The Xa'igoi Saga, Novel Two: The Last of the Lionhearted

By Jonathan D. Wilson

In the nightly sky burns a star afire, and the two moons overhead eerily remain veiled in darkness, while the third moon reigns from the heavens-dipped in the color of blood. Such an ominous sky heralds the coming birth of the last Xa'igoi.

The world is changing forever, and from the ancient citadel of Amturis, chaos comes. Uun

• Language: English
• Publisher: Go To Publish
• Release date: Dec 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781647497781

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks to the people in the Huckins Writers Guild, and to all my other friends and family, who helped and encouraged me across this great journey.

And many thanks also go to the beta-reader cadre: Ian, MarGene, Brett, Cindy, Logan, Bryan, Houston, and Jacqueline, and to the many others who enjoyed the adventures across Lacreena and who look forward to more.

Also, special thanks and acknowledgment goes to James Anthony Tupas for the hard work and creativity in drawing the cover art.

And to Jake Nikko Abarquez for his patience and vision in creating the interior maps.

PART ONE

THE SORCERER’S TOWER

1

THE SOUL-SPIRIT

UUNDETHAR THE SORCERER admired the wispy mists that rolled down from the western front of the Wosvar Mountains, blanketing Amturis with an eerie fog that covered everything with a creepy whiteness. It seemed to possess the power of death itself: tainted, demented, ghastly, and able to seep itself into anything it touched. It hovered mysteriously over the cold, damp ground. Its grim smell choked the life out of anything it touched.

No bird, great or small dared to fly into the thundering storm clouds above Amturis, other than a few dragons that soared fearlessly through the storm. All around them was lightning that forked and flashed throughout the dark grey thunderclouds and the booming dispersions of thunder that echoed through the heavens.

In the ages since Ashnaharn had given Amturis over to the Sorcerer, Uundethar had greatly increased its defenses by adding garrisons of troops and constructing a thick wall that had numerous towers that encircled the spire. Between this wall and the spire itself, was a clearing of paved tiles and an orchard of dead, leafless trees that gave Amturis an added haunting image of gloom.

Although Uundethar had obtained the fortress from Ashnaharn, he and most people of Lacreena perceived that Ashnaharn had perished in the Battle of Jordaan. In all eyes, this officially ended the Omen Curse forever, leaving Uundethar alone and vulnerable, but there was still no one to limit his dangerous ambitions.

Though the Dark Lord was dead, none could discount Ashnaharn’s lingering evil presence. The power of evil that remained still managed to corrupt creation with wickedness that was as strong as it had been in the days of old. Over time, it became widely accepted by the Elves and thaumaturges that Lacreena’s continual corruption was not due to the so-called lingering presence of Ashnaharn but from the Empire’s collapse and the estrangement of Men when they turned their back on the light of the Eternals.

However, some had come to wonder why Uundethar and the Enemy had managed to remain in the world when evil should not have existed after the Dark Lord’s demise. Even the most spiritual believed the presence of this nameless evil should have disappeared and the Enemy long ago fallen to ruin after the Battle of Jordaan.

Was it that Uundethar had become so powerful that he had become a figurative dark lord himself, becoming both the Lord of Amturis as well as the master of the Enemy, empowering the evil to remain so that he could do what he wished? On the other hand, was it that something far more sinister lurked behind the veil of the world?

***

Uundethar the Sorcerer was tall, taking an intimidating pose while he stood atop of the four-pointed spire of Amturis.

Over the centuries, he had worn his long, blondish, white hair free flowing while his jaw and pointed nose added to his defiant appearance. The evil that he had served for so long had changed his eyes, yet again. The irises still had their eerie, unworldly white with an inky, black border. They still gave off that pale, yellow glow that brought a shiver to the spine of anyone he looked at, but now his pupils were no longer circular but slit vertically, like that of a serpent, giving him a far more demonic look than ever before.

His robe was a long, streaming, black cloak, hemmed in a dark red hue. Its open hood hid his keenly, sharp eyes that missed nothing. The shadows of the hood’s depths failed to diminish the yellow glow of his eyes in the night’s dimness. They were like bright embers staring out from a dark void.

Uundethar’s long, talon-like fingers grasped a tall necromancer staff. It was his pride and joy, a gift presented to him by Ashnaharn after he had completed his age-long apprenticeship, and had taken his rightful place as the mightiest of Ashnaharn’s servants. He was the master now.

Uundethar turned and walked to one of the four pointed claws that made up the buttresses of the tetrad-sided tower. He rested his staff against one of the claws. The staff itself was of elegantly polished amber oak. A jewel had been skillfully set in the teeth of a dragon’s head figurine at the staff’s peak, while the tail of a serpent coiled down the slender length of the staff. The jewel itself emanated a continual surge of electrical current of various lights. The illuminations circled and swirled around each other, like forces fighting for dominance.

He took off his robe and his kimono-style tunic, setting them at the base of his staff. When the storm’s lightning flashed, it revealed his muscular torso. Covering his chest, back, and arms were a myriad of colorful tattoos, depicting monstrous beasts and demons. Each tattoo had fangs, claws, and bulging hideous eyes that stared out at the world, following the movement of any individual no matter how they tried to evade the gaze of the hundreds of living creatures inked into Uundethar’s skin.

Uundethar steadied himself for what he was about to do. He spread his feet for balance and planted himself firmly. He lifted his left hand with his palm up, ready to hold what powers he was about to summon out of nothingness. From his left hand surged an electrical current. It sparked and discharged wildly with a dancing, illuminating aura that ignited the space around the spire’s peak in a ghastly, unworldly light. From one of his feet appeared another identical aura. The aura that swirled around his foot and ankle, crackled, and popped, as it surrounded his leg. A whispered incantation came from Uundethar’s lips as he combined the two summoned powers.

One of the living tattoos on his torso began to move wildly, ripping itself from his skin, becoming one of his hideous Soul-spirits. It floated around him in the form of a black asp. Its tail was a cloud of transparent black smoke, its eyes were like glowing torches, and its fangs gleamed an ivory white under the flashes of lightning.

Uundethar proceeded with the next step in his plan, despite the amount of pain it would inflict on his body. Perceiving himself ready for the rush of agony that would envelop him, he spoke an archaic hex.

His entire body suddenly fell under violent convulsions, and his eyes changed into an elusive trance. He used one of his hands to steady himself against one of the four tall protrusions of the tower when he felt the dark energy enter him.

As each new moment passed, his body trembled more wildly. It was like silent agony that penetrated every thought, organ, muscle, and blood vessel. The power that was passing through him now was like an acid flame that burned, ripped, and gnawed at everything inside him. His lungs felt like they would explode in a never-ending death scream. His mind felt like it was melting, and his stomach and intestines were liquefying. Every breath he took, every thought and movement he made only multiplied the agony.

Gradually the pain subsided. With it gone and the spell’s power under his control, he returned to his usual state of dominance that the people of Lacreena knew and feared. He stood straight, peering at the floating snake. His demonic, authoritative gaze served to reveal how deep his depraved soul had fallen since his princely days as Valsamier.

Uundethar’s lips produced a crooked, evil grin from one side of his mouth when the Soul-spirit inched forward, clearly eager to do its master’s bidding. It was one of his many pets.

Uundethar leaned in closely to the floating aberration and whispered something in a hissing serpentine tongue.

The serpent hissed back.

Go to the Oritoni Temple, Uundethar hissed. Listen in on the meeting of the Council without being seen.

Several Seeds before, one of his spies within the Oritoni Order, a member of the Council of Twelve itself, had informed him that the Alo’loiti, Mintulkas, had made herself known to the Council, informing them that she had news about a dark lord and that her voice would speak to them on this day at a particular Circle. He didn’t know if the words that Mintulkas would speak would pertain to his dead master, some other dark lord that predated him, or one that had yet to show himself to the world for the first time. He knew that he needed to overhear her words to determine how to proceed in his overall plan that he had concocted several millennia prior.

Uundethar pointed one of his long fingers into the north. At the command, the Soul-spirit surged forward with blurring speed, passing over the outer defenses of the mighty stronghold of Amturis. Uundethar saw what it saw and heard what it heard by the spell he had cast over himself and the trance he had hexed himself into. The snake-like familiar soared through the dark veil of thundering clouds. It flew along the edge of the snowcapped peaks of the Wosvar Mountains, passing one mountain peak after another.

Uundethar grinned when he saw the world fly by, his sight connected to the serpent’s eyes. He had ambitious dreams that gave birth to vile plans and strategies: those of which would assure him to be the patriarch of any world order that might rise to dominance on Lacreena, in future years. Over the many millennia since his rising, he had learned much about his human prey. He had carried out séances with souls from the darkest depths of the Netherworld, learning from the dead forbearers how their living descendants operated in both mind and character and how he could use such secrets to the undoing of those men who still dwelt in the world of the living. For centuries, he had used such skills to manipulate others until his demented thoughts and ideas had become those of other men. Such foolish people were naive in the understanding about such things they perceived to be of their own making, when in fact it was his.

He had first whispered to Emperor Tye’cumaru in dreams, emboldening him to invade Merna. Uundethar knew that it would lead to the deaths of Tye’cumaru and his beloved Adadar and the Empire’s defeat at the Battle of Jordaan. Though he had never foreseen the added death of his master, it had worked out to his betterment, empowering him more and bolstering his own control over others in the vacuum of power created by the Dark Lord’s demise.

After the Battle of Jordaan, he had been the one to drive the hate and ambitions of the concubines. He motivated Alicia and Tahmya to slay Empress E’lessia and her sole remaining imperial heir, Jalamar. Soon after, Uundethar in turn silently goaded Ashtvon and Kaudon to slay the concubine regents, knowing that it would further throw the collapsing Empire into chaos that would extend to all Lacreena.

Since then, nothing had changed. He had been behind every dream, scheme, and vie for power that the many rulers and chieftains made in the Dark Era as well as every war the arrogant sovereigns of the Kingdoms had made on each other for the last three and a half millennia. Lacreena and its realms were his playthings, allowing them to rise only to later destroy them as he wished.

Like those kings and ancient men back then, the people of Lacreena still failed to comprehend that their minds were no longer their own. They were nothing but clay for his molding, pawns used in his diabolical plan to set himself up as the single and only god of the world, master of all who lived under his gaze.

In undertaking his plan, it had taken several millennia to get to this point. He had been through much that had both pained his mind and body, and he was not about to let the drifting mention of a dark lord stand in the way of his ambitions. Even if it was Ashnaharn about whom Mintulkas meant to speak of, he was his own master now. He was an underling to no one and resolute to make all enthralled to him alone.

He had waited many long days to see what might come of tonight’s meeting. He was eager to hear the Alo’loiti’s voice about a dark lord. Uundethar was determined not to allow him to rise, no matter who it was.

His ambitions ruled every fiber of his action and thought. He knew he needed to know more about this unspoken threat to his superiority, before he continued with his ultimate plans for Lacreena.

For now, he promised himself under a chuckling breath.

Uundethar’s lips curled into a devilish smile. It showed off his row of fanged teeth in all their savagery. He focused his attention back to watching the world fly by through the eyes of his familiar, speeding towards the Temple and its Council of Twelve who were unaware that something more than an Alo’loiti’s voice was going to be visiting them tonight.

2

THE COUNCIL OF TWELVE

UUNDETHAR, THROUGH THE eyes of the Soul-spirit, admired Narsa’zidal. It was the tallest mountain in all Lacreena, located in the very northern region of the Wosvar Mountains. Myths told that the Alo’loiti dwelled in their floating city above it.

The Alo’loiti were as old as time itself, existing long before the Eternals created mankind. Yet the belief that the Alo’loiti indeed lived above Narsa’zidal, or were in fact real, was a myth that was only a speculation at best. Such things hadn’t been proven and probably never would be, as long as Men kept their minds bent towards the singular path of warfare and self-destruction, rather than on philosophical and technological pursuits.

The people who live in the northern lands above Narsa’zidal existed in obscurity from those that were in the south. Although those from the north had managed, from time-to-time, to come a little farther south than the region of the Witchmist Forest, it had been several millennia since the people of Kaudon and Ashtvon or that of Kirgin and Millandria had been so brave as to venture north. They saw it as a wild and unwelcoming place where the lawless kept to their barbarism.

The Witchmist Forest divided Lacreena’s landscape between the domains south of the forest and those that were north above the Wosvar Mountains. Most of those that dared such a journey through such hazards never returned alive. Taking routes through Witchmist or over the Wosvar Mountains were nearly impossible. An eerie mist often covered the Witchmist Forest, bewitching anyone who ventured into it, causing them to either become possessed or to lose their way, hence the name of the forest. The mists hid a legion of horrors, made of both flesh and blood, as well as paranormal dangers. It was no secret that demonic monsters prowled Witchmist. They devoured any fool who ventured into it.

The only sane way to get from the south to the northern territories was to use what they called ‘The Pass’: a singular route of narrow passes and shadowed valleys in-between the Wosvar Mountains and Witchmist. They considered The Pass safer, but even at the best of times, it was almost as hazardous as going through the forest or attempting to climb over the mountains. As soon as anyone ventured into it, they would come under attack by cannibalistic wild men, half-crazed by possession from evil spirits. The shadows of the dead, twisted trees also hid prowling witches and wizards seeking fresh souls for their deprived experiments and curses. Other dangers, such as demons, would come out of the Witchmist Forest and drag their victims back to their lair.

***

Uundethar’s Soul-spirit flew towards Narsa’zidal, coming out of the cold blizzards of the Wosvar Mountains. It slithered effortlessly through the air to a large stone complex at the mountain’s base. Surrounding foothills around a small hidden valley concealed the complex.

There, the creature halted, watching diligently for any movement in the dark before it snuck forward. Through the darkness and thick mist that fell from the mountain’s peak, the outside of the Oritoni Temple came into view. It was a giant ziggurat with thirteen spires built on top. One taller spire was in the center, surrounded by the other twelve. Each structure was a different height, starting with the lowest and ending with the tallest, creating a circular staircase affect. They called the thirteenth in the center, the Council-spire.

Noticing a lax in the Rune-shield that protected the massive temple from outside assailment by paranormal means, the transfixed Soul-spirit sped forward. It kept itself well hidden behind mist-covered trees and bushes as it glided inches above the ground, heading straight through the invisible Shield wall, as easily as a needle through cloth. It bolted speedily for a door that someone had foolishly left ajar.

Once inside, it slithered from one black, polished, stone pillar to the next, evading the feet of various thaumaturges while they walked through corridors and under lofty arches. Due to Uundethar’s manipulation, the thaumaturges were utterly blind to both seeing and sensing such a heartless evil slithering inches from their feet.

Without detection, the Soul-spirit drifted up a path of narrow stairs, each step decorated with an inlay of gold. It traversed several longer corridors, polished with glistening cobblestone floors, and etched walls, until at last, the familiar found the massive, twin golden doors that led to the Council-spire itself.

It slinked through the key hole and floated up the dim spiraling staircase to the top of the tower. At the top was another closed door shrouded with a golden light by two twin torches that were set in bronze brackets on either side.

As the Soul-spirit found a way around the barricade and various Spirit-shields, the creature heard various voices speaking within the room beyond. Once on the other side of the door the snake found the nearest shadow and slunk into it, watching, and diligently listening to the weary Council talking among themselves.

Through the eyes of his familiar, Uundethar could see that the men of the Council of Twelve were each dressed in flowing robes of multicolored silk, with tassels hanging from hems and hoods. Their folded back hoods served as pillows when each man leaned their head against the back of their chair.

Each prestigious thaumaturge sat in one of the twelve high-backed cushioned chairs of polished stone, studded with jewels, positioned in a wide crescent. A thirteenth chair was on a three-tiered platform in the middle of the arc. By the way the chair stood decorated and elevated to a higher level, Uundethar instantly recognized the chair and to whom it ordinarily belonged, but it had long been mysteriously vacant.

Torches set in brackets all about the circular room lit the domed chamber. A dim, eerie light illuminated the room further by the rising and falling alignment of the Pale Sisters that showered their rays through several open windows on the room’s far side.

Decorating the floor was a tiled mosaic, depicting the Fields of Paradise in the Netherworld. Those that dwelled there basked in the Eternal’s light. The thaumaturges had placed the butt of each member’s ornate staff into small recessed holes in the floor near the door, as was the usual custom when the Council of Twelve was in session.

Sitting in the center of the arc of chairs was a large crystal bowl, filled with water. As Uundethar watched inquisitively through the eyes of his Soul-spirit, waiting for the appearance of the Alo’loiti’s voice, the water suddenly spoke with an audible tone. It rippled out from the center of the bowl to its outer edges, as if brought to life by an invisible wind that had passed through the room, stirring the water into motion.

The voice was woman-like, beautiful, and yet still booming, with an eerie unworldly power. Uundethar’s mind recognized the voice. It was the female Alo’loiti, Mintulkas, the ‘Giver of Visions’ herself, made famous in the minds of Men by the Prophecy. Since those ancient days, the Prophecy had endured like she had. The world’s events had continued to confirm the truth of the Prophecy, as it had truly become a cradle to the ages.

Although her voice held power, it spoke of seemingly mundane things to the Council of Twelve. Uundethar’s eyes watched the faces of the master thaumaturges. Through the eyes of his Soul-spirit, he easily noticed how their weary faces were filling with irritation at their own growing boredom. Several of the thaumaturges yawned from sheer monotony as they listened.

Mintulkas spoke on numerous topics for several Circles, ranging from the countless wars of Men, to the ever-growing darkness in the land, and the power of Uundethar growing in his ability to manipulate. A couple of the older thaumaturges glanced at each other briefly and chuckled under their breath.

Uundethar’s manipulative hooks were already too deep inside them. It was visibly clear to Uundethar that his sown seeds of trickery had done their work, long ago. They cared nothing about the voice warning them to be diligent against Uundethar’s dark arts and how his presence in the world was a virus corrupting everything it touched.

As the Circles progressed, the thaumaturges grew wearier. Although Mintulkas had used such methods of communication for centuries and though her voice had power and her words were wise, they refused to listen. The Council had heard such meaningless chatter for several millennia. Their arrogance blinded them to the truth that was right in front of them.

Mintulkas’ voice abruptly changed from her usual manner of speaking to an unnatural, echoic voice that brought all the drowsy men out of their half-dozing condition to a state of prompt alertness.

Uundethar urged the Soul-spirit forward to the edge of the shadows when he saw the change in the shimmering water and the Council’s sudden attentiveness. Through the ears of his familiar, he listened intently, eager to hear every word said about a dark lord. It was for this foreseen reason he had hexed his senses into the Soul-spirit.

A long moment passed in silence, then Mintulkas’ words came again, speaking of a prediction that was coming from a time before time:

The one the crowned emperor, slew, yet lives. The Omen Curse is still active. As the world has continued to turn, thinking him long dead, fearing not his schemes, he walks the veil between life and death, awaiting, biding his time for his new rising.

There was an eerie silence that drifted into the room before the voice of the Alo’loiti returned, stirring the water in the bowl into a pulsating motion that was more powerful than before.

"Yet, the one with the power to at last vanquish him, dooming all the evil of the Enemy, approaches soon.

"In plot and in folly, ‘the Walker of Shadows’ will take the child into his arms, not fearing its power to be his undoing.

"Uundethar’s sleepless schemes of usurping the darkest of crowns will be undone. Before his time, before his rising, the betrayed shall betray. In forethought, in scheme, and in an unknown unfolding of deeds and actions, this will be the only betrayal of master to pupil. But through it, Uundethar shall fall prey to his own doom.

"As long as the third Xa’igoi and the Walker of Shadows both remain alive, the Omen Curse exists but remains diminished. Ashnaharn and Uundethar are destined to ascend and then fall into nothingness. The life of the last is bound to the existence of the twin worlds. As it lives, the worlds live, breathing hope for all. Hope shall turn to a war through land and stars. Wailing and enslavement shall ensue.

Despite such sorrows and death, the land shall turn once more to the fulfillment of all truths that were long ago written. The Enemy shall fall forevermore by the hand it did not fear.

Mintulkas’ voice drifted into a distance whisper when the rippled water in the bowl slowly became still. A strange silence penetrated the room atop the Council-spire.

So, the Dark Lord is alive? asked one of the thaumaturges to the voice in the bowl. What is this betrayal of Ashnaharn towards Uundethar that you speak of?

There was no answer. The water in the bowl was still, and the echo of Mintulkas’ words was the only thing that haunted the continuing silence.

Upon hearing their conversation, by way of the Soul-spirit, Uundethar’s mind burned with rage, causing the snake to hiss, as it floated amongst the shadows. Ashnaharn was alive, making the Omen Curse still active. Such a profane prediction of what the Alo’loiti spoke of was troubling indeed.

He commanded the snake to return. He had heard what he wanted. There were things that now demanded his utmost attention. He needed to quickly put things into motion. Unnoticed, the Soul-spirit slithered stealthily from the room through one of the many chamber windows, making its way from the Oritoni Temple.

***

Master Agarius shook his head in disgust at the arguing and uproar of questions within the Council of Twelve. He watched in silence while the rest of the Council shouted back and forth their own personal opinions. It was clear that none of the old thaumaturges, male or female, knew what to think. They all had questions, but none had a single wise answer to the meaning of the riddle’s foretelling.

Then it must be true as some of us have feared, Master Agarius finally said. He wrapped his robes about his knees to keep out the chill of an early autumn breeze that came in through one of the windows nearest to him. He, who some of us fear to name, is really alive, dwelling somewhere out there between the veil of life and death.

If Ashnaharn still exists in this world, he hides himself well underneath whatever rock he has taken refuge. We just have to figure out which stone to overturn, said Mab’brocus, another elderly thaumaturge who sat next to Agarius. "I think that we should speak of the Dark Lord in a future meeting. Right now, the last Xa’igoi is more important.

It is true then, he paused to look around at his fellow Council members. "All that we have sensed is coming true. The coming of the last one is not far off." He shifted his eyes to Master Agarius and huffed. But, not even the most so-called Gifted among us can tell to what honored House the infant will be born or when.

Agarius glanced over at Mab’brocus but ignored the little jab directed at him. He looked around at the others with a serious gaze. We must alert the Knighthood of the Fire Comet. The last of the Xa’igoi is finally on its way. It must be safeguarded at all costs against the murderous actions the Enemy is bound to take against it.

But who is worthy enough among them to guard such an invaluable prize? asked Pherin, another member of the Council who sat on the other end of the crescent alignment of chairs.

Pherin glanced in the direction of Master Agarius and huffed, shaking his head irritably, taking a clear side with Mab’brocus. "The Knighthood of the Fire Comet is just a sub-order of stargazers within the Oritoni Order. Their members are nothing more than an assortment of elves and worthless thaumaturges of insignificant importance and potential. They cannot undertake the guardianship of the last Xa’igoi, especially when all the future happenings of the world rely on the outcome of what the child is destined to do. One mistake by the Knighthood and we will see the destruction of the Enemy thwarted and the Omen Curse will come true. It will destroy the world. Should we not use one of our stronger thaumaturges to ensure the child’s safety?"

There were several in the room who agreed.

But the Knighthood of the Fire Comet was created for such a purpose, Agarius countered. The sub-order was formed to protect the Xa’igoi, whenever they happen to be born into the world. They, after all, came into being after the Eternals themselves had ordered their creation. I think it’s foolish for us not to send one from the Knighthood. I say, let them do it, rather than one of the more esteemed thaumaturges.

I disagree! spat Mab’brocus. He stood up and put a hand on his hip, while pointing a wrinkled finger at the others around him, making sure to end his pointing directly at Agarius. Have you forgotten that the first two Xa’igoi have already been born centuries ago, and the fourth was born only four years past? I’m sure I don’t have to remind you all that the fourth Xa’igoi just mysteriously disappeared on the same night that the Star of Prophecy appeared, despite our urgent searching.

He turned and glared at Agarius. It’s as if a fool from the Knighthood of the Fire Comet took it upon himself to move on this matter without the explicit permission of the Council of Twelve. He pointed a finger at Master Agarius, his face fuming red. Or, perhaps it was on the order that you gave? After all, Agarius, you are the leader of that sub-order of worthless idiots! The thaumaturge took his seat again with a heated huff.

Master Agarius said nothing. He simply shrugged indifferently, keeping his secrets to himself on whether he had been the one giving the order or one of the members of the Knighthood had worked entirely on his own volition.

I demand to know where all the Knighthood of the Fire Comet were back then, Pherin harped up after a long silence. "Even if they managed to find and protect the Xa’igoi that was born four years ago, why haven’t they brought the child forward? Furthermore, why did they let the first two Xa’igoi slip through their fingers, centuries ago! Out of the three that have been born, we know nothing about them, who they are, or where they are in the world!

Although we can sense that the first two Xa’igoi still live in this world...the fourth walks in the shadows, hidden from our senses, thanks to the stupidity of the Knighthood of the Fire Comet! Finding the last Xa’igoi must be different! Any full-fledged thaumaturge of the Order is better than any of the Knighthood that Agarius could send out!

Mab’brocus gave a blatant look of sheer spite in Agarius’ direction. I agree with Master Pherin. He raised his hand. I call for a vote for the disbanding of the Knighthood of the Fire Comet! Who is with me, brothers?

No! said Agarius defiantly. The Knighthood was formed for the sole purpose of finding and guarding the Xa’igoi. I say let them do their duty.

Well, it’s not up to you, is it? said Mab’brocus, continuing to shoot a glaring eye at Master Agarius. Agarius, you are nothing but an old fool if you believe that the Knighthood of the Fire Comet will ever amount to anything. I want them disbanded. They deserve it! Furthermore, I say you should step down as a member of the Council. Your cracked ideas about being loyal to the members of the Knighthood are dumbfounded and idiotic.

Oh really? said Agarius. He raised an angered eyebrow and stared over at Mab’brocus sitting next to him. Perhaps you would like to step outside and finish this dispute with a test of conjured lightning? You’re older and more senile than me. I’m sure it will be no contest.

The two men glared at each other for a long, silent moment with sharp beady eyes that could melt stone.

Master Agarius finally sat back in his chair, managing to banish the rage he felt for Mab’brocus. He was tired of the fighting amongst the Council and his words constantly overruled or ignored, which only served to cause more senseless bickering that brought forth no results.

Mab’brocus was the type of man who was prouder than he was smart. While Agarius always spoke out about what the voices of the Eternals whispered in his head about what they wanted done, Mab’brocus had always gone against him every time, especially when he mentioned that it was the will of the Eternals. This time was no different. It was as if he was a thrall to someone in secret. Agarius glanced at Pherin on the other side of the room. Pherin was always taking a supportive position with Mab’brocus, no matter the subject.

Agarius glanced at the other master thaumaturges, counted among the Council of Twelve. Although there were a few that had sided with him on some subjects in past discussions, most always favored Mab’brocus’ words over his own. It was as if the whole Council had gone mad, their minds wormed and controlled to whatever end. He sensed himself surrounded by those whose wills were no longer their own but someone else’s.

Although he wanted to fight it, he knew he was powerless to halt the commands and teachings that the rest of the Council gave. He was alone amongst those who likely worked for another unknowingly, or maybe they did so willingly. But who? Uundethar? Ashnaharn perhaps? He knew he was not likely to find the answer in his ever-shortening lifespan. He had lived thousands of years and now he had no time. That fact infuriated him and made him anguish at what things he had failed to accomplish.

As he sat, slightly shifting his weight in his cushioned seat, he attempted to block out the words that Mab’brocus gave in strange counsel to the others. Agarius’ thoughts drifted in the silence of his mind, a place where he refused to let Mab’brocus’ words enter.

He remembered how he had spoken for the light, spreading it without fear, those many centuries ago during the time of the Dark Era and the Great Purge, when the Oritoni Order was in hiding. All these thaumaturges around him had hidden themselves away like troglodytes, letting their fears for their own safety drive them into being reclusive and forgetting their mission of guiding Men into the light. They had refused to speak of the Eternals in the open when the world was falling into chaos, after the Empire’s collapse.

Due to that and his own shortcomings, the souls of Men had forgotten the Eternals, sliding back into the dismal ways of their pagan forefathers that had existed before the Empire. In the manner that the Council had hid itself, he wondered if it had somehow managed to open a way for something else, other than the Eternals’ light, to be the basis of their beliefs.

Although his own fear had urged him to hide at first, he had not yielded to that temptation. He had followed the Eternals’ wishes to bring their light to a darkening world wherever he could, in spite of it not changing as many lives as he had wished. He wondered if his simple obedience, back then, had somehow managed to protect him from whatever had taken these men over. How all this had exactly come about was strangely eluding him.

Agarius’ heart ached for what the Oritoni Order had become. He felt powerless to halt what plans the new lord of these men may have in store for the Order or even the world. He glanced at the vacant chair in the center of the crescent of chairs.

I wish the Red Thaumaturge was here, he whispered under his breath. He would find it easy to bring order from this growing chaos and to break the curse that has befallen the minds of these men. He glanced out one of the large open windows, losing himself in thought for a time.

Where is the last Red Thaumaturge anyways? He vanished mysteriously, centuries ago and has not returned. Since then, the Order has been leaderless. If he is indeed dead, why haven’t the Eternals appointed another to replace him? Are we so far-gone that the Eternals have abandoned us? Abandoned me?

Agarius glanced again at the vacant chair while his thoughts continued to brood. The last Red Thaumaturge had vanished long before the Battle of Jordaan. Back then, before the disappearance of the last Red Thaumaturge, Lacreena’s people knew the master thaumaturges as the Council of Thirteen with the Red Thaumaturge leading both the Council and the Oritoni Order with great wisdom.

Since then, the master thaumaturges had been leading the Order, renaming their echelon assembly into the Council of Twelve. For several millennia since that day, the wisdom of the Council and the ethics of the Order had deteriorated greatly. Agarius now knew that they didn’t need the missing Red Thaumaturge. They needed the original Red Thaumaturge, Nolomos himself. He alone was the one that could bring order to this growing chaos.

Nolomos had founded the Order thousands of years before the Empire even rose to power when the Fold, Mintulkas, and her temple had mysteriously vanished from the city of Armarsis overnight. The sudden disappearances of the Mother Supreme and her acolytes had created a fear that gripped the land, but peace of mind soon returned to Men by the arrival of one man–Nolomos.

Some had claimed that he had been one of the Eternals in human form. He founded the Oritoni Order and the faith in the Eternals, which was named after him: Nolomosisum.

Legends told that he also had created the first great temple from a single stone pebble, which now was the city of Pallatorn. It mattered little to Agarius if the legends of Pallatorn’s creation were true or not. What did matter was that right after he created the first thaumaturge temple, Nolomos made a self-proclaimed prediction about himself, before he appointed another Red Thaumaturge in his place and then suddenly vanished before the eyes of his followers.

Nolomos had said:

‘When a woman that sees the world in green, fights against the bird of fire and is sacrificed for its glory, willingly breathing fire into her lungs, breathing her last and yet will breathe again, I will return to reclaim my name’.

Agarius had no idea what that meant, neither did any other thaumaturge or the many Red Thaumaturges the Eternals appointed down through the millennia since Nolomos’ mysterious disappearance after he had made that foretelling. All Agarius could do now was have faith and hope that one day Nolomos would return to right all wrongs, restoring the seat of the Red Thaumaturge and the Order to its former glory.

***

Agarius huffed, feeling his old age now more than most days. He glanced back at Mab’brocus and Pherin who had infuriated him.

He opened his mouth to speak. For the last time, I truly think the last Xa’igoi should be protected by the Knighthood. The Eternals themselves ordered their founding for this sole reason. We should trust in their wisdom.

His words fell on deaf ears. No one even had the respect to look in Agarius’ direction except for Mab’brocus who just glanced over briefly. His evil smirk said it all, as he quickly started talking, overriding Agarius’ advice with words of his own. He told his fellow Council members that it didn’t matter if the Eternals themselves founded the Knighthood. The Knighthood was weak, and it had outlived its usefulness, and it needed disbanding. A trusted thaumaturge should go instead to find the last Xa’igoi when it is born.

Mab’brocus’ words sickened Agarius’ stomach, and the rest of the Council was lapping it up like thirsty dogs. Master Agarius knew what needed to happen, but he was powerless to see it done. He could order members of the Knighthood to go out and diligently keep watch for the last Xa’igoi and safeguard it once it was born, but he knew what Mab’brocus would do.

In his spitefulness, Mab’brocus would simply overrule his order, likely sending more powerful thaumaturges than what the Knighthood possessed. Spilling the blood of the Knighthood would wear little on Mab’brocus’ conscience.

The last thing Agarius wanted was to have thaumaturges killing thaumaturges, no matter if he believed the Knighthood was in the right. Since the disappearance of the Red Thaumaturge, the Order had been slowly falling apart. It didn’t need more infighting and bloodshed. All he could do was trust that the Eternals would make things right on all accounts.

Master Agarius stood wearily, his spirit now broken, tears trickling down his wrinkled cheeks. He shuffled his feet in the direction of the door, grabbed up his staff, and slowly exited the chamber, letting the slight bang of the closing door silence Mab’brocus’ twisted words, which Agarius knew were not likely his own.

3

THE ALL-SEEING ONE

UUNDETHAR IMPATIENTLY WATCHED the Soul-spirit burrow itself deeply into its master’s skin, becoming nothing more than a depiction of living demonic ink. Its movement faded when the snake-like familiar began sleeping again until the next summoning.

Uundethar quickly clothed himself. With the use of his Soul-spirit, he had seen and heard the Alo’loiti, Mintulkas, foretell the future in one of her predictions. Learning that his master was indeed alive troubled him. He didn’t know how it was possible or where Ashnaharn had hidden himself for so long without a body, but he was alive, nonetheless. Ashnaharn had ended up being the dark lord that Mintulkas had come to speak about after all.

Lord Uundethar was now full of evil thoughts. He grinned joyously while each thought filtered through his mind. However, he too was afraid of what Mintulkas’ omens spoke of.

Since Ashnaharn’s supposed death, he had become the lord and master of the Enemy. Even though the Dark Lord’s body was now ash, Uundethar still considered himself to be as he was long ago, regardless to how the foul spirit of his master was now alive.

I am still the lord and master of the Enemy, and the Omen Curse still exists through me! he growled to the heavens. The third Xa’igoi that is to come into the world is my bane to defeat, not Ashnaharn’s. It is my destiny to conquer all Lacreena for my own demesne and deified glory, and to fulfill the Omen Curse on my own terms, not for Ashnaharn to have any part in it, or to seize even an inch of land for himself to rule. Even Merna no longer belongs to him, but to me!

He grit his teeth in rage. I have worked hard to gain what I possess since his death. I will not just hand it over and become the Dark Lord’s pupil and lordling again.

Uundethar paced on the tower’s summit. He knew he could not just ignore his old master’s existence. He knew Ashnaharn would eventually wish to reclaim his domain and return himself to dominance, and for the Lord of Amturis to bow the knee. No matter what form or ghostly spirit Ashnaharn was presently in, Uundethar knew there was only one way for the Dark Lord to return to his former self–to regain full power. He would have to use a body as a host.

Not just any body will do for him to possess, Uundethar told himself aloud. Ashnaharn will want a powerful host to walk within, in the world of the living once more, when he decides to come forth from the shadows of his ethereal existence.

Uundethar’s lips curled into a scheming grin. "My body is my own, but I can allow Ashnaharn to think he can possess me as a host when the time comes. I have long prepared my body and soul for assimilating vast amounts of power from my worshipers and follower when I become the Great Empyrean. Having the Dark Lord’s spirit enter me will only magnify my powers.

I can allow him to enter me, but instead of him possessing me and taking my body as a host, as he plans, I shall overpower him with my own power. I will conquer him instead and sap Ashnaharn’s magnificence from him, adding his cultic power to my own.

Lord Uundethar gave a hubristic chuckle. In the end, I will become a far more powerful dark lord than what Ashnaharn, or his father, ever became. Once the crown of the world’s enemy is snuggly on my own head, I shall rule my new world unhindered as the Great Empyrean, forever!

His laughter drifted off into the night at recalling the cursed third Xa’igoi. He didn’t know how the child could doom him, causing the Dark Lord to betray him in some unknown future event. Perhaps, it was not in the future at all. Maybe, Ashnaharn had already betrayed him, as Mintulkas had hinted.

Uundethar spoke audibly, running Mintulkas’ words through his mind.

Before his time, before his rising, the betrayed shall betray. In forethought, in scheme, and in an unknown unfolding of deeds and actions, this will be the only betrayal of master to pupil. But through it, Uundethar shall fall prey to his own doom.

He studied them more thoroughly. An eyebrow perked up on his face when he noticed something he had previously overlooked while he had overheard Mintulkas’ words.

Before his time, before his rising, the betrayed shall betray…

His words trailed off when an idea suddenly struck him.

Perhaps it is actually speaking of me, since the Dark Lord is yet to rise. So, when it said, ‘before his time, before his rising, the betrayer shall betray’…that means that Mintulkas’ words might have meant me instead and were not pointing towards the Dark Lord, after all.

Uundethar frowned while he paced back and forth on the summit of the spire. But what if I’m wrong? What if Lord Ashnaharn does plan to betray me? That means I must act first, look after my own interests, and my own survival! No matter who betrays whom, there is one link that dooms both of us, and that is the child.

Uundethar’s face paled. Even he had to admit, no matter how powerful he was presently, he still feared for himself, his seat of power, and all the authority that he had accumulated for centuries. As long as the third Xa’igoi child was alive, it meant that he was going to lose everything.

I should destroy it while it’s still an infant! he whispered to himself.

He frowned again when the realization quickly set in. He didn’t know what kingdom the child was to be born into. Neither did he know in what year nor if the child was to be male or female, let alone what race. He knew the Prophecy well. He had memorized it ages ago. He, for years, had methodically dissected the words and their believed connotation, but even now, the words hadn’t revealed any revelation of their real hidden meanings.

But why would Mintulkas say that the last Xa’igoi is soon approaching if it wasn’t true, he muttered to himself. Since she said that it was coming soon, it gives me a rough time line to work with.

His eyes darkened when his mind swam in evil thoughts. He had work to do. Uundethar ventured from the tower’s peak to his personal study. He fumbled through a shelf of old parchments on the far side of the large circular room. He pulled out one scroll, gazing at its contents for a short time, then placed it back in its slot, retrieving another and then another.

On the fifth scroll, his eyes caught something. He grinned in evil humor. In his hand was a list of all the known Oritoni Order members, both senior and junior classes with full-fledged masters and apprentices along with all those ranked in-between.

Long ago, he had skillfully placed eavesdropping traitors in the Oritoni Temple, through whom he knew what happenings occurred in secret meetings. Although it had taken time for such spies to gather their information and bring it to Amturis through a variety of secretive currier methods, Uundethar had at last become acquainted with all that the Oritoni Order knew. What he prided himself in was that the Order did not know that he had such knowledge or that those spies were in fact necromancers in disguise.

Gaining knowledge through the Tracer-spells, which he had ordered placed on each of the thaumaturges by his spies, Uundethar could now locate any one of the Oritoni Order with ease, no matter where they were in the world.

The thaumaturge, known as Xaephon, was somehow different. For some odd reason, the Tracer-spells had no effect on him. From Uundethar’s perspective, the spell had never once been able to latch onto him no matter how many times he had personally tried to get it to do so. Because of this, he had never been able to spy on the old thaumaturge. Something unknown and indeed powerful had blocked his sight, making him wonder if Xaephon possessed some strange kind of power that blocked his Tracer-spells. No matter how many times he had tried different ideas, the results were forever the same: he was always blind to Xaephon’s movements.

It was also for this reason, alone, that he had sent Draxona after him those many years ago, but like so many before her, she had failed to keep track of him. He too had failed to drown him in the storm he had conjured while Xaephon had been on his way to Millandria. To this day, he had never figured out what Xaephon had been up to on the island. This fact still made Uundethar enraged and uneasy. Xaephon had always been a difficult one to understand, let alone predict. That only increased his hatred for him.

Uundethar utterly despised rogue thaumaturges that he had no control over. He couldn’t manipulate them or even remotely make them stray from the path of the Eternals. Xaephon had always stayed true.

Uundethar wanted Xaephon put down, but he could never manage to do it. He had even gone so far in his frustration as to order Xaephon exterminated by commanding multiple hit squads of nal’vaan to attack him all at once, but even that had proven to be ineffective. The old thaumaturge was like a cat with nine lives.

***

Uundethar glanced at the section of the shelf that had the list of all the apprentices of the Oritoni Order. He tapped the paper with his long-pointed fingernail as one name in particular caught his eye. He had found what he was seeking.

He read the listed reports on the scroll from the hidden necromancers he had placed within the Oritoni Temple and those that were beyond. Such spies had observed each member of the Oritoni Order for years, methodically writing down their discoveries and the details that belonged to every individual. The spies had placed these written reports in his hands years ago. While some were now inaccurate, most were still reliable.

One apprentice’s name was more importance than all the others were. It was not about whom the apprentice was that made him important, but whose authority he was under. The apprentice’s master was the key to all his plans.

By the recordings done years ago, Uundethar knew the apprentice’s name, his personality, his moods swings, his voice tone, and other necessary knowledge– everything that was essential for his concocted plan to work flawlessly. Uundethar read the scroll over thoroughly, memorizing every detail: the important and inconsequential. However, there was still one large obstacle. The scroll did not contain the one key element that he drastically needed to know. He knew well that men’s faces would normally change with time. The apprentice’s face had undoubtedly aged in all those years since the spy’s recordings.

Without frowning, like any other man might have done when hit with a snag, Uundethar grinned with a sadistic overjoyed chuckle. He reveled in issues like this. He was undeterred, knowing he could overcome the problem.

He knew that he couldn’t find Xaephon, but he could work around it. If he couldn’t track down the master, then he would find his apprentices. Uundethar turned and walked to a waist-high wooden stand set by the entrance of his study. On it set a Spying-stone: a white crystal orb locked in place by a base constructed from the teeth of dead demons.

He placed his large palms over the stone and let his sorcery activated it. Dark shadows swirled when he muttered the name of the apprentice under his breath, mingled with incantations that he had created in his novice years.

When the shadows settled, the Spying-stone took on a hazy look, becoming slightly clear again. A moving picture appeared within it, showing through the mist. Uundethar gazed down into it with anticipation, fascinated with what the apprentice looked like–the man he planned on killing.

The moving picture portrayed three men: the teacher and his two apprentices. They all wore long elegant robes, bearing distinctive ornate staffs that marked them as thaumaturges. Each of them also carried a sheathed long sword at their hip. The master was speaking to his students while they were entering a tavern.

Uundethar motioned slightly with his left hand and the picture zoomed out. He moved the picture so that he could see the name of the tavern painted on a sign outside the establishment.

The Royal Leaf Tavern, Uundethar said aloud to himself.

Uundethar ran the fingers of one hand through his long hair, frowning when he stood up straight. He had never heard of the tavern. It could be anywhere. He might be able to zoom the spelled picture out further in order to see parts of the town and its fortifications. With any luck, he might recognize the town’s layout or see the crest of the lord who governed it on some fluttering flag nearby, but that would take far too long. There was no guarantee that he could recognize the crest on the flag. There was also no guarantee he could gain what he wanted to know about the apprentice.

The amount of time before the picture would fade altogether was unpredictable. He would have to figure out where the three men were by other means but later. The most important thing was for him to look at the target’s face before this opportunity slipped through his fingers. He had already memorized the man’s traits and personality characteristics. His exact facial features were going to be the problem.

Uundethar moved his hand slowly. The picture zoomed in again, passing through the walls of the tavern, as if they were water. The atmosphere of the building was smoky, which made Uundethar’s visibility even more strained. He finally found the three men sitting at a table in a far corner. As the men continued to talk, they each sipped at individual cups of steaming spiced tea brought to them by a serving wench.

With his right hand, Uundethar pivoted and lowered the picture within the Spying-stone so that he could look at the men, level eyed, rather than from the previous aerial view. He studied the face of his target for the first time. The face of the chosen apprentice was surprisingly handsome, with sharp features and keen eyes that missed nothing. He even noticed how the apprentice looked at the serving girls who walked past now and then, giving him flirting winks.

Uundethar watched in the orb with nausea growing in the pit of his stomach while he used the stone to glance at the old thaumaturge. He had hoped he could withstand the hatred he felt for Xaephon. He was wrong. He felt his blood boiling at the mere sight of him. If his plan was to work, he would have to learn how to deal with his hatred, or he would doom his plan before it even began.

He watched when Xaephon took notice of the silence romance between his pupil and the ladies. Xaephon snapped his fingers to get the young man’s attention again. The Blind One frowned in annoyance at the lad’s philandering mood but said nothing.

Although Uundethar could have easily lip-read what Xaephon was saying, that was not why he had come to spy on them. Besides, he cared nothing of learning the ways of thaumaturges. What would he want with the teachings of his sworn enemies?

Uundethar growled while he looked at Xaephon again through the haziness of the Spying-stone. There was no way that he would allow the inspired teachings of the thaumaturges and their devout knowledge about the Eternals to nullify his own knowledge of the arcane dark forces.

Uundethar could have chosen to kill Xaephon, rather than one of his apprentices. For a brief moment, he wanted to but then thought better of it. He knew Xaephon well. They had always been in a hate relationship since they first knew of each other.

Like himself, Xaephon had lived for thousands of years. In the days of his youth, he had battled against Uundethar just as any other apprentice would have at every opportunity that presented itself. Xaephon’s actions against Uundethar had more than once been a crippling blow against the Necromancer Order. Each act had set Uundethar’s initial hidden agenda back for centuries. The two of them were not only a confrontation of two opposing beliefs but they were the epitome of natural born rivals–both in the physical as well as on the spiritual plain.

Uundethar believed he would get his revenge in the end. He would make sure of that. After all, he was the god of everything. Nothing could stand against him for long. However, no matter how much he loathed Xaephon, killing him now would doom his plan. For his scheme to work, he needed to use Xaephon just like any other of his many pawns.

Uundethar chuckled while his plot continued to unfold in his mind. Once he met his goal, he would deal with the old thaumaturge permanently, relishing every moment of Xaephon’s torment.

As the three men continued to talk, Uundethar’s attention turned back towards his initial chosen target. With the last remaining moments before the connection between them stopped, Uundethar studied every minute detail of the young man’s face and body, no matter how insignificant. He had to make sure that his observation and accounting were flawless for his plan to work.

The connection suddenly severed. Uundethar straightened and stepped back to stretch his aching back. His mouth showed a sadistic smile on his pale face. He had succeeded in gaining the information he had sought. Nevertheless, he still needed to find where this Royal Leaf Tavern was if his plan was really going to have a chance of working.

He went to the same tall bookcase that he had gone to before and began to run his fingers against the broad spines of the large books that he had in his collection. His fingers stopped, and his nefarious smile widened. He pulled the book out and opened it, putting it on a nearby bookstand. He shifted his feet impatiently