, overlooking the Ancient Ocean, with the small city to the west, across the gap, housing merchants, soldiers, and farming families. However, most of the business was conducted within the Academy walls, the building attracting many reaches of students, masters, and travelers alike.

His eyes carried beyond the window, far over the hills, the Mountain Gate Town of Hylgrathe rested in a valley, safe in the watch of the great Rathe Mountains that loomed to the north. The Swordsworn Bay gripped its eastern docks, carrying off into the large expanse that the Ancient Ocean commanded. Parym’s Puddle, a lake that could nearly be mistaken for a sea, lay at the heart of the kingdom, surrounded by seemingly endless grasslands and forests to the west that held many towns, creatures, and people alike.

The man’s own home was across those grasslands, tucked away in the deep forest near the southern city of Brigandee. But, the noise of the world had chased him to the furthest reaches of the kingdom, and beyond them, even. A sigh found itself escaping his lungs as longed for the warmth of his own quarters, seemingly so distant…but duty came first.

As it always does.

Hallway clear, it was like a chamber opening before him, and his chain mail clinked lightly as his heavy leather boots met the rock arrangement of the floor. His cloak drooped damply, strapped around his shoulder plates, and as he walked it brushed quietly against his legs. Few wandered the halls, but those that did paid him little heed: his wrinkling face and graying beard was well known to those who had been at the Time Academy for any prolonged length of time.

He paused for a moment, the ringing of the chains upon his chest ceasing with a hum. A breath escaped as a sigh, the sweet smell of vanilla coffee entering his nostrils from the many kitchens throughout the Academy that kept it fed. Onward, he pressed, his own urgency lashing him for taking a moment in selfishness.

If only I had time for such simple pleasures.

With every step, the sun began to pierce the gray clouds. Doors opened as countless people began to awake from a long night’s slumber. Students of all races and origins came to study the vast ways of Time and Space, learning to alter them in magical and scientific ways. There were professors and their Tristren assistants, wizards and their mage apprentices, as well as all other various sorts of servants and volunteers residing within the great walls built by old summoners and Blademages one and the same. One could feel the history contained within the grand architecture’s walls, many a quest and legend passing through them, coming and going like the seasons themselves.

This particular man’s mission, however, led him beyond the great door at the far end of the main corridor of the living chambers, the marble pillars wide and high reaching to the arched ceiling above. The red and gold of the doors opened inward with effort, revealing inside a great chamber that would house the towering libraries of many tombs. A treasure hold of knowledge, containing thousands of legends and tales…some worth telling, and some not.

The roof stood many stories tall, great shelves and ladders lining in columns in an endless sea of ancient information. The man had seen it many times and knew it as the Oarin Library, a vast sea of noted wisdom that held many answers to those who may seek them. The library held other secrets…the man noted the far, dark door at the end of the room, leading to the basement. He was one of the few who knew its purpose, but he kept those complexities buried deeply. Within the library, this time of morning made it dark, the only light coming from a handful of candles and the towering fireplace to the man’s left.

Another slouched figure, almost a generation younger than himself sat in a large but worn desk, spectacles glancing down at the many books that lay scattered across it. He wore a bright jade tunic, his long brown hair tied to a ponytail in the back. His normally clean shaven face was rough, his eyes looking weary. The door shut slowly behind him as he approached.

I was beginning to worry that the enemy had finally taken you, the man wearing spectacles stated, voice rough from many hours of going unused. It echoed across the chamber eerily, only a whisper coming back as it bounced between the shelves. He wore the robes of the Headmaster, and the wisdom that was within his skull was etched across his gaze. The stress, however, was obvious across the man’s forehead, showing in the creases that were beginning to form.

The cloaked man now approached the firelight, removing the hood to reveal his wet, black and gray hair. It was a combination of the storm’s rain and his own sweat, the stench of the road that lingered something long he had grown accustomed to. I apologize, my cousin. I am afraid that I was followed for a short time, and I thought it would be in our best interests to throw them off the trail. They have not been able to find the feet to slit my throat in my sleep yet.

The man in the desk rose, striding towards him, smiling. The weariness in his eyes was evident; he had clearly been waiting all night. He retrieved a bottle and two cups from a table against the wall. It is of no matter: I am just thankful that you have arrived safely. It should not surprise me that Volgare the Blademage would be hunted so openly…especially, given the developments of late.

Brushing a strand of wet hair back, the man called Volgare took the cup that his cousin now offered him gratefully, downing the sweet wine quickly. His cousin’s humor was almost as welcome as the bitter tartness of the drink itself, though his spirits remained depressingly numb. The day grows darker than you know. The Zemotze will move soon, Gustave. They already begin to press the boundaries of their power…the little raids that keep being reported along the northern border are of no coincidence.

The man called Gustave did not respond immediately. He sighed, lowering his head. "Would you swear by those claims? There is more unrest in the world than what we find in our own garden. From what I hear, we are supposedly on the verge of alliance: the King has been in talks for some time now, and his next apparent move involves the Empire in some fashion. The Zemotze dare not oppose them, one would imagine."

Politicians tend to wear masks. You should know that as well as I, Volgare started, motioning for the bottle. Scouts are disappearing. Merchant caravans go missing without being heard from for some time…only for few to return to speak of horrible attacks, and terrible creatures befalling them. Mostly on the fringe villages and farms, and not within cities…the rumors are only increasing in strength. Downing a gulp from the bottle before pouring some more into his cup, Volgare continued, It would be foolish to run to the first light we find in the darkness. Even if we are cold…there are times when flames have risen from smoke in the shadows. Not all fires are welcoming.

If you think that I cannot feel it, or hear the rumors myself, you are mistaken. There was an awkward pause as the flash of a dance of lightning made its way through the window. Gustave drank deep in his own cup before swirling it in his hands. "Evil magic is tainting the Void. I can feel it on the winds, as if they are cursing the nature of it themselves. I have heard the soldiers talk: the people cry of demons slaughtering their animals…their children."

Volgare put the bottle down before speaking again. Anxiety bubbled within his skin as the words formed into his lips. "It is as if our worst fears have surfaced from the soil from which we walk upon. There is no other theory: this is the work of the Tragik. No mere mortal can call upon forces of a demonic nature purely of their own ability. Summoning forces of such a dark nature would take immense power otherwise. Power that not even a squadron of mages could muster."

"You say that I have read too many books. Gustave now refilled his own glass, taking the seat at his desk once more. Magic flowed through the Void around them abundantly, but talk of any supernatural force would make the strongest man uncomfortable. It would be safe to assume that the theory is true, but you will not win any supporters from the King’s council. Many believe the time of magic is long and over: peace, prosperity and economical greatness is the modern dream. And, I fear that it would be far too difficult to face the Zemotze alone."

Any sense of peace from the Zemotze is false, I promise you. Volgare’s heart lowered, but he knew this was to be expected. What they spoke of was the controlling of the Tragik, the very magical weapon that their bloodline had designed nearly a century and a half before. Stolen from them in the previous war through jealousy and greed, the Zemotze had been a difficult neighbor since. No wars were currently being waged, but Volgare had felt like he had been running from his enemies for years: the conflict still continued within the shadows.

The appearance of strange creatures and dark magic were only evidence of it worsening. Volgare’s soul shrunk. "If we do not have the strength to face them with swords, then we have to retake what is ours. There must be a way."

Gustave shook his head, staring at the books before him in frustration. "We are retreading old paths, Volgare. There is no scientific formula, magical or technological otherwise, that provides enough evidence to support the theory that the Tragik could be reclaimed now, even with the most advanced magical apprehending capabilities. You would need hundreds of mages, and you would be fortunate if they were not destroyed in the process. The Void would howl in agony as it would be consumed with an unnatural light."

Like the light that already begins to poison it. A dark look came across Volagre’s face. He and his cousin were of the Blademage bloodline Jemhyne, descendants of Gerathor and Fustave. They were the two men, father and son, that originally designed and created the Tragik: a magical energy that became a physical manifestation, separate from the Void. It was designed to be a great magical device of protection, originally called the ‘Jemini’, to be used by all those who may have needed it.

Diseases that were once thought incurable, had become healed. Wounds that would be fatal would be closed, never to scar. Infection that would bring about slow and painful death would be cleansed. The tale of the Jemini’s work spread, and travelers would appear from far off lands to receive its miraculous powers. For many years, Tristren’s magical prowess increased rapidly for the better of their own, and the legend and glory of Blademages was the envy of the world.

We were once held in higher regard. The Blademages were the sworn protectors of the Royal Family, Gustave had once explained to Volgare. And the duty of guarding the most sacred creation in the realm became of utmost importance. We were the ones that had created it, therefore we were the only ones who could wield it.

But, the defenses of the Blademages faltered, and the Jemini was stolen from Tristren hands. Ever since the Zemotze had somehow been able to capture it, their dark mages had found a way to manipulate its energy for their own purpose. On more than one occasion in their history, Zemotze attempted invasion, using the Jemini for murder and mayhem. But, the Zemotze were reckless and unable to control the weapon they had stolen, and many casualties on both sides had been a result.

Blademages fought to regain control of it, but it was to no avail: the Jemini was lost forever. It was soon used to kill, and the tales and the legend of the Tragik began to grow.

As wars were fought, the Zemotze quickly gained the upper hand, and many Tristren people had died at the hand of the very technology they had created. The Jemhyne family and many of the Blademages died off, battered, beaten, and eventually, disgraced by many of their own people. Now, it was only the Royal Family and the Academy Council that devoted any amount of respect towards them.

Even that was beginning to fade.

"With the chance that we could reclaim it, the Tragik would ruin us if we were to wield it…not even at the minimal rate of growth that you and I both predicted it would have seen by now. When our great grandfather designed it, his intention with it was not that of darkness… Gustave sighed deeply. However, filling it with such immense power was nearsighted. Irresponsible, rest his soul. The Carathaki devices that were meant to contain its energy would simply shatter upon contact with the Tragik, now."

Frustration began to boil within Volgare’s stomach, and he clenched the grip around his glass tighter. He wished to speak, but he only slammed his gloved fist into the nearest shelf, sending the books into a rattling fit. If all his suspicions were true, it would mean that history was bound to repeat itself: the Zemotze would tear through Tristren, using the Tragik to destroy and devastate…and perhaps, even beyond that.

Tristen was still recovering from the previous decades of war, and now, the beast that had bit them was stirring once more.

They are becoming hungry once again.

The two of them stood in the firelight in silence for a while, drinking more wine as the day grew later, rain battering the building around them. With every noise they heard, both of their eyes darted, the anxiety of being pursued by the darkest agents of the Zemotze ruining their sense of calm. None in their family had ever tried to restore the name, until Volgare and Gustave realized that their neighbors to the north were preparing for not only war, but an invasion of their kingdom. While war had plagued the nations before, this time, Tristren would be ill prepared: food and weaponry was in shorter supply than typically. The ignorance of the Zemotze was rising, their will to use their magical flexibility beginning to show.

If we do not stop it… Volgare thought, All of us, and more, will die.

We can combine the minds of many magicians and create defenses, Gustave began to write something down on a piece of parchment. At least provide hope. We learn more of our enemy, and when they truly intend to strike.

Volgare shook his head. Your mages would be burned where they stood. Our soldiers would be slain in the mud of their own blood, and the Zemotze would not stop until a calamity was named after them. We fight a silent, losing war, my young cousin. And, if we do not have the support of the King, we have nothing.

Silence, and another crack of thunder.

Then all hope is lost. The Zemotze will march, with the Tragik in hand. Even if we did regain possession of it, we could never control it through mortal means. It seems what you thought as our only possibility, is in fact an impossibility, Gustave said calmly after a while. We have used a lot of time and resources researching this theory. I dedicate all my free moments outside of my students to it.

This I know, Gustave, and I am forever grateful for your sacrifices. Volgare replied in earnest. There was a time he truly believed there to be a method of controlling or converting the Tragik back into its rightful hands. But, Gustave was correct: based on what they had seen, it had become far too powerful. We must remain sturdy. I believe that our answer will not unfold itself until it is ready. We can only instill more patience, as painful as it can be to endure.

Gustave nodded once. And what of your pursuers?

They are disposed of…for now. These Zemotze spies are getting rather sloppy. Volgare replied. A hollow feeling in his stomach made him regret that word, however. Something in the back of his conscience edged him forward. But yet…I cannot linger too long. I fear it is dangerous even for me to be here now - my next move is to return to Crossingwind, and plead our case once more. I will come and report once more whenever that is complete.

Gustave stood, blowing out the candles on the desk. Very well. I will adapt some different techniques to some of the formulas I have been experimenting with, he glanced over to the dark door in the shadows, then cleared his throat. The amount of magical output one person would need to control the Tragik, however, would far exceed one’s physical ability to handle the channeling of it. That is the prevalent rule that has been consistent to this very point, through the very edges of our most advanced magic and technology.

Volgare raised a finger to his lip, entertaining some sort of progressive thought. History was riddled with many answers and instruments if they were sought after. There are relics and runes that we could obtain…there are not enough Carathaki Crystals left to be able to control it. There are still other races in the world…some are more capable in magic than ourselves. Our own defeats have taught us that much, he quickly refilled his cup, downing it as quickly as the vessel was wet, I know that there is a path to be found. We just have to remain persistent with our efforts.

Gustave breathed, and shook his head, though his frustration would not be brought into his words. I will look at some possibilities, though I must admit my own mental threshold is weary. For now, it is agreed: I shall await your return once again, and let us pray that bloodshed does not draw us together sooner.

Rain continued to pound the brightening streets as Volgare reemerged back onto them. The deep canyon to either side of him made him feel dizzy as the wine made his senses vibrate, but the early morning buzz made him warm all the same. The tall gates of the Time Academy closing with a great swinging clank behind him, he pressed forward through the rapidly crowding streets and increasingly damp people.

The conversation was short, as it was expected to be. Meetings between Gustave and himself were always brief, as time was very quickly moving against them. He could not help but shake the feeling of a growing darkness that was beginning to creep ever so slowly over the Rathe Mountains. A more hurried pace found itself within Volgare’s feet, the grainy road before him as wet footsteps cobbled him forward.

As he passed the gates, the Blademage saw that city life had erupted. Despite the rain, many people moved about the various houses, shops, and stands. A group of children giggled as they ran through a puddle, and a cat meowed from underneath a cart. The area was known well for its fishing and mining trades, and it was evident across the city as fishermen moved about, and craftsmen bartering with smithies about their loads. Volgare smiled, envying the simplicity of it all. His own desire to be a simple man had to be smothered a long time before, fading to a lingering memory.

When war comes knocking, even simple men have little peace.

Focus returning, he found himself of little attention to the people beginning to go about their daily work, the tall outer gates leading to the west appearing before him. Walking through them, the soldiers gave him a nod, and the stone pathway gave way unto the rolling grasslands that unfolded far southwest. Beyond the hills, trees, and waters lay his home, tucked away in the ancient forest that consumed a large artery of the Tristren countryside.

Glancing over his shoulder, he made his way to the stable houses where his horse would be. A well-kept yard met his stride, and the stable house ahead rose high, the bricks almost forming into the wall of the city behind it. The barn was to the right of it, smoke rising from the chimney. The front yard was fenced, and around back the trail led to the barn where one could take his horse inside and out.

Volgare put his hand on the wooden latch for the gate, opening it slowly. After a few steps towards the stable house, he noticed that the cows and other horses were strangely on edge, as if they had been agitated and made fearful by an unfamiliar presence. While he had arrived in the night, he had not been in the city for very long, and if the animals of this stable house were ones that speak, they would be able to call Volgare by name. No unfamiliar energy would exist between them, as he frequented this particular stable house often.

Perhaps, he now realized, that the frequency of his visits had been a mistake.

The old Blademage’s next move was not as swift as he intended: age was beginning to catch up to him, and he nearly tripped as he lowered himself to the ground. He pondered if he was just increasingly paranoid, but nevertheless he strode forward with his fingertips on the hilt of the long sword at his left side. There were no other signs of disturbance, but the enemies that he expected moved with far more cunning than the typical soldier or mercenary. Slowly, he crept up the wooden step towards the door, keeping his eyes on the windows. His hand remained unmoved from the handle, hanging anxiously at his left side as he slid across the slick dirt quietly. The instincts within told him that there was an ambush waiting for him.

Then, reaching out a hand, Volgare knocked on the door. Hello! I have returned for my horse now, I was hoping to gain a little help with the lock?

There was no immediate movement or sound. The only noises were the falling droplets of the rain striking the ground, another clap of thunder booming off into the bay.

Volgare raised his hand to the door once again, but this time it opened slowly. The young stable boy appeared, dirty face and brown hair accompanying bright eyes and a normally glowing smile. But now, his face was pale, the boy’s brow covered in sweat.

Well is that not grand timing. Volgare thought to himself. He lowered his stance, giving the boy a concerned nod. Where is your father, boy?

Hesitating, the young boy turned, and grabbed his own coat off of a chair. He was trembling, and he swallowed as the fear was visible in his posture. I have been instructed to bring you to your horse.

Volgare did not say anything, only nodding. His eyes darted to every corner and shadow, now. He had to tread carefully, as the boy’s family was now in immediate danger.

The rain had lessened to more of a drizzle, the clouds beginning to break overhead. The animals gave a whimper as the boy walked by them, but he paid them no heed. He led the way to the barn, made of straw and wood planks that leaned to one side. Opening the small door at the side, the boy shook and chattered as he walked through the doorway.

Volgare stopped, peering inside the dark building. He breathed rapidly, quickly calling into his mind the different words he would need to unleash his magic from the deepness where it came from. The air in the room was incredibly heavy, the energy tense as a bowstring.

Then, the lurch of the universe linking to his senses snapped alive, and the Void opened unto him. He could feel the elements dance at his fingertips, hoping to be born into material existence. The twinkling black that surrounded their worlds, and all words, became within his vision, and the rush of the light running through his veins made his heart race. The tingle of magic was always enticing, but his patience would have to remain. It sat there in his senses, trickling and waiting like a patient stream waiting to break over a cracking dam.

He could also now feel the forces of life beyond the walls. The presence of many individuals inside of the barn prodding at the elements around them came rushing to his sight. Letting out a breath, he let his focus recollect itself.

Ducking inside, the Blademage unsheathed his sword as he stood to face the first of the captors. His blade was upon the chest of a large man, towering over him with a great axe in his right hand. He was Themplarian, the dark skin, slightly pointed ears, and light hair were the tell tales of this.

The large man only grinned as Volgare heard the movement in his ears, and he was apprehended from behind. He did not struggle, as he was gathering everything that was happening in the room. There was a light, coming from a mage, Volgare guessed, and his eyes adjusted to see the figures around the room.

There were six of the Zemotze assassins in immediate view, with more in the shadows, standing in a circular formation facing the entrance of the barn. Each of them in the immediate light were standing with a member of the stable family, all with a dagger to the throat. The ropes on Volgare’s wrists were tightened as he was thrown to the ground.

He coughed, spitting the dust from his mouth. The impact was harder on his aging bones than expected, though he forced himself to rise.

You have been able to avoid us for some time now, Volgare Jemhyne, a cold voice started in the dark. For that I must applaud you. You have shown great skill in evading the soldiers, captains, mages, and mercenaries alike. But now, it seems that you have finally made a mistake. And those are costly to the prey of the hunters.

In Volgare’s own mind, he knew he had grown more careless than he should have become. He hoped they had no knowledge of Gustave’s existence, and that would be vital if he were to lose his life this day. But no words escaped his mouth, not even a trickle of fear coming into his heart or mind.

One of Tristren’s last, great Blademages, the voice emerged from behind a shadow, coming into the light. He was tall, wearing dark, elegant robes, silvery hair shining behind him. His eyes almost seemed to glow, ears pointed backwards, signaling him as an elf of sorts, but Volgare could not tell which tribe. Seemingly, always trying to become an obstacle for our particular goals and ambitions.

Volgare’s anger began to rise. King Hilsane had always worked closely with Zemotze Royalty to try and ensure peace, but these warriors of the Zemotze in the shadows could only prove that they were leading towards an expansionist goal. It would appear that the Queen is desperate, given her quality of hire has increased. What business does an elf have with the Zemotze?

The elf grinned, shrugging. "You humans come with all sorts of trickery. Elves are no different - I am a lover of riches, but an even larger admirer of strength. To you, it seems that the Zemotze are merely power hungry. But, their mission is to establish dominance in the world that is supposed to be in place…it seems necessary, no? The world is weak, Volgare, and the Zemotze only seek to make it stronger. The time of Tristren is over. Your armies, your monarchy…and even your weapons have fallen to them."

Volgare tried to pull himself free, but was surprised to have a shock of lightning run through him as he did. The sting lasted for merely a second, but it was strong. He breathed slowly to relieve the pain.

A laugh came now from the cold voice. He knelt down beside Volgare, his breath becoming profound to the ear. You tell me where the rest of your bloodline lives, and you may just be fortunate enough to leave this barn once again.

I am the last, Volgare replied, voice raspy now.

A foot met his stomach, and the earth met his face once again. Deceit will only bring death – not like that is avoidable in the broad picture. Even now, my master’s army marches south through your lands. It is already over, Volgare.

Swallowing, Volgare only breathed heavily, praying that the assassin’s words were false.

Leaning so close Volgare could smell his breath, the elf whispered. "We can end this peacefully…you could put your bloodline to a well placed, and even applauded...use."

This had his curiosity piqued, but sorrow filled Volgare’s heart more rapidly than his wonder. An army moving within Tristren land would mean that he and Gustave had been too late, and the war was already in motion: their greatest fears were already being realized.

The Zemotze seeking him for a use, however, provided evidence for a theory that the great magical weapon, the Tragik, was out of their control as well.

Perhaps, there was still hope. He straightened his posture, hoping to obtain a little more information. I could not fathom a service that would prove to be considered beneficial to you or your people. I thought elves were masters of magic?

Your assumptions only continue to make you look foolish. My orders are only orders, I am afraid. I know very little of the nature of them, only that I follow them without question. I have a reputation to uphold. the elf in Zemotze armor rose, and looked at the wife of the stable owner. She was beautiful, fair with blue eyes and dark. curling hair. He approached, placing the cold plate of his gauntlet on her cheek. If your thoughts do not move a little more willingly, I will be forced to take drastic measures. Perhaps drawing a little blood would persuade your mind a little more swiftly.

Volgare would have to strike soon. Disarmed, he had his magic, but his magic was what he had been known for, after all. He would still have to play this game by their rules…momentarily.

What would you have me do?

The Zemotze elf turned once again, this time gripping Volgare by the jaw. The pain was intense, Volgare only swallowing as the man spoke into his ear. "Oh, I’m sure the Prince will have his uses for you. But for now, you need to tell me where the rest of your bloodline is hiding so that they may be employed in a similar manner."

The Prince. That confirmed one of his suspicions: the young Zemotze heir was behind much of the madness, becoming more lustful of power with every turning of the sun. But, he had little time to speculate. A smack came across his cheek, and he winced in pain as the elf captain glared at him. "If you do not talk, she will lose limbs. Tell me, where is a comfortable place for you to sit down and watch?"

Words began to form in Volgare’s head, and the green of jungle vines began to fill every speckle of his existence. Targeting those holding daggers, he could feel the energy build within his soul, begging to be released as it howled at the cross between universal boundaries. Volgare’s reply was like an echoing whisper, thundering across the plane of mortality that shook the barn, the very earth vibrating with his words: The ground.

The elf, and all the men gave him a puzzled look. But before they could blink, stone and brick were sent flying as vines shot from the ground as if pressurized in a trap. Thick as spears, they pierced the intruders upwards into the ceiling and walls. Cries of terror and agony filled the room, and the stable family was shoved safely from harm’s reach as their captors fell to the floor, vines snapping around like whips.

Volgare reached for his sword as he stood, the only enemy remaining being the elf leader before him. The elf cursed, and lunged forward with his own sword raised high. Clearly, he is quicker with his words than with his blade.

A flash of sparks rained down as steel met steel, and the eyes of the elf were wide in terror. You are already too late. Even if I die, others will follow me.

He is overpowered. Volgare nodded, spitting the saliva from his mouth. I will watch them come gratefully, my friend. I will send my regards with them to the other side.

The elf opened his mouth, raising his sword for an attack. But a blast of magical, blazing energy burned through him into the wall behind him as the words came from Volgare’s lips faster. The lifeless elf slumped to the ground, crimson pooling around his lips and cape.

Volgare exhaled, sheathing his sword. He heard cries outside, signaling that there would be reinforcements. He turned to the family, their scared faces turned towards the bleeding men around them. I greatly thank you for your service and care of my horse. Please, run for the Time Academy. Make haste!

Without much hesitation, they gathered themselves and hurried out of the door, the gray haired father bowing in thanks. The door wavered as the wind and rain from outside tried to sneak its way through the crack.

Volgare made his way to the other side of the room, reaching for the door that would lead to the horses. He was thankful to still find his horse bound, but sneaking past the other Zemotze soldiers would be impossible. The Time Academy soldiers would merely think them nothing more than thieves. But that mattered little, as Volgare had a new purpose now…one more urgent than he had ever imagined before.

With a great rushing leap, the Blademage mounted the horse, and in one motion, Volgare and the animal burst through the door into the open field. The rain met his flesh once again, and the rush of arrows whizzing by his head were not far behind as his horses’ hooves met mud, increasing in speed. He galloped for some time, heading southwest into the forest nearby.

His paint horse began to veer as it pressed harder, the rain feeling like daggers as the wind rushed into Volgare’s eyes. The image of Zemotze flags crossing the land somewhere ahead of him came into his imagination, and anxiety trembled in his limbs. Cursing, he dug his heels into the sides a little harder.

A cry from behind had him looking back, he saw the approaching figure of mounted pursuers. They were disguised as bandits, just as Volgare had guessed. Turning forward, he did not look back again.

The King would have to wait.

Chapter One

Rumbling Riverbank

One would scarcely be able to take notice of anything particularly wrong with the day in the small city called Brigandee. As birds chirped in the late summer sun, a steady but calm breeze rocked the branches in leaves in a rhythmic motion as a set of wandering eyes admired them. Deep, aqua eyes returned the leaves’ stare, and a youthful smile flashed between the glimmer of day.

As the young man quietly walked down the streets, the sound of gravel cracking under his boots echoed into the immediate distance around him, the warm earth greeting his senses as he passed. Older brick houses occupied much of the city’s core, cozy and quiet, white smoke rising from the blacksmiths, the bakeries, other various shops, and of course the tall, wood log inns and taverns that were present every few blocks. Around the outskirts, new houses were being built, some smaller, with more elaborate estates beginning to hug the hills.

Farmland with various crops and animals scattered the outskirts and perimeter, and just over the western horizon, the young man knew that to be where the ocean would bellow, the deep river valley flowing outwards towards it. He had been there once, though his mind could only hope that he would see it laying upon the earth like a blanket once again.

To the south, the deep blue tops of the Thorn mountain range lay endlessly far, but their great, towering, peaks caressed the horizon like the sunlight in a midsummer dawn. They rode the shore of the ocean to the south further, and beyond their slopes would reside the Lhordon Empire, an advanced nation of people whose dealings only involved the advancement of their own cause. Minus the seldom trading, they bothered anyone else very little.

People in Brigandee tended to their day to day business as usual: farmers bartered and bickered. Tradesmen hammered and hollered as they worked. Caravans dotted every dip, many with weathered wheels and broken boards. But some were outfitted with elaborate dressings and ornaments that would come from as far as the Empire.

Being far in the deep south west of Tristren, Brigandee had become a central hub for trade for the lands beyond the kingdom. Streets were crowded with busy citizens and merchants, soldiers patrolling the streets, children tending to their games and chores…the locals agreed that it was a more bustling and busier time that centuries passed. Today was no exception, as preparations for the approaching winter were already underway.

It was a beautiful day, although it was almost odd for the particular time of year. Fall was peaking around the edge of the wall, the bitter rains and frost following in its wake, but the sun shone resiliently this afternoon. Snow was a common thing in the winters, and as of late, the promise of it had been too familiar. On this day, it was warmer than it had been in the previous week.

For that, the young man of seventeen summers was thankful.

He began to hum a tune as he strode on, any care or anxiety he carried drifting off like a weightless feather. The day’s lessons replayed in his mind as his legs carried him: he was a cadet training to become a knight, much like most of the young men in his age group. Muscles sore from the day’s work, he still felt loose and refreshed. He felt free as the winds brushed his tanned face, losing any straying feelings of pain and suffering from his thoughts, as there was little to bare to begin with. Wiggling apart from existence itself, his mind was as of a dreamer being carried off into some plane of deep thought. Scanning the rolling plains before him as he reached the crest of a hill, his piercing eyes examined the fields that surrounded the city with an appreciation that could only come from home.

As he continued, the Academy of Brigandee stood tall behind him like a castle, making up a part of the duke’s estate. Overlooking much of the city below it, it gave the city an intimidating presence, constructed long before the city even found its name. The building was indeed old, and ill equipped for the city’s present population, the years of wear and weariness beginning to show within the structure’s bricks.

To the east, the image was not as inviting: standing in the shadow of the land, there were the looming trees of the great wood that covered the land for miles upon miles. All the children were afraid to go into there, and the darkness that seemed to glow from the forest gave hint that the warning was perhaps more than a mere fantasy. Turning his head, not normally one to fear the woods, the young man only grinned once more.

One has to be thankful for days such as these.

As the wind continued to ruffle his waving blonde hair that came just an inch from his ear lobes, the breeze felt warmer. Indeed, walking from the Academy, enjoying the beautiful scenery of the trees and shrubs of the various gardens brought relief to the day’s weariness.

But, as many pleasant things do find their ends, as did the young man’s serene pondering. Hinro! A familiar girl’s voice behind him called, Wait up! You are going too fast!

Looking over his back, the young man called Hinro turned to find his younger sister Amy jogging with her large book bag swaying. He stopped and closed his eyes, and sighed. He had forgotten about her…for the third time that week.

Curse my memory, Hinro replied apologetically, shaking his head, turning. Forgive me, sister. My caution deserves more attention.

Amy’s face turned to a scold, eyes flaring with typical adolescent girl rage. A fist met Hinro’s shoulder, and he rubbed it gently as he winced at his sister’s scowl. "Far more worried about the eyes of other girls than the safety of your own sister. And you wonder why Mother tears into you as often as she does."

Typically, she walked alone - the dark rumors of late had changed that, however, hence his lapse in memory. Although she was younger than Hinro, Amy was a sociable girl, outspoken and headstrong. Despite her kindness, she was far more confident, and not afraid to act upon it: intelligent like their mother, she was quick to call upon the mistakes of others. The swirling news of strange attacks to the north had made fear creep into the sturdiest of minds, however, and the anxiety upon her own face was evident.

And for that, Hinro was truly regretful. He could be just as fiery, yet he was the calmer of the two. He nodded once. "I have nothing but faith in you, my dear sister, but do forgive me. I should be more mindful of your fears in darker times. Come now, I promise I will be more watchful."

This seemed to calm her spirits, and the siblings continued on now at a more controlled pace. After a while, it was as if another page of peace was found, and Hinro watched his sister smile off into the sunshine. As much as he tried to hang onto these days, Hinro was watching them fade by quickly. She has nearly grown up.

Amy was two and a half years younger than Hinro, the similar features of siblings shared between them: the long, flowing, golden blonde hair made her bright, red robes shine. Her deep hazel eyes gleamed with life, flashing as if a stream was flowing under a late night’s moon.

I have heard that you make the other apprentices envious. Your training goes well, then? Hinro asked, curious about his sister’s progression. His confidence had been well placed, and after years of watching over her, her abilities had truly come into form.

Amy nodded once in reply, ignoring her brother’s compliment. As well as it can. Many of the students have a positive attitude, though I must admit even the elder wizards seem distracted. Our studies…vary in focus overall.

Her intelligence showed through quite obviously and often, and Hinro knew that the wariness of her instructors was shared among his own. He only sighed, keeping any further sign of uneasiness hidden from her to the best of his abilities.

Whispers of demons and darkness make the hardest of skins crawl, after all.

There were two divisions of the Brigandee Academy, making up the schools in which children could attend; they were smaller than some of the other training facilities within the kingdom, but they were renowned for the students it produced. One side was to train a great majority of the children in the city in swordsmanship and other melee weapons, and the other was to train those with special talents and turn them into mages, alchemists, writers, and other arrays of intellectual ranks. Often children started their training at age ten, some beginning earlier, though rarely, later admissions were made depending on rank, skill, and circumstance.

Amy was a young magician in training, as she showed a fascination for nature and magic at an early age. By seven summers, she was healing insects and tending to community animals and livestock. By ten summers, she was mending wounds and minor ailments in students and the elderly. Being of fourteen summers now, She was one of the rare ones allowed into the Academy early, and yet, she had more practical application in her methods than unproven theory.

There were a few other children who were accepted at the time of Amy’s own, but Hinro’s own age had made up far more of the common soldier type. Many of the children in the village were destined for simpler tasks, as that was the way things had been for many generations. This rule was only excluded for those of noble blood, as they were to be made into officers, instructors, and great mages. Commoners were plentiful, but nobles had found little interest in living among the others within Brigandee, keeping their estates further outside its boundaries.

Hinro kept his pace up, though he turned to see Amy falling behind once again, struggling with her outfit in the heat. I think you should go for a jog more often, Hinro said, laughing, You are getting slower by the day.

Amy leered back. "I am a mage, not a warrior. We are not exactly required to be as physically fit as a giant, unlike some unintelligent goon."

Hinro chuckled again, though his tone went a little serious with some added thought. Though in the heat of battle, physical prowess is needed. The goon you refer to just might save your life if it came to battles among blades.

Amy said nothing, only shaking her head as the pace of her walk increased. Perhaps it may have been a lighter comment if the threat of turmoil was not looming overhead, so a new silence was found among the pair as the sun continued to set on their backs. The peace and tranquility that had been taken for granted within the small city was threatened by a strange stench, like the subtle smell of a spice whose location could not be rightly pinpointed.

And yet, life had to continue.

Rounding the last corner, they finally began to climb up the steep hill that would take them to their home, skipping by the other houses in their small, crowded neighborhood. Many young adults their age were doing much of the same thing, finding their way back to their places of comfort after a long day of training. They waved to the few they knew, acknowledged the acquaintances, and kindly greeted those they did not know.

The sun would still be shining for some time, and supper would not yet be ready for them. Before turning onto the street that would lead towards their house, they decided to go stroll down by the river, as many would be attempting to claim the last of summer that they could. Even in the afternoon, the streets were still oddly crowded, likely due to similar reasons: warm seasons drawing to a close always meant everyone was stocking up for the colder months ahead.

And what would two youngin’s like you be wandering around at this hour, hmm? Wallace, the friendly blacksmith greeted as they walked past, his jolly, dark bearded face accompanying a wide, half toothed grin. His large frame moved behind his counter, making his small wood shack shake.

Hinro smiled, chuckling. Do not fret or worry about us, Wallace. You should be at home getting ready for supper with your children. Still working too hard, I see?

Aye, you know me too well boy! Wallace laughed, winking at Hinro. He had been the friendly blacksmith in town for years, and he continued, looking towards the piece of steel he was hammering. Your next sharpen is on me, lad. Your father has done great things for the city, not to mention the kingdom.

Hinro’s pride for his father was immense, and comments such as these were common. Their family was far from nobility, yet still revered and respected among the ranks and Academy officials. He nodded in acknowledgment. I thank you, Wallace. I will pass those kind words to him as soon as I get the chance. He has always admired your work.

Wallace grinned, leaning his head slightly. Hmph. He has a good enough hammer arm himself to put me out of my own business. I will take the compliment nonetheless. It has been a while since your father has been back, has it not?

Hinro’s smile faded slightly, lowering his head. He has been on a long mission to the mountains. He will return soon, I am certain.

Wallace’s eyes darkened momentarily, but then brightened once more. He raised a sturdy and kind young man to follow in his footsteps. He should be proud. Run along now, enjoy your splash – but, do not keep your poor mother waiting too long, you hear?

Hinro waved, and he and Amy kept on walking, saying goodbye as they faded away from Wallace’s view. Amy’s face was visibly shaken at the mention of their father, but she kept her pace regardless. Hinro sighed, knowing all too well how the lack of his presence had affected her.

The pathway to the river was less populated as it sloped down towards the deep valley in which it was contained, narrowing as it dived to the west of the city. Great sand banks and trees covered its slope, the steep climbing conditions indicating a great ancient waterway that ran through it at one time long before.

Hinro was sure of his footing, bouncing about lightly while keeping his weight with the gravity. The weathered path had been carved into the valley side quite deeply over the years, but one still had to use caution as it was narrow and a steep roll onto the rocks below. He pushed a log that had fallen onto the path out of the way so his sister could pass, and soon the noises of splashing water and laughter filled their ears.

As expected, the river was busy, filled with young people of all ages. The youngest cadets were swimming in the shallower parts of the rocky, wide river, splashing the greenish blue water about as it glistened in the air. The older girls of the academy sat in the shade, conversing of their favorite knights and of royal dreams. Another group of boys the same age as them competed for their attention (no matter how uninterested the girls had seemed to be), playing stick hockey as they violently bashed into each other, the dust swirling about their feet.

Amy ran off as soon as she saw a group of her own friends gossiping by the side of the river, dipping their toes in. Do not stray too far! Hinro raised his hand, though it was to no avail. He sighed, and turned, examining the grounds himself.

Before too long, he caught sight of a lumbering, large figure jogging towards him, brown vest and pants flailing in the wind as his body rolled along. It was not as if he were a bad looking young man, with golden brown hair and a fairly muscular build underneath the layer of fat. He was tall, with a devastating melee power nearly unmatched in the academy. His bright, hazel eyes lit up as he stopped just before Hinro.

Hinro raised his hand and put it on the large panting boy’s shoulder. I figured out of all people, you would be the last to resist the river on a day like this.

The young man named Jenry wiped his brow, and swallowed. There was a distressed look on his face now, as if he had been betrayed. This is the last bit of summer. I hurried as fast as I could to get here – within a week, the snow could be on the ground.

Hinro’s heart sank now, as he realized that his friend was correct. Summer would soon be ending, and cooler days would be upon them.

I wandered the streets for a while but I figured that you would be here already. Jenry was physically frustrated, panting and wiping the sweat from his brow. I thought we were supposed to meet by the fountain.

Hinro scratched his head, and squinted his eyes as he looked around. They had talked about that earlier, but it somehow slipped his mind as well. My memory has not been serving me the best as of late.

His friend’s eyes darkened, but then only a grin flashed across his face as he swatted Hinro on the back. Hinro stammered back from the force of the hit, chuckling himself before they wandered towards the water.

Jenry’s strength was admirable, and his intelligence was also nothing to take lightly. He was a noble, although a lesser family, and known for their kindness and generosity to the general population. Hinro had helped Jenry get out of difficult situations in class, and Jenry did likewise by helping Hinro in certain…altercations. They had become unlikely friends within the Academy, and beyond its walls.

The larger young man took a swig of his water flask before removing his tunic, looking around at the water himself. The dipping sun cast a golden light across the young man’s round face. There are more here than I expected. Higher ranked nobles, even.

He had already noticed many of them, standing off in their own circle as they sneered at everyone else, but Hinro had already made the choice to pay them little heed. We will just mind our own business as we normally do, Jenry.

Jenry looked at him sideways, but then his eyes snapped open with excitement. Speaking of business, you are still attending my birthday party tomorrow night, correct?

Hinro nodded. Of course. I would not miss it for all the magic in the moons. Though I do suggest you stray away from drinking the majority of a keg of ale before the meal begins!

The noble boy gave a deep chuckle of his own. I cannot promise that my composure will be any different than last year.

Laughing, Hinro remembered all too well the happenings of most of his large friend’s events and gatherings. Jenry was the subject, and very much the life of his own parties. But then, Hinro’s thoughts strayed as he became distracted: his body reacted, turning his head to see the beautiful girl that approached him.

Stunning, long brown hair accompanying green eyes and a near perfect figure made her way towards him, a long elegant light blue dress complimenting her darkened, tanned skin. She was Nadily Malenray, another one of the friendlier noble students among the Academy. She had taken a liking to Hinro, for whatever reason was his guess.

Her blonde friend, Maril, accompanied her. Born of the house Xandis, she was just as beautiful, though her skin was lighter and seemed to have a sparkle to it. However, Hinro had similar desires that Nadily had felt for him, though neither were that open of sharing them. As they drew