Dark Star: Orb of the Magi Series

By Dennis Durfey

After completing the mysterious test to become a Grand Magi with her shandar, Jerdone, Zandreena was looking forward to peaceful years of studying to perfect her magic. But fate and a prophecy of old made her leave her home and led her to an adventure and eventful encounter with the fearless Ash'len, the spiritual Danica, and the proud thief Ren, all of whom would play a role in her journey to finding the Orb of the Magi. This immense duty placed in the hands of this young Grand Magi was not wel

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781634170680

Book preview

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1

The smell of smoke and rotting flesh bit at Ash’len’s nose as he crouched low in the brush not three paces from the edge of the orc encampment. Blending in with the dark green foliage around him, Ash’len had no fear of being detected. He had been careful to approach the camp from downwind and now held motionless watching its morning activities.

Normally Ash’len would have avoided such a camp, but curiosity and, although he refused to admit it to himself, concern had brought him here. During the night, he had come across a small village in smoke and ruins. The destruction was complete with no living thing left behind, obviously the work of an orc raiding party. The trail was easy to follow. The orcs had shown no fear of anyone coming after them. Ash’len could tell that several humans had been taken alive. It was common for humans to be taken, both dead and alive, orcs weren’t known for being picky eaters. Orcs were known, however, for being lazy. They used humans to do their work for them and would keep them alive as long as they felt they were useful. Orcs were known for using human women for personal reasons.

Based on the crude structure of the camp, it appeared to be a band of roaming orc warriors. Ash’len estimated there to be fifty male orcs with a few females and no young. Most still slept or were lazily lying about after last night’s raid. The females, assisted by a few of the younger males, seemed to be putting together some food for when the camp awoke. With the abhorrent smell coming from the small cooking fire, Ash’len refused to guess what was being prepared.

Taking in more of the camp, Ash’len observed a wooden cage on the east end of the encampment. Inside the cage were approximately twenty women, twice that many children, and a dozen men. Many of the women were busy comforting the children and caring for the wounded.

Ash’len continued to make mental notes of the layout of the camp. Habit made him start a tactical plan of attack, despite knowing he would never use it. The camp had several open-sided and one enclosed structure. The majority of the sleeping orcs lay under two of the open structures. Under a third structure, two orcs were sharpening weapons and mending armor. Only one orc stood guard over the humans.

This is none of my business, Ash’len thought. There are too many orcs for me to help them. The only thing I would do is get myself killed along with them. Though he knew he was justifying his inaction, he also knew it to be true. Attacking an orc war camp with less than a small army was suicide. Orcs were bloodthirsty and near fearless. He would be overwhelmed and killed and would have done nothing to change the fate of the villagers. Ash’len had no fear of death, but also knew that his death this day would be a useless waste.

What are they doing this far north? Ash’len wondered. Anger welled up inside him against the guide that had brought these villagers to settle so near the west end of the Sendrison Cliffs. Orc war parties often came down from the north in search of food, gold, and for the simple pleasure of killing. No doubt these people were promised a new life, a new start, free from a life of poverty and oppression, and led into the waiting arms of death. While their would-be hero rode away with a bag of silver.

Not my problem, he thought, aloud this time. Turning to leave, a movement at the cage door caught his eye, freezing him in place. The large orc, who had been standing guard over the humans, entered the cage. Approaching a young woman, the orc grabbed her by her long dark hair, dragging her toward the cage door. Screaming from pain and fear, the young woman struggled, but was unable to break free of the powerful hand gripping her hair. Another woman grabbed the orc’s arm in an attempt to free the girl. Turning back, the orc struck the woman in the face with the back of his right hand, knocking her to the ground.

From the rear of the cage, a young man rose to his feet and ran at the orc. He had been having a leg wound treated and ran with a limp. Still he moved quickly, lunging for the orc’s neck. Despite his speed, the orc was faster. Drawing a large jagged knife from his belt, the orc met the man’s attack with a backhand slash of the blade, sending the man flying across the cage. Despite having been struck more by the back of the orc’s hand than by the blade, blood began flowing from a large cut across his chest and up across his left shoulder. Replacing the knife, the orc let out a sound that might have been a low gruff laugh and dragged the screaming girl from the cage.

Ash’len moaned inwardly as he closed his eyes. Rubbing his temples, he thought over the situation. Turning away, he made his way back to his horse, which he had left some hundred paces from the camp.

The black mare pawed at the ground as Ash’len approached. Stopping for a moment, Ash’len patted the horse’s neck as she nuzzled his shoulder. It’s okay, girl, Ash’len spoke softly.

They had been together for so many years Ash’len believed Nightfire could read his mind. On many occasion, his life had been saved by Nightfire predicting his movement and moving with him. Now the mare could sense danger and was assuring Ash’len she was ready for action. Not this time, girl, he told her. I need you to wait here for me. Just be ready, I may be coming back in a hurry.

Ash’len removed his recurve bow from the saddle and inspected the shaft and sting. Then, along with a quiver of arrows, he slung it over his back. Opening a saddlebag, he removed a small wooden box, which was secured with a leather strap. Working quickly, he opened the box, revealing six small leather bags and a corked vial filled with, what would appear to the untrained eye to be black molasses. Ash’len removed three of the small bags and the vial. Then, thinking twice, he returned one of the bags to the box. He had paid one hundred gold pieces for these six bags and did not want to use more than necessary.

His speed increased as a scream cut through the trees. Removing two arrows from the quiver, he poured a small amount of the black liquid along the blades of each of the arrowheads. Next, opening one of the bags, he carefully slid an arrowhead into the bag tightly, securing it around the shaft. A whiff of black smoke seeped out from the ties, and the bag became hot. After completing the process with the second arrow, he returned the two arrows to the quiver, leaving them slightly higher than the others. Ash’len patted his horse one last time before slipping back into the trees.

The girl’s screams could no longer be heard coming from the camp. And now that he was committed to trying to help the villagers, he found himself fearing for her safety. Arriving back at his hiding place, he discovered the girl was still alive. Her screams were being choked out by a hand around her throat, which held her up against a support beam. Part of her clothing had been torn away, and the orc used his other hand to toy with her, scratching across her body with his long nails. The two orcs who had been sharpening the weapons now stood by watching with amusement.

I hope you know what you’re doing, he told himself as he stepped into the open. Standing tall, chest pushed out, he walked quickly toward the orc holding the girl. More than two paces tall, with a strong build, armed with a bow and sword, Ash’len might have appeared a threatening sight; however, he seemed to draw little attention from the orcs as he walked through their camp. Some of the orcs stood to watch, more out of curiosity than concern.

Nevertheless, there was an air about him; and as he approached the three orcs, the two that were watching stepped back, giving Ash’len a wide berth. The orc on Ash’len’s left placed a hand on the sword at his side, while the other picked up a battle-ax which had been leaning against another support beam.

The center orc had been so involved in his tormenting of the young woman that he failed to notice Ash’len’s approach. Seeing the other’s reaction, the tormentor turned his head to see what was happening. Dropping the girl in surprise, the orc spun around to face the man.

That is my woman, Ash’len proclaimed in the tongue of an orc mage. Though few orcs could speak it, most knew the language. Ash’len hoped that it would help intimidate the orcs. He also hoped that his statement would be taken as a challenge and would deter the others from getting involved, yet.

Speaking in a crude orcish tongue, the orc replied, You want woman, you take her from me. A rotting-tooth smile covered its face as he returned the challenge. The smile quickly faded as the orc realized he had only a knife on his belt, while the man standing before him was well armed.

The orc looked to his side and saw another battle-ax leaning against the support beam. The orc began turning back, a simple act he would never complete. As the orc looked away, Ash’len’s right hand had gone to the sword on his side; and before the orc was able to return his eyes to Ash’len, his blade flew from the scabbard and across the orc’s neck, nearly severing the head from the body. The orc sank to his knees and toppled forward.

With a roar, the second orc raised his battle-ax over his head and stepped forward. Before he could strike, Ash’len thrust his sword, embedding it halfway into the orc’s chest. The orc dropped the ax behind him and grabbed the blade with both hands, staring blankly down at the sword protruding from him.

The third orc was taken aback, but quickly recovered. Raising his sword, he charged. Ash’len tried to pull free his sword from the chest of the dying orc, but it refused to budge due to the death grip the orc held on the blade. A heartbeat before the third orc was upon him, Ash’len jumped and delivered a savage kick to the orc’s chest just below the sword, while simultaneously pulling the sword free. Using the momentum, Ash’len spun the tip of the sword around, allowing the sword to fly from his hand. The sword tip met with the charging orc’s chest, just above center, knocking the orc back off his feet, burying the sword to the hilt. The orc landed hard and lay motionless.

The entire fight took but a few beats, and the onlooking orcs in the barracks, aroused by the noise, were yet unable to process what had just happened. The idea that one human could kill three orc warriors in such a space of time was more than they could comprehend. Taking advantage of this, Ash’len swung the bow from his back as he drew a prepared arrow from his quiver. In one smooth motion, Ash’len notched the arrow, drew it back, and released it. The arrow flew to the center of the closest barracks.

The lead orc coming from the structure ducked as the arrow streaked past him. Grinning, the orc thought he had been spared from the arrow. However, he was unable to make a single step before the arrow struck the orc behind him. There was a flash of light from the bag which housed the arrowhead. Then a massive fireball erupted from the bag, engulfing the structure and the orcs inside.

The orcs in the second barracks stopped in surprise. Then turning to the intruder, they saw a second arrow pointing at them. Scattering in all directions, the orcs attempted to escape the fate delivered to their companions. As the second arrow struck the center support beam, another fireball ripped through the barracks, consuming most of the orcs before they could escape. The orcs spared the center of the explosion were ignited in flames and sent howling into the forest.

Scanning the camp, Ash’len saw the remaining orcs fleeing into the trees. Retrieving his sword, he started in the direction of the caged humans when he was stopped by a deafening howl and the sound of shattering wood. Looking toward the enclosed structure, Ash’len saw a massive half-orc standing in the doorway. Standing three paces tall, he was clad in heavy mesh armor with a metal breastplate. Ash’len guessed that the creature was a cross between an orc and a hill giant, though he declined to venture as to how that might have occurred.

While scanning the disheveled camp, the half-orc began bellowing orders. Realizing that there was none left to receive his orders, he turned his attention to Ash’len. Effortlessly raising a two-handed battle-ax above his head, the half-orc released a roar that shook the building and charged. Though old and covered in dirt and blood, the ax blade appeared to be razor-sharp and glowed even in the bright daylight. Ash’len assumed the ax had magical properties, and he knew that this was a fight he did not want to have.

Bringing his bow to bare, he reached back for another exploding arrow, then realized he had only prepared two. Cursing at himself, he drew a regular arrow from the quiver. What does the cost of the exploding powder matter if I’m dead, he grumbled as he notched the arrow. The Goliath was nearly halfway across the camp before Ash’len released the arrow. It flew straight, striking the half-orc in the center of its chest where is shattered on is breastplate.

The brute was now at full charge, covering two paces with each stride. Ash’len quickly drew and released another arrow. Aiming higher this time, the arrow found its mark, sinking into the side of the half-orc’s neck. However, the beast didn’t falter. Reaching up with his left hand, he broke off the arrow, continuing its charge.

By now the hulking leader was upon him, and Ash’len was barely able to raise his bow to deflect the blow as the battle-ax came down upon him. Though he prevented the ax from splitting his head, the blow shattered his bow and sent him sprawling onto his back.

The ax wielder swung the battle-ax in a wide arch and sent it diving toward Ash’len’s head. Ash’len rolled to his side, the blade sinking deep into the hard ground next to him. As the half-orc pulled the ax from the dirt, Ash’len rolled behind the beast, drawing his sword.

Straight from the draw, Ash’len sliced the blade across the back of the half-orc’s ankles, just above the heels. The blade smoothly cut through the Goliath’s leather boots, severing both Achilles tendons. The half-orc howled and toppled backward, nearly crushing Ash’len as he jumped clear. Ash’len turned and came to one knee, raising his sword to strike. As the sword fell, the beast raised his ax to block. Half a beat too slow, the blade slipped past the ax and into the giant’s exposed throat, separating the head from the body.

Ash’len’s hands begin to tremble from the adrenaline surging through his veins. Ash’len was no stranger to battle and fought off the haze that tried to creep across his mind. Bringing his sword to ready, he scanned the camp for further danger. There was no orcs insight, only the distant cries of their pain and anger. The swift and destructive attack had caused the remaining orcs to flee, but he knew they would return when they regrouped and their anger overpowered their fear. Looking to the cage, he saw the people freeing themselves. He then turned his attention to the welfare of the girl who remained curled up on the ground, sobbing quietly.

Ash’len spun his sword at his side, causing the blood on the blade to fall to the ground. Wiping the blade clean, he returned it to its sheath and knelt next to the girl. Taking the girl’s arm, he pulled her to her feet. The girl screamed and began swinging at him. Ash’len made no attempt to control her, simply defended against her blows, until she realized that he was a man, not an orc. As realization sunk into her mind, she threw her arms around him with a crushing grip.

Ash’len allowed her to hold on to him until a woman appeared at his side. He recognized her as the woman who had tried to stop the orc in the cage. The woman fell to her knees next to the young lady and put her arms around her. Thank you, the woman wept. She started to say more, but the words choked off in her throat. It was easy to tell their relationship, due to the younger woman being a younger copy of her mother.

Ash’len pried loose the girl’s grip and placed her in her mother’s arms. Standing, he again surveyed the camp. Walking with long strides, he went to his bow which lay shattered on the ground. Shaking his head in regret, he left it where it lay. That was the best bow I’ve ever owned, he muttered.

A small group of people had gathered about Ash’len. The people tried to touch him, while giving their thanks. Brushing them off, Ash’len turned to an older man who stood straight and defiant and appeared to be their leader. Get your group together. They will return, and we want to be a long way from here if they do, he ordered.

The older man nodded and barked out orders to those around him.

Placing two fingers against his lips, Ash’len whistled and then went to the headless orc leader. Picking up the ax, he was surprised at how light it felt, though still too large and heavy for him to wield effectively. Further inspection revealed unusual markings on the blade, which Ash’len was unable to understand, possibly some ancient language or markings of a mage. Ash’len was convinced that it held magical properties and felt it was worth holding on to. Before completing his inspection, Nightfire appeared at his side. Securing the ax to the saddle, he patted his horse, then went to the enclosed building from which the leader had appeared.

Ash’len looked inside for anything of value. He wanted to be gone as soon as possible, but he also wanted to find anything the villagers could use to help them rebuild. They would need to start over again, and a few pieces of silver in their pockets would help. He quickly determined there was little of value here. Ash’len had almost given up when he noticed a box under a pile of leather rags. It was a crude wooden box with metal bindings. Inside he found a mixture of silver and copper coins, with an occasional gold coin and various crude stones. It was far from a gold mine, probably worth less than forty gold pieces in total, but it was better than nothing, and Ash’len scooped up the box and hurried out.

Securing the box to the back of his saddle, he turned to see the group of villagers in somewhat of an orderly fashion. The older man approached him. My name is Abram Telldar. Thank you again for saving my people. I served in the Menzarian Wars, and I have never seen such bravery. The gods have surely sent you here to save us. I saw how they sent down fire to deliver us from the orcs. Are you truly a man or something more, an angel perhaps?

Ash’len was taken aback for a moment. The Menzarian Wars were more than two hundred years ago. He was about to question the man having been a soldier so long ago, but decided to let it drop. I’m just a man, Ash’len assured him. Who obviously has more luck than brains. And for your fire from heaven, nothing more than an expensive powder made for me by a second-rate alchemist. Now if your people are ready, we need to leave.

We are ready. Will you lead us? the old man asked, his eyes wide with hope. Abram was strong and wise, but age and hard times had taken their toll and the old man knew his limitations. He would be unable to protect his people if the orcs returned, even in their diminished numbers.

I will take you as far as the river Vendire, from there you can make your way to Chartuck.

Thank you, Abram sighed. I have been to Chartuck. Though it’s not where we would care to be, it is better than here and we can obtain the healing help we need. Abram turned to his small group and delivered more orders. He soon had them lined up and moving. It was obvious that Abram had served in battle. His orders were quick and precise. He had the group formed with the weaker in the middle and the strongest in front and rear. They had also fashioned cots to carry those incapable of walking.

Taking one last look around the camp, Ash’len saw nothing else of use. He could hear sounds of orc howls and screams and determined they had yet to regroup. Walking past the slow-moving villagers, he picked up two small children and placed them on Nightfire’s back. He then led the ragged group into the forest.

Ash’len considered taking them back past their village, then decided against it. The destruction had been complete; there would be little that could be salvaged. Besides, the sight of the destroyed village would most likely cause more harm than good. There would be those that would want to stop and bury the dead as well. Better to keep moving, get them as far from here as possible before nightfall.

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2

Golden rays of light cut across the water, bouncing off the waves, creating rainbows in the mist. With the mist came the smell of salt rising off the sea. The first rays of the sun already gave their warmth, countering the cool breeze flowing from the sea. Far below was the muffled sound of water crashing upon stone, like the constant roar of hungry beasts. At the bottom of the cliff, south along the seashore, lay the great city URandar.

At the top of the cliff, overlooking the city, sat a lone figure. Silent and still, it was difficult to tell if he was, in fact, part of the cliff itself. Though his eyes were closed, he could see it as clearly as if they were open. Having spent so much time here, his memory of the scene was perfect. Sitting up straight, his legs crossed and his arms resting on his thighs, Jerdone was aware of all around him, but his mind was far away. Having chosen this place as a boy, Jerdone had been coming here for more than twenty years. He drew strength from this place as the land, sea, and sky merged. This morning, he would need their strength more than he ever had before.

Rising from the beach far below, up the narrow stone stairway, approached a slender form. With graceful ease, she climbed, her blond hair flowing in the breeze, mingling with her flowing white silk robe. As she stepped on to the landing, she paused, taking in the view. Chantillia waited, not wishing to interrupt her betrothed’s deep meditation.

Jerdone felt her approaching. I’m glad that you have come, Jerdone spoke softly. How did you know where to find me? Both Jerdone and Chantillia smiled, for each knew he would be nowhere else on this morning.

You do not have to take the test, Chantillia stated, immediately regretting her words. Attempting to take them back, she continued, At least not yet. You could wait until you are sure you are ready. Chantillia knew the risks and knew Jerdone might perish. Deep down, she really did love him and wanted to be his wife; however, this was secondary to her desire to be the wife of a Grand Magi and knew she would only marry a man who was.

Chantillia approached Jerdone from behind and laid her hands softly on his shoulders. She could feel the tension, but also the power which he had drawn during his meditation.

I am ready, I need no more time to prepare, Jerdone insisted. I just do not understand why the council has chosen Zandreena as my shandar. She is too young to take the test.

Then you will be strong enough for both of you, Chantillia said, lightly massaging his firm shoulders.

Jerdone considered her words. I cannot be responsible for her.

You are only responsible for coming back to me. She must prove herself. You are already stronger than most of the Grand Magi. You will carry her through when her strength fails her. You know she is intelligent and talented. If she were incapable of completing the test, the council would never have allowed her to take it.

Chantillia regretted coming. She was allowing her own fears to bring in emotions at a time Jerdone needed to push all emotions aside. Bending down, she warmly kissed his neck. Do not be long. It is almost time. Turning, she disappeared down the stairway.

Jerdone stood, but lingered a moment, taking in one last look, hoping he would again see this view. Jerdone had chosen the elements as his area of expertise when he was still a young boy. He loved feeling their tremendous power flowing through him. He knew his own strength, none could doubt it, but he was young and lacked the control that would only come with time. He had considered waiting. At thirty-two, he was still young to be taking the test of the Grand Magi. But he knew he was ready and decided to wait no longer. Chantillia wouldn’t wait forever. He was the envy of all the men in the land for catching Chantillia’s favor, she could have any man she wanted.

Being the daughter of a Grand Magi, Chantillia could have become a Grand Magi herself, but her sights were on a different end. She was smart and beautiful and had learned at a young age that where one attribute could not get her, the other always could. She knew that magic was the fabric that held the land together, and after deciding that becoming a Grand Magi was not her path, she knew she had to marry one.

Jerdone took a deep breath and began his descent down the stone steps toward his destiny.

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A cool breeze whistled through the grove, causing the tall grass to sway in time with the rustling leaves. In the middle of the grove was a young woman with long black hair. A white silk dress wrapped tightly about her slender frame. The woman moved gracefully back and forth to an unheard rhythm. The ancient form had no room for error as she moved through the complex motions. At first glance, it appeared that a light mist had risen up and swirled about her. However, at a closer look, distinctive shapes could be seen, human forms of those long since dead joining the woman in her dance.

Zandreena had performed this dance countless times, but until now she had always performed it alone. A rush of power and enlightenment went through her as the ancient spirits bestowed upon her their power and wisdom. Completing the form, the spirits faded from mortal view. She bowed deeply in respect as they departed.

Zandreena’s parent had died when she was a child, and she had been raised by her Grand Magi aunt, Andalina. Sensing Zandreena’s power, Andalina had encouraged her niece to focus her power around the spiritual realm, as had she. She was amazed at how quickly Zandreena had learned. Zandreena had so impressed the high council with her skills that she was to be the youngest apprentice ever allowed to take the test. This, however, had been done against Andalina’s wishes.

Andalina had no doubt in Zandreena’s skills, but she felt an unresolved anger inside Zandreena over the loss of her parents and feared that she had yet to master her emotions. The power of a Grand Magi was a great responsibility, and should never be taken lightly. But the high council had spoken, and Andalina knew she must succumb to their wishes.

Andalina had also caught her apprentice studying the forbidden art of demonology. The old master had scolded her niece severely against such studies, even for curiosity, but she neglected to tell the high council for fear that Zandreena would be banned from magic. That was the only time she had caught her niece in such studies, but feared she may have continued in private. Andalina feared Zandreena practicing magic unsupervised until she was sure that all such curiosities were gone.

Before starting another form, Zandreena felt a presence and turned to see her aunt emerge from the trees. Smiling, Zandreena bowed as Andalina approached. Master, they came! Zandreena exclaimed.

Of course they did, my child. They have been waiting for you for a long time, waiting for this day.

Thank you, Master. I will make you proud of me.

Call me Master no more, Zandreena, for that I am no longer. I have complete confidence in the outcome of this day, and I am already proud of you. After a short pause, Andalina continued, As are your parents.

Zandreena opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, knowing today was not the time for the answers she sought. Have you seen Jerdone yet? she asked instead.

No, child. Fear not, he will be there.

He never speaks of it to me, though I know he thinks I am too young to test with him.

The Grand Magi thought for a moment, then spoke. He will not think that way come the end of this day. Channel his strength, use it, direct it. He is strong, but lacks wisdom. The high council has chosen wisely making you his shandar. I believe that a better union of strength and intelligence could not have been made. Now it is time, my child, let us go.

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Massive marble columns, seeming to support the sky itself, encircled the stadium. Though modest in size, built to accommodate but a small number of attendees, the stadium appeared spacious with its tall pillars and elaborate craftsmanship. A double row of bench seats surrounded the upper level, while two platforms rose from the sunken center. On the north side, inside of the two rows of encircling benches, were thirteen seats, reserved for the high council.

There was no seniority among the Grand Magi, with the exception of the high council, and those in attendance sat where they chose. The seats were nearly filled as the members of the Order of the Grand Magi sat about the stadium. All Grand Magi, with exception of those away from URandar, were required to attend. Twelve of the thirteen high council seats were filled, leaving only the center seat vacant. This seat was reserved for the president of the high council, currently standing on the northern platform in the center of the stadium. There on the southern platform stood Jerdone and Zandreena.

A murmur of conversations echoed throughout the stadium. There was much excitement on this morning, and each of the Grand Magi wanted to express their opinion of the day’s events. Though the tests of the Grand Magi were few, each in its own right holding much excitement, this one was especially unique and had generated much speculation in the past several moons.

Jerdone came from a long line of great mages and was expected to one day sit on the high council. He had always shown great talent; and his instruction and progress had been closely monitored, even guided, by Arreat Schellmar, the president of the high council himself. His test alone would have been enough to generate excitement, but what was even more intriguing was who the high council had chosen to be his shandar, the one with whom he would pass through the test of the Grand Magi and who would be his partner and ally throughout his life in continued exploration of magic.

Zandreena was an orphan of common parents. They had lived in the small town of Garrapo just outside the walls of the great city of URandar, the city of the Grand Magi. Few who were not a direct descendent of a Grand Magi would be allowed to study magic. However, having been raised her whole life by Andalina, Zandreena was permitted into the circle of the mages.

Even more curious was her age. At only twenty-four, Zandreena would be the youngest apprentice ever tested. Why she was being permitted to test was unknown to most, and a point of much contention.

President Schellmar raised his hand, bringing all speaking to an end. The old mage began to speak. His voice was strong yet soft. There was no reason to yell. The acoustics of the stadium carried his voice to all in attendance. Facing the council, he turned slowly, addressing all who were present. "We gather here this day as has been done for more than two thousand years, we who have been entrusted with the forces that bind the universe and the inhabitants there in. We praise the gods and give them our thanks for allowing us the power to direct our world in the path that we choose and recommit ourselves to making our decisions wisely.

We gather at this time to honor two who have prepared themselves to stand among us. We honor them for their many years of training and for their desire to take upon themselves the responsibility of serving all. We await the completion of their test and will graciously welcome them into our numbers.

Turning toward the two apprentices standing across from him, Arreat continued in a thunderous voice, Jerdone Juanatrar stands before me. Who presents this apprentice to be judged worthy to be numbered among the Grand Magi?

A strong man in a deep red robe stood up from among the high council members and loudly stated to all present, I, Grand Magi Tarrest Juanatrar, present my apprentice, Jerdone Juanatrar, to be judged worthy, for I have found him prepared to be numbered among the Grand Magi.

Arreat turned back to Jerdone and asked, Jerdone Juanatrar, you have been presented by your master, Tarrest Juanatrar, to be judged worthy to join the Grand Magi. Do your offer yourself to be tested and judged? Do you accept all that will be asked of you in the fulfillment of your statues of that of a Grand Magi, and do you accept all responsibilities that will be granted to you therein?

Without hesitation, Jerdone answered, Yes.

The president of the high council then asked the same for Zandreena. To this Andalina stood and called out, I, Grand Magi Andalina Vandarlow, present my apprentice, Zandreena Vienitra, to be judged worthy, for I have found her prepared to be numbered among the Grand Magi.

Arreat turned to Zandreena and asked of her the same as he had asked of Jerdone.

Zandreena’s answer did not come so quickly. She looked to Andalina then to the high council. A breeze blew though the stadium, creating a ripple through her silky black hair. An uneasiness settled upon the stadium as a smile creased the corners of her mouth. At last she looked upon President Schellmar, stating, Yes.

President Schellmar hesitated himself, he looked at Zandreena, his head slightly tilted, as if searching for the answer to an unasked question. Then addressing all in attendance, he asked in a loud voice, Are there any among us who object to these two being judged?

Receiving no objections, Arreat turned and walked directly to his seat. He made no hesitation as his feet stepped from the raised pedestal to empty air. His feet landed solidly upon an unseen walkway, which supported his weight until he reached his seat. Taking his place among the high council, he faced the young apprentices. "Jerdone of the house of Juanatrar and Zandreena of the house of Vandarlow, you have been found prepared to offer yourselves to be tested and, upon completion of this test, to join the Order of the Grand Magi.

"We do not offer the test lightly, as well you should not accept it lightly. Many have taken the test, few have returned. We pray that you both will be numbered among the few. You will begin where you stand, and you must return to this place before the last rays of sunlight fade beyond the western horizon. If you return in this time, you will be numbered among the Order of the Grand Magi. If you do not, we will mourn for our loss. The test will be as it has been for more than two thousand years. You will be transported from this place to the Cretaran Realm, the void between life and death, light and darkness. There you must make your way to the statue of Benuve. Your rings of the Grand Magi were bestowed upon you this very morning. Upon finding the statue, you must simultaneously insert the stones of your rings into the eyes of the Great Wyrm Benuve. When this is completed, you will be returned to where you now stand.

"Know that both rings must be inserted simultaneously before the last rays of sun have passed from this stadium. If not completed, there will be no returning. How the test will be performed will be your decisions. No questions will ever be asked of you if you return, and you will be forbidden from ever speaking of your test.

Are you both prepared?

Yes, was the reply coming from both apprentices.

Then let it be so, the president ordered.

In one motion, the high council rose and began a series of hand motions and spoken words. The air around Jerdone and Zandreena began to twist and swirl, like a disturbed surface of water. As the air became more agitated, a rift opened in front of them and blackness oozed forth. The blackness grew until it consumed the two mages. Suddenly, the blackness was sucked back into the rift and the rift was gone, leaving the air quiet and still. Where once stood the two apprentices, now an empty pedestal remained.

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3

Throughout the day, the conversations had been light, talking about happenings around the city and the state of the country, anything to distract themselves from the tension that build throughout the day. The weather had turned warm, and as was the way, the mages had remained in the stadium without food or water. This, combined with the stress of the wait, pushed the anxiety high. Though now, as the sun touched the sea, the stadium went deadly still, as if all in attendance were holding their breath.

Tarrest’s face remained calm. While each of the members of the high council had their say, the council was run by majority. It was no secret Tarrest had objected to Zandreena as Jerdone’s shandar. However, under the direction of Arreat, the council had decided that they should be teamed together. Jerdone was Tarrest’s only son and would be understandably nervous, though his face revealed no anxiety as he sat in silence the entire day.

Andalina was willing to reveal her own emotions. The strain showed clearly upon her features, and as the sun had reached the skyline, she appeared almost in tears. Andalina had never been weak. She had proven herself in her own right. Even so, since the loss of her sister, Zandreena had been the last of her family. In addition, Andalina, having directed Zandreena into magic, felt responsible and would have difficulty going on if Zandreena failed to return.

Then there was Arreat Schellmar. He and two other high council members had spent the better part of the evening talking quietly among themselves. Andalina desperately wished to hear what they were saying, believing it was about Zandreena. To approach the high council area would be inappropriate, and any use of magic would be easily detected. So she spent the evening trying to read their lips, with little success.

Less than a quarter of the sun remained, and the stillness became deafening. The strain was almost more than Andalina could bear as she waited out the last few pars. She knew little of the Cretaran Realm, believing none did. Of course she had been there, or she couldn’t be numbered among the Grand Magi. But she only knew that which she had experienced for herself. Since it was forbidden to speak of the realm, it was impossible to compare what others knew to form a larger picture of the realm.

As the beats slipped by, Andalina was unable to stop thinking about Zandreena’s fate. Andalina’s mind vividly recalled the horrors she had faced and could only imagine what Zandreena was going through. It was unknown to Andalina what became of those who remained. Did death come swiftly, or did they remain in the realm until they were finally killed by the creatures that dwelt there? Was there truly no other way to return? Andalina knew of none returning after the first day, and it was taught that no one could. Still, with the sun slipping from the sky, she refused to accept the fact that this was the end.

As the last of the sun’s rays faded away, Andalina looked up at Arreat Schellmar. Despite the dimming light, she could clearly see the expression behind Arreat’s eyes and was horrified. She hadn’t expected to see sadness or remorse. President Schellmar was more than three hundred years of age and had sat before numerous tests, with many having not returned. No, Arreat was too controlled to let such emotions as loss or regret show through. But it wasn’t the fact that his emotions now so clearly showed that terrified her, it was the emotion itself. For what showed in the president’s eyes was relief.

Jerdone was popular and well respected in the community. Zandreena, though shy and spent most of her time studying, was loved and looked upon as a daughter by many of the older mages. With the disappearing of the sun, a sorrow settled over the stadium, and the silence was replaced by a mournful sigh.

Arreat stood and raised his hands. The silence once again filled the stadium. The president opened his mouth to speak, but the words were stopped in his throat by a shimmering blue light appearing on the pedestal where the young apprentices had stood that morning. The light began to twirl, spinning faster and faster until it became a tornado of blinding blue swirls. Then it was gone as quickly as it appeared; in its place stood the two young mages.

At first Jerdone and Zandreena stood still, both held in place by an unseen force. Then suddenly released from its bounds, Zandreena legs buckled, and she would have fallen had it not been for Jerdone grabbing her in his arms, supporting her weight while she regained her balance. As Zandreena righted herself, she lightly pushed Jerdone’s arms away.

Jerdone stood straight, with his strength spent, he stood on will alone. His face clearly showed his pain, and a mixture of sweat and blood covering most of his face, neck, and arms. His clothing was tattered, with a wound showing beneath each tear in his clothing, his body trembling. Despite this, he looked down upon Zandreena with concern.

Zandreena, though less physically marred, also stood by sheer will. Her hair lay wet and matted against her neck and back. Her dress was torn, soaked with sweat and blood. Zandreena appeared more exhausted mentally than physically. Looking forward, her eyes were blank and void of emotion, her pale face glowing in the moonlit darkness.

As they first appeared, there were gasps of wonder from the observing mages. As long as remembered, no one had returned after the sun had set, and the fact that they had created no small amazement. This, combined with other speculations surrounding the test, set the mages in awe of what they had seen. Murmurs rose from the Grand Magi as they exchanged quick comments among themselves. The voices were soon drowned out by the applause that erupted, growing until it thundered throughout the stadium. The mages were no longer concerned with how they had returned, only that their youngest brother and sister had returned.

Again President Schellmar raised his arm and the clapping ceased. Arreat looked down at the man on his right and nodded, then turned back to the center of the stadium. The man to whom Arreat had motioned waved his arm across the stadium. One by one, twelve spheres mounted around the stadium began to glow brightly, bathing the stadium in light.

Arreat turned his attention to the two standing on the pillar in the center of the stadium. On behalf of the high council of the city of URandar, and of all the Grand Magi of the Order of Ural, we welcome you among our numbers and give praise to the gods that you have returned safely.

The applause exploded again. Among the applause could be heard words of welcome and congratulations. This continued until the president again raised his hand for the congregation to be still. We know that you are tired and in need of rest and nourishment, Arreat spoke to the two new Grand Magi. We require only moments more of you before this will be provided.

Schellmar waved in the direction of the center pillars and spoke a word of magic. Several walkways appeared, connecting the pillars to the stands. As they appeared, Andalina and Tarrest rose and walked out to their once apprentices, each carrying a robe of the Grand Magi. As they approached, they held up the robes, placing them on the new mages’ shoulders. Jerdone and Zandreena turned toward their respective teachers, accepting the robes.

As Andalina opened the robe, Zandreena saw it for the first time. Even though she had chosen the design and color of the robe, as did all apprentices when preparing for the test, she had never seen it before. The robes were distinctive for each mage. It was made of heavy silk, spun by the South Chargon worms, and though soft and light, it wore like iron. The robe was full length with a large hood; long bell