Wardens of Light and Shadow: Book One of the Dracus Saga

By J.M. Williamson

Wardens. . . . Selected for their strong, innate connection to the lifeblood of the world, these unique individuals were granted the gift of immortality and tasked with protecting Kylir and its ancient Guardians against the Darkness. Where once they fought openly, raining unimaginable destruction upon the world, the centuries have seen thei

• Language: English
• Publisher: Senshi ImagineWorks
• Release date: Jun 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9780988599093

J.M. Williamson

Born and raised in the Southeastern United States, J.M. Williamson has always been an avid fan of fantasy in its many forms. He developed a love for writing, myths and fantasy lore at an early age; as a result, he wrote and fleshed out many stories to hone his skills throughout the years. His training mainly came from observation of other authors and entertainment media, as well as formal training in the development of video games and their plotlines. The Dracus Saga combines Williamson's love of fantasy and history with some of the more outlandish features of comics and manga to create a style of writing and fantasy storytelling unique to him.

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Wardens of Light and Shadow

Book One of the Dracus Saga

WARDENS OF LIGHT AND SHADOW: BOOK ONE OF THE DRACUS SAGA

Copyright © Josh Williamson 2003, 2012

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

2nd Edition

ISBN -13: 978-0-9885990-8-6

Acknowledgments

No endeavor is without its high points and low points, and this journey was no exception.  My everlasting thanks and this book are dedicated to my family.  Without their unwavering support, none of this would have been possible.  I love you all.

Prelude

Age of Twilight

5770 years since the Exodus

Winter is said to be many things.  Some say it is a time of cold and mysterious beauty, while others claim that the season is nature’s way of culling the excess and the weak while replenishing its life-giving energy.  Then there are those whose eyes have seen the greater horrors of life.  These people have experienced what the tragedies and hardships of winter truly are.  They know that no one can avoid its icy grasp, for it is part of the natural cycle – bringing cold and hardship like spring brings laughter and warmth.  These men and women welcome the season with open arms, well aware that what it represents is unavoidable.  For all these people, winter is one thing above all else – it is the season of death.

It was winter that had its grip upon the land known as Triclose, and every aspect of the realm reflected the season’s bitter influence.  From barren trees to terrain garbed in shades of brown and gray, it was easily enough to depress some of the most cheerful of people.  Yet, despite the drab atmosphere, there were some parts of Triclose that experienced another color common to the season.  In north-central Triclose, where the brunt of winter’s wrath had begun to show its true colors, snow covered the land with a blanket of pristine white.  For those individuals who viewed winter as the season of death, this strange beauty was a giant contradiction; while it was quite capable of destruction and death like most aspects of the season, the snow also broke the blandness of winter’s garb by adding a serene splendor to the landscape that was seemingly at odds with the season’s nature.

Amidst this shin-deep white blanket stood three men, the land around them devoid of any other visible life except for a grove of leafless oaks a hundred paces to the east. By any measure, the trio’s presence in the middle of nowhere would be a curious sight, and would likely attract the eye of any would-be traveler who happened to be in the vicinity.  At any other time, these men might appear to be easy prey to brigands hungry for gold and food in the barren heart of winter.  Yet, none of the three feared any of this – they knew that there were no travelers or brigands in the area, for neither type would want anything to do with the armies amassed to the west and east.  However, even if there wasn’t a heavy military presence in the area, the way the men stood tall against the swirling wind and the graveness of their presence would be enough to steer most travelers or would-be assailants clear of them. 

If there had been someone passing by, however, and they were willing to brave the cold and wind long enough to observe the trio, they would either mark the men as crazy or dangerous . . . or maybe even both.  Attired in only basic clothing and light cloaks, all three were devoid of the typical warm raiments any sane person would wear as protection against the frigid conditions. Yet despite this, they did not appear to be affected by the bitter weather in the least.  In fact, if an observer were willing to look closer, they might even note that the light snowfall did not seem to touch any of the three. 

The unusual aside, there were signs – both subtle and obvious – that the three were dangerous.  From the way they stood to the way they talked, or even the way they made a casual gesture, there seemed to be an inherent and barely contained deadliness in their movements. Yet, one wouldn’t have to observe these personal habits to find a clue to the three’s lethal nature. After all, their garb and weapons announced their chosen profession like a clarion call.

However, as far as the trio was concerned, speculation over how an observer might perceive their demeanor and appearance mattered little at that moment.  Their sole focus was the grim subject at hand.

The snowfall was light that evening, and the glow of the setting sun could just be seen through the heavy gray clouds to the east.  For the trio, the dour weather and the isolation of their location was perfect for their mood and situation, for it provided them with a chance to gather their thoughts and discuss the events of the last few months without fretting about prying ears.  Wars, plagues, famine and death were rampaging through Triclose like wildfire, leaving destruction and desolation wherever one turned.  And while they respectfully understood that such atrocities were worthy of grave concern, they also knew that such events paled in comparison to the bleak nature of their conversation.  To their chagrin, their discussion also made them painfully aware that their current seclusion was fleeting – for they wouldn’t be alone for long.

As the conversation amongst the three continued, the tallest of the group was all too aware of how little time they had.  Known as Doms Luthur Gravit’nas to the inhabitants of Triclose, he stood nearly six and a half feet tall and his golden-blonde hair was pulled back in a horsetail, which left his young, serene features and green eyes free of impediments as he conversed with his companions. Whenever he spoke, his deep voice seemed to reverberate in his chest, and whenever he gestured or moved, his black-as-night leather armor – which, like his black cloak, did little to obscure a frame that was thick with muscle born from years of fighting – would creak softly.  However, whether he was talking, or listening to the wisdom of his companions’ words, he could feel the weight of the conversation threatening to bow his broad shoulders.

Nothing about the last few months had gone right.  Too many were dead or dying, and too many were without the food or shelter needed to survive the winter.  Furthermore, events had begun to spiral out of control by the time the rumors of the latest threat had reached his ears. At first, he had not wanted to believe what he heard; and when there seemed to be a lull in the rumors, he had begun to hold out hope that the earlier tales were indeed false.  Then, just a few short weeks back, his companions had come to him with more substantial evidence.  Evidence that only they could comprehend . . . and fear.

The knowledge of what was out there, and of what was to come, added credence to his words as he addressed the shortest of their trio.  Shifting his shoulders beneath the weight of the twin, masterfully crafted katanas that hung in the harness on his back, he asked, Do you understand your orders, Darius? We can’t afford for anything to go wrong – not now, and not with what’s at stake.  This situation has become too dire, and I’m afraid it will get much worse before there is any chance of it getting better.

The man he had addressed as Darius was the most unremarkable of the three.  His black hair was close-cut, and his brown eyes peered keenly from a plain face that sported a broken nose and scores of telltale scars.  Contrasting his companions, his fighter’s body was attired in gray leather armor and black boots, with a gray cloak hanging from his shoulders. Arms crossed, he had listened attentively to the conversation up to this point, pitching in only when needed or when he felt it necessary to make a point.  Of the three, his years were equal to theirs, but his experience did not come close to matching that of his colleagues.  However, he knew that, when given, they would listen and value his thoughts and opinions; although at this point, he could do naught but respond to his old friend.

Darius nodded, grim but thoughtful.  Aye, I understand.  No matter what happens this eve – whether you do or do not come back – if the weather is with us, the army will attack tomorrow at noon.  Should the weather not favor us, we are to pull from the field immediately, drawing them to the north. He hesitated a moment, for once that evening unsure if he should voice the fear in his heart.

Luthur held up a hand, forestalling the question he knew was on Darius’ lips.  If I fail here – and let us pray that Corith sees fit that I shall not – arrangements have been made to carry on without me.

Darius stared into Luthur’s eyes for a moment, looking for any sign – whether it be one of hope or one of failure.  Seeming to find what he was looking for, he nodded his understanding.

Good.  Now get back quickly.  I do not want there to be any doubt as to my orders.  Travel swiftly, Darius, and may the Light illuminate your path.

Bowing low, fist to heart, Darius then straightened, grabbed the hilt of the simple, two-handed broadsword suspended comfortably at his left hip, and began the trek back toward the oak grove where they had tethered their horses.  Unhindered by the snow, he was soon lost in the dark shadows of the trees. 

Satisfied that his orders would be carried out, Luthur turned to his remaining companion, who was glaring at him.  Let’s hear it, Damion.

Where Luthur could have been easily been perceived as a fighter, or even royalty if one had no notion of his station in life, his companion to his right would be hard-pressed to be mistaken for anything but a dealer of death.  Shorter than Luthur by only a few inches, his slender, toned frame was shrouded in black; from his leather armor to his tabard, belt, boots and gloves, other than the steel of buckles and clasps, there wasn’t even the tiniest hint of color to be found on his functional attire.  Like his clothing, his slightly up-tilted eyes, which peered from a chiseled, hawkish face, were a coal-black and starkly contrasted by snow-white hair that was pulled back in a horsetail. 

Throughout the evening, when Damion had spoken, his friends had listened as he added his knowledge to the mix. For Luthur, it was easy to defer to that knowledge.  He had known Damion for a very long time, and was well aware that his friend’s knowledge and experience not only belied the roughly thirty-five years that seemed to decorate his face, but was – at the very least – equal to his own.  Damion was conscious of this, and knew the counsel he offered wouldn’t be rebuffed without a valid reason; and if such a reason existed, he knew it would be voiced.  In fact, Luthur had done so on numerous occasions that evening, resulting in Damion’s current frustrated state. 

Throughout the entirety of the discussion, Damion’s right hand had continually stroked the artfully carved bone handle of the katana at his left hip; and as Luthur once again requested his opinion, his hand locked tightly around the hilt as a dry smirk cracked the lips of his grim face.  What would you have me say?  What you want to hear, or what I think? he asked, his deep, authoritative voice dry with sarcasm.

Luthur folded his arms across his chest and grunted.  Don’t be sarcastic with me.  We both know it’s not needed now.  I have always valued your opinion – and right now, I need it more than ever, old friend.

The smirk faded from the Velusyian’s face, and he gave a casual shrug as he spoke, his irritation began to spill over.  Very well.  This is about the most insane idea that you’ve ever accepted into your skull – and we all know that there have been plenty of those in our lifetimes!  In fact, I’m not sure all of the others combined would equal the foolhardiness of this one!  What, in Corith’s name, could have possibly possessed you to accept his challenge?  Up until a few months ago, things have been as peaceful as I can remember in a long time.  The only thing that this foolish act will accomplish is the death of one or both of you!

Luthur chuckled dryly.  That is the most emotion I’ve seen out of you since Juliana’s betrayal all those years ago.

Damion’s brow furled in anger, a dark fire igniting in his eyes. 

Seeing this, Luthur held up his hands in defense.  Peace.  I mean no insult, and you know it.  It is good to know that you care about me this much.

Though it took a moment, Luthur’s words finally managed to assuage Damion, and he visibly relaxed. 

Seeing his friend’s rage wane, Luthur offered him a small, sympathetic smile, and stated, "Now listen, my old friend.  While it may not be today or tomorrow, or even a hundred years from now, Garith threatens to draw this world back into a war that it cannot survive at this time – you and I both know that.  I’ve also worked too hard to forge Triclose into a unified land, and I will not have it all destroyed just so that bastard can sate his thirst for blood!  We scattered the rest of the traitors to the far ends of the world or killed them, so he stands alone and more vulnerable than ever!

If I face him here and now, with the celums in our favor, we can stop his ambitions! We cannot let him gain a foothold and run the risk of him finding his allies!  I have to take this chance, old friend.  No matter what the cost – this is an opportunity that cannot be missed.

Damion sighed and rubbed his temples, conceding the point.  With a hint of trepidation, he eyed the dragon-inspired collars and leather-wrapped hilts jutting over Luthur’s shoulders before saying, He won’t fight fair, you know that?  Even with no one to back him up, he wouldn’t be so brash as to challenge you without feeling like he has the advantage.

Luthur nodded grimly.  I know, but it’s a chance I’ll just have to take.

The admission drew a grunt from his friend.  Well then, what about us and, for that matter, Triclose if the cost is your life?

The leadership of Triclose will fall to Kluvius Merandith.

The announcement caught Damion off guard.  The younger brother?  Duratain will be furious.

Luthur nodded, a slight breeze rustling their cloaks.  I know. However, Kluvius is better suited to handle such a large nation.  He may be young, but his patience, evenhandedness, and his grasp of diplomacy well outweighs his brother’s attributes.  Now as for us, leadership will fall to Darkon – as we decided long ago. And should Garith decide to attack in full or seek out the others, I know that you all will stand against him.

Damion stared at him, still disgruntled by the choice of Darkon even after so many years had passed.  Darkon?  Why Darkon? he asked again, as he had done so many times in the past. He’s been less than agreeable about things for a very long time. And let’s face facts – his attitude toward you has never been very cordial.

Luthur let out a heavy sigh before reiterating his reasoning, I know you thought that you would inherit the position, but you can do more if you aren’t hampered by the responsibilities that will fall to Darkon.  Besides, I want you to keep an eye on him and make sure he remains true to his oaths.

Nodding hesitantly, he looked Luthur in the eye.  I don’t like it – and never have – but I shall abide by your wishes as always, old friend.  So, is there anything else I should know?

A small, sad smile crept onto Luthur’s lips as he pulled a thick packet of letters from under his breastplate. Bundled together by a lavender ribbon, each letter was sealed with emerald wax that was pressed with the roaring dragon sigil of House Gravit’nas.  Should I not make it back, these letters contain orders for my burial, and information I want only you to know that goes well beyond everything we’ve discussed. Luthur smirked as surprise crossed his friend’s face.  Yes, my old friend, I’ve still managed to keep some secrets to myself. Damion sighed, to which Luthur chuckled dryly.  In any event, you will know when to open them.  Trust no one else with this – not even Darius. Damion took the letters reverently and tucked them under his tabard as Luthur added, Also – we both know that if things go the way we believe they will, the army will probably see things they won’t understand or need to know about.  Make sure things are remembered in a more . . . normal light.

Nodding, Damion replied, Won’t be easy anymore, but there are enough of us here to make it happen and hold.

Good, I–

Their conversation ceased almost as if a thunderbolt had struck them, a sudden and insistent sensation drawing their vision to the west. Peering intently into the distance, there was nothing visible as far as they could see, but that didn’t stop their hackles from rising.

He’s here, whispered Damion, his nerves suddenly on edge.

I know.  His very presence makes my skin crawl, Luthur said with disgust. Shaking his head, he then turned to his friend, his features setting into a sad, serene mask.  I’ll see you in a little while, he offered, extending his hand.

Damion grasped Luthur’s wrist in a firm warrior’s handshake as he stated wistfully, Come back in one piece, old friend.

For a moment, the two companions stood there in silence, trying to commit to memory what might be the last time they would see each other.  Finally, with great reluctance, Luthur broke the handshake and turned to the west, walking effortlessly through the snow.

Damion remained there in a silent vigil for a time, watching his old friend vanish into the distance.  Even then, he continued to stare at the horizon until he could no longer sense Luthur’s presence.  Finally, he let out a deep, remorseful sigh.  May Corith and the Light guide you well, my friend, he whispered to the wind, hoping it would carry his wishes to his ancient companion.

With nothing left to do or say, he then turned and made his way to the oak grove to retrieve his mount and inform Darius of the consequences should Luthur fail.

Luthur’s long strides carried him smoothly and gracefully forward, the snow parting before him as if it didn’t exist.  The air was cold, and the wind cut through the sky with vicious intent, assailing exposed flesh as if the breeze were made of a plethora of tiny frozen needles.  However, as with the oddity of the falling snow seeming to melt into oblivion just prior to striking him, the winter assault seemed nonexistent to him as he strode forward, his back straight and his eyes on the horizon, each step carrying him closer to an unknown fate.  So many thoughts pervaded his thinking, cluttering his mind like a bawdy common room. He couldn’t remember the last time his thoughts were so jumbled and so disordered that he couldn’t simply banish the unwanted musings and focus on his objective.

Until the rumors of the opposition’s new leader had surfaced, neither Luthur nor his companions had lost much sleep fretting over Garith or his lot.  The unification of Triclose had taken the better part of twenty years – in what many had come to call the Great War – and no thought had been given to anything but the war effort during that time.  The rebellion that had shattered the resulting peace had been thought to be little more than an irritant in the beginning.  As the years dragged on, however, it became apparent that something more was afoot.  Three years into the current conflict – now known as the Second Great War – there had arisen a growing sense of worry that someone intimately familiar with Luthur was behind the rebellion.  When Luthur’s companions finally confirmed Garith’s reappearance and his leadership of the opposition, sleepless nights began to amass on their shoulders as old fears crept into their minds.  What was Garith up to?  Were any of the others with him?  Was the Darkness they had fought so long and hard to contain beginning to creep back into the world?

Then, the oddest and least expected action was taken – Garith offered a challenge to Luthur.  They were to meet in single combat, which left no doubt in Luthur’s mind that the winner would hold a significant advantage over the fate of Triclose and – more importantly – Kylir.  Despite the dire implications, Luthur found himself welcoming the challenge with ironic and somewhat morbid amusement.  In years past, he had dreamed about being able to settle all their disputes in a fashion similar to what they had agreed upon.  This would provide a simple way to end the tension and suspense of always looking over his shoulder and checking every shadow.  After all this time, all the suffering, and all the pain and anguish, Garith had appeared from the shadows and provided the perfect opportunity to end it all.  Then again, should Garith win, there would be no telling what kind of horrors he would unleash upon the world.

A hard gust of wind blew Luthur’s horsetail over his shoulder and into his face as the falling snow grew heavier and thicker.  With a flick of his head, he flipped the blonde locks back over his shoulder, and a deep sigh escaped his lips as he tried to sort through everything.  The thought of what Garith would do to Triclose made him shudder.  With all the time and energy he’d spent forging the fractured land together, it went without saying that Garith would know that he viewed Triclose as one of his greatest accomplishments.  Upon reflection, it suddenly occurred to him that Garith was in all likelihood behind the opposition from the start.  That realization made perfect sense.  It would have taken a man of Garith’s intelligence and dark nature to turn a majority of the major ruling Houses against him.  Furthermore, there were many factors that would have made Garith’s job deliciously easy. From the fragileness of such a young and vulnerable peace, to the domses that had coveted his throne, Luthur was always painfully aware that all it would take was the proper nudge to send Triclose spiraling back into the dark depths of war – which Garith had apparently provided.

Despite these truths, the amount of malice that resided within the opposition had surprised Luthur.  He had borne witness to many of the unspeakable acts that Garith’s puppets had committed over the years, but he had never expected such ruthlessness and such willingness to do whatever it took to win this war from the Houses that now opposed him.  While their armies had met many times over the last two years, the battles since Garith’s ascension to leadership had been excessively brutal, and the war had quickly become one of survival. Although the opposition had suffered heavy casualties each time, Garith’s forces had also exacted a massive toll on Luthur’s army.  No captives were taken, and no quarter was ever given.  Granted, one could not claim much honor in a fight for survival, but there was no inkling that the opposition cared one wit about such grandiose notions as honor and mercy no matter the situation. For Luthur, such acts were disgusting no matter in what Age they occurred.  However, despite his angst with the situation – and much to his chagrin – the current war and all those that had preceded it were beginning to feel pointless; furthermore, in a twisted way, he knew it made perfect sense to Garith’s dark mind.

Yes, this threat had to be eliminated now, before things could get any worse.  If he was to prevail, then so be it.  The world would be without one less villain.  If Garith were to win, then there would be nothing Luthur could do about the consequences.  He smirked at the ridiculous weight that rested on the outcome of this duel, and then took a deep breath of the icy air to clear his mind.  There was no more time to worry about the past.  As for the future . . . he firmly believed that was in Corith’s hands.  Only the battle ahead mattered and, as that was the only thing he could exert some semblance of control over, he turned his attention to it.

Luthur came to a halt and peered intently into the distance.  He knew Garith was out there even though he could not yet see him.  The question was – where was he?  He had forgotten how conflicted and chaotic the ethereal blue currents of fir’gan became around Darkness-touched Gifted, and his inability to locate Garith quickly was a harsh reminder of whom and what he was dealing with.  He clenched his fists slowly, the knuckles cracking loudly, and closed his eyes for a moment.  When he opened them again, there was a calm about him, as if he was more than ready to accept his fate no matter what.  For those like him, their eyes saw the world in a different manner.  Where the common person saw merely what was visible to the naked eye, those like Luthur – Gifted as they were known in the annals of history and legend – could see the ebb and flow of the ethereal blue currents of energy that connected all things on Kylir.  With a mere thought, he freed his mind to wander the ribbons of energy, his senses expanding into the distance, bringing every sight, sound and smell into sharper focus.

The cold became more intense, and the wind cut sharper than a well-honed blade.  The frosty, fresh smell of snow became almost painfully sweet.  He even could almost feel every snowflake as it struck the ground.  Still, he couldn’t find Garith even though it felt like he was standing right next to him.  Pushing harder, he expanded his range, his mind racing along the blue ribbons of energy.  Nearly a league to the north, he could see, with his mind’s eye, a white rabbit franticly running from a leopard, trying in vain to escape from becoming a meal.  To the southeast, he could hear the cry of a hawk as it soared in search of a rare winter morsel.  In the end, no matter how far or how stringently he searched, Garith was still nothing more than a tingle at the edges of his senses. 

Then, with a sneer, it struck him. "He’s masking his presence just enough to annoy me," he thought with contempt.

With a deep breath, he changed his tactics.  Instead of spreading his mind and senses across a vast distance, he pulled them back close, limiting his focus to the ebb and flow of the currents nearest him.  If before his senses had felt sharp, now everything was painfully crisp and clear.  The currents of fir’gan became excruciatingly bright.  The snow felt and sounded like rocks crashing into one another, and the wind was like red-hot barbs piercing his flesh.  For a moment, he began to think even this wasn’t going to work; but then he felt something at the edges of his senses, taunting him like a vindictive child.  Luthur focused on that feeling, narrowing his senses even further, and it jumped into focus, drawing a shudder of revulsion from him.

Garith’s presence enveloped his senses, and he immediately felt like he was being immersed in a fetid lake of rotting corpses and waste.  His skin began to crawl as if millions of tiny insects were in a rush to cover and consume him.  At the same time, the bright blue light of the currents began to fade and darken as plague-ridden, malicious thoughts began to creep into his mind – unwanted and overwhelming.  Realizing what was happening, Luthur pulled his senses back a bit and slammed a mental barrier between him and the macabre aura.  It was a child’s trick – and he had almost fallen for it.  A moment longer, and Garith would have been in his mind, toying with him like a child stomping on ants. 

Tsk, tsk, Luthur. I cannot believe you almost fell for that.

The thought crashed into Luthur’s head like a blacksmith’s hammer, drawing a gasp from him. Steadying himself, he glared grimly into the distance at where he sensed Garith, but he still saw nothing but swirling snow.  Cautiously, he reached out mentally and replied to Garith, alert for another attack, I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that you would still try children’s tactics.  Trying to entertain me, or annoy me?

A chuckle entered his mind and he could almost see Garith bowing sarcastically to him.  Always at your service, Lord Dr–

Don’t say it!  You lost every right to address me as such long ago, traitor!

Why Luthur – temper, temper.  It isn’t becoming of you, chimed Garith with a dry chuckle that echoed about Luthur’s skull like a war drum.

Out with it, Garith! What are you up to? barked Luthur forcefully in his mind, his eyes growing grim.

Why Luthur, do you honestly have to ask?  I want the same thing I’ve always wanted.  I want . . . there was a sudden tug on Luthur’s senses and he spun to the right just as a wall of heavy, thick snow blew by, leaving a figure in its wake, your head, drawled a deep, dry voice.

Garith was without a doubt the most sadistic man, both mentally and physically, Luthur had ever known.  His black hair was wildly spiked, and crowned a long, lean, sun-darkened face that was marred with countless scars.  Ears lined with simple golden rings flanked his face, and bloodthirsty black eyes glared with malicious intent from under his dark eyebrows.  From just beneath his right eye, a red fang was painted down to his jawline, which served to accent his already imposing presence.  Standing as tall as Luthur, two crimson pauldrons rested on his shoulders – black flames like wildfire embossed on them – as if he didn’t even notice their weight.  The crimson cloak hanging from the pauldrons concealed the rest of his body, but Luthur didn’t need to see beneath it to know that Garith was fully armored and armed, which eliminated any hope from his mind of resolving the situation in a nonviolent fashion. 

This would be a dangerous fight indeed.

Flaunting your powers as usual, I see, Luthur said with disdain as he examined Garith’s aura with his fir’gan-sensitive eyes.

The snowfall began to pick up, the pristine flakes melting with a sizzle just before landing on Garith.  Ah, Luthur, so good to see you again! It’s been so very long, and I’ve missed you so! As Garith grinned, revealing a set of perfect teeth and overly large canines, Luthur was reminded that his opponent looked very much the predator when he smiled.

Garith let his gaze wander before it settled on Luthur again.  I see you’ve been quite busy. He took a few casual steps forward, leaving only a few paces between them.  Actually, I’m quite impressed with what you’ve done here.  I never would have thought it possible to unify this land; and for you of all people to have accomplished it. . . . He let out a chuckle.  Well – I must applaud you. He clapped his hands mockingly, his cloak parting to reveal hands armored in crimson gauntlets, before shrugging his shoulders suddenly and indifferently.  Not that I couldn’t have done it.  I just would have done it with . . . he waved his hand in a lazy circle in the air, a little more flare.

You mean total chaos, Luthur stated flatly.

Garith snapped his fingers.  Exactly!  Such an observant boy!  There’s nothing better than a bit of chaos, wouldn’t you say?  Just think about it!  All the blood, violence, carnage and chaos one could ask for! His voice began to rise in pitch and his eyes grew wide.  We have the power to play these people like puppets!  We control who lives or dies!  Who suffers or prospers!  Just imagine it!  A land of pure chaos with us at its helm! He pumped his hand in the air, his cloak parting wide enough to reveal crimson plate armor that appeared to conform to every muscle and flex with every movement.

Come now, Luthur, join us.  Think about the possibilities!  The world and its lifeblood bends to our very will, and the mortals are ants beneath our boots!  We’re virtually unstoppable now, but with both of our powers combined – we would be gods! As he said this, his eyes lit up with a wild light and the air around him seemed to glow red for a brief moment.

Luthur scowled in disgust.  Gods, Garith?  Now I’m sure there’s nothing left in your head.  That job belongs to Corith – and I don’t think he’d appreciate usurpers.

Waving the comment away, Garith chuckled.  A minor obstacle.  Better yet, a lone annoying flea on a giant dog, if you will.  Why fear a god that cared so little as to leave flawed stewards to watch over his creations?  Join me, and together we will gain the Darkness’ favor for us alone!  The Darkness will make us gods the likes of which this world has never known!  Nothing will stop us!  Not the combined armies of the world; not the Darkness; and not even that pitiful old fool of a god you call the Lord of the Light!

There was a burning fanaticism to Garith’s eyes as he spit the final words out like rotten food.  It pained Luthur to think that Garith could believe such nonsense.  Yet, it was plain to see that Garith unconditionally believed what he said – which was a testament to how far he had fallen. 

Luthur scoffed at the proposition angrily.  "Do you take me for a fool?!  You do nothing but stand there and spew mindless drivel from your tainted mouth!  Your beloved Darkness will not do the things it has promised you! It will continue dangling its promises in front of you and the other traitors like a delicious treat, using you for its own ends! And when it is done with you – it will consume your souls!"

Garith’s face contorted with feigned shock.  Why Luthur, your words have cut deep.  I do believe you’ve wounded me worse than anyone ever has.  I really thought you had the sense to accept my offer.  Just think about it – we could be gods.  Gods, Luther!  We could be–

"ENOUGH!" screamed Luthur, the currents around him rippling away as thunder sounded ominously in the distance.

Garith glanced toward the storm clouds building to the east and let out a low whistle. Wagging a finger at Luthur, he chided, "Tsk, tsk.  You shouldn’t get so angry.  It’s not becoming of someone as righteous as you.  Besides, his eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to a hiss, I don’t think you have the stones for it."

Reaching up and releasing the clasp on his cloak, the wind carrying it a short distance away, Luthur stretched his neck, causing the vertebrae to pop loudly.  You are sadly mistaken if you believe I won’t fight you, Garith.

A devilish grin spread across Garith’s scarred face.  Ah, I see that you do have the stones for it, he replied with zeal as he pushed his cloak behind his shoulders, revealing his crimson armor. 

From his breastplate to his greaves, cuisses and gauntlets, every piece of the protective gear – except for his pauldrons – was eerily molded to reflect his musculature. Beneath the wicked armor, and starting just below his chin, a bodysuit of tiny scales – which shone dully in the evening light – enveloped every inch of him like a second skin. Its dark coloration was complemented by the ebony flames that were embossed not only on his knee plates, but also on the elbow guards that extended from his bracers like bizarre, bony protrusions.  Black even found its way to his brown belt in the form of a circular-seal buckle that was molded to look like a pair of obsidian dragons whose paws were locked together as their eyes stared out upon the world.

Glancing at the belt, Luthur saw a katana, which could have been a twin of his blades, suspended from it at Garith’s left hip. While the sword would normally be the most obvious danger, Luthur knew that, thankfully, the blade was no longer a threat.  It was the unseen, however, that truly worried Luthur.

Noting Luthur’s gaze, Garith purred, his eyes flashing with malice and his grin spreading, Now all I have to do is figure out how I’m going to kill you.

Luthur didn’t offer a response. Instead, he locked eyes with Garith, daring him to move. 

For a time, the two just stood there staring each other down. To an observer, it might have appeared to be something from a storybook – the gallant hero standing toe-to-toe with the evil villain.  Moreover, if not for the dire circumstances surrounding the two, the sight might have almost been comical.  However, the intensity of their eyes and the deadly promise of their posture could be mistaken for nothing but reality.  Still, neither of them appeared to want to make the first move. 

As if the land was impatient for them to begin, the wind began to howl about them and another clap of thunder sounded to the east. Then, almost as if on cue, the first move was made.  It wasn’t a physical move by either man; instead, Luthur saw Garith’s aura surge and felt it hammer away at his mental barrier as it grew in strength.  It had been so long since Luthur had felt such a flow of power aimed at him that it was awe-inspiring, and even a little overwhelming.  However, Luthur maintained his composure and, knowing what was to come, he mentally braced himself for it.  The currents of fir’gan began to pulse and swirl violently around Garith as he drew in power, promising destruction untold.  Suddenly, before Luthur’s eyes, Garith’s aura burst to life, sending waves of pulsating crimson power dancing wildly about its master.  Like a torrent of blood, the excess power flowed chaotically from Garith’s feet toward the sky, sudden flashes of energy bursting to life about him like a thunderbolt, only to fade away the next instant. 

As the air between them crackled with the power that the aura held, and the snow at Garith’s feet began to melt to nothing from the heat pulsing from him, a resigned sigh escaped Luthur’s lips.  I guess we can’t settle this like normal men, can we?

Howling with laughter, Garith slid his sword free of its scabbard and readied it, the polished bluesteel turning blood red in the light of the crimson aura.  Oh please, Luthur – that would be so boring.  This adds a twist and a bit of excitement to it, don’t you think?

Luthur nodded grimly.  Very well, then.  So be it.

Focusing his mind inward, he blocked out everything his senses were screaming at him, and searched for the core of power that resided within all of those like him.  It took but a moment before he found it, a tiny speck of light he felt pulsing in his heart, and latched on to it as if his life depended on it.  As his face contorted with rage, Luthur opened his mind and body to the power.  Bringing it forth, his aura exploded into existence, sending oscillating waves of emerald energy dancing about him like barely contained wildfire.  Like Garith’s aura, bursts of energy flared to life, crackling in the air before fading away.  Furthermore, with both auras putting off enormous amounts of heat and energy, the ground around the combatants was soon clear of snow, leaving only brown grass and quickly thawing turf beneath their feet.

Garith glared at him with a small smile, impressed by the display.  "Well done, Luthur.  I had no idea you had grown so much in strength, and gained so much control of your fir’gan.  I didn’t think someone as averse to using their power would be able to accomplish what you have.  I do hope you won’t disappoint me."

Luthur spit on the ground in disgust.  Taking a step forward and removing his katanas from his back, he pointed the bluesteel blade of his left-hand katana at his ancient opponent.  Let’s get this over with.  I won’t tolerate your presence here any longer.  This ends now!

Garith lowered himself into a crouch, his blade held low and pointed behind him, as he let out a chilling laugh.  My sentiments exactly, he hissed, years of animosity dripping from each word.

Frozen earth exploding from under their feet, both men let out bloodcurdling screams and charged forward, bringing their katanas about in vicious arcs that were meant to rend each other open.  The trio of blades met with a thunderous crash, bright white light exploding from the contact, and each man’s aura flaring with the impact.  Luthur broke from the deadlock immediately, dropping low and directing a sweeping kick at Garith’s ankles.  Anticipating the move, Garith launched himself into a high backflip and landed nimbly, cracks spreading from the impact. 

Without breaking his momentum, Garith charged forward, thrusting with all his might at Luthur’s stomach.  Intercepting the attack, Luthur pushed it wide with his left-hand blade and brought his right-hand katana around for a decapitating blow.  Having recovered swiftly from the overextended thrust, Garith caught the descending blade on his bracer, his aura flaring slightly on contact.  Grinning, he shoved the blade aside and extended his hand toward Luthur’s chest, blasting him squarely with a glowing crimson ball of fir’gan.  Caught off guard by the move, Luthur barely managed to gather enough of his power to dampen the blow before he was blasted off his feet and into the air. However, being a veteran of countless battles, he recovered quickly, righted himself, and landed on his feet.

By the time Luthur’s feet touched the ground, Garith was charging again.  Thinking quickly, Luthur aimed his hand at a patch of snow in his opponent’s path and released a fireball at it.  The snow vaporized on contact, raising a thick wall of steam.  It didn’t surprise him when he saw Garith soaring over the top of the vapor barrier with his sword held high – in fact, he had been counting on it.  Without a second thought, Luthur let out a scream and slammed a blast of air into his airborne opponent, the hardened currents hammering Garith a good seventy paces backward through the air.  Unwilling to relinquish his advantage, Luthur followed the blast with a charge toward where his opponent would land.  Garith, on the other hand, was not fazed by the blast.

Rotating deftly in midflight, he landed hard on his feet, flinging chunks of frozen earth into the air.  Nimbly, he sidestepped Luthur’s twin upward cuts and brought his own sword around, intent on decapitating his opponent.  Sensing the attack, Luthur dropped low and rolled forward just under the blade.  As he came to his feet, he turned just in time to sidestep an uncontrolled thrust.  Garith stumbled by and felt Luthur ram an elbow viciously into his back, the force of the blow driving him nearly a pace into the ground, chunks of earth exploding from the impact.  They both knew the blow would have killed a normal human – but they were far from ordinary.  With that thought in mind, Luthur brought his swords up and down quickly, intent on ending the fight.  Garith, however, had other plans.

Before the blows could land, he gathered the air around him and shoved it down, angling so that it propelled him up and away from the attack.  Luthur’s blades bit deeply, but harmlessly, into the ground, shattering the earth around Garith’s indentation.  Yanking his swords free, Luthur looked up in time to see Garith launching a fireball at him.  Bracing himself, he extended his swords as if he were trying to catch the burning projectile.  His aura flared brightly as he caught the flaming mass and it exploded against his crossed swords, shoving him backward.  The air around him sizzled, and the snow on the ground evaporated as he slid back nearly sixty paces, his feet digging trenches in the frozen earth. 

As the blast dissipated, his backward trip came to a halt.  Other than a few scorch marks, Luthur appeared unharmed.  However, Garith had intended the blast as a distraction, not a fatal blow.  Following the fireball with inhuman speed, Garith held his sword high, ready to deliver the killing stroke.  Too late, Luthur saw Garith closing in, his blade glinting in the dying sunlight peaking through the clouds.  With no time to dodge, Luthur brought his right-hand sword down and caught Garith’s blade. Rolling his katana under it, he lifted the locked blades in a futile attempt to force the attack over his shoulder.  Time seemed to slow down as he realized that Garith had drawn too close for the parry.  Wide-eyed, he watched the swords creep achingly upward until Garith’s blade bit hard and deep into his left shoulder, the illusion violently shattered by the blossoming pain.  Spinning away, Luthur pressed a fist against the oozing wound, a slight hiss escaping his lips.

Garith chuckled and brought his katana to his mouth. Licking the fresh blood from the blade, he then purred, "Ummmm – sweet.  You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment."

Removing his fist from the wound, Luthur saw that the gash had already healed itself.  However, something was definitely afoot.  While Garith’s katana had done no more physical damage than any sword would have, he had felt a subtle flux in the currents within him.  It was a mild and weak shift, to be sure, but it was enough to set off alarm bells in his mind.  Directing a scowl at Garith, he tested his arm.  Glad you are enjoying it, because that will be the last bit of satisfaction you will ever have from me, he spit, easily hiding his growing trepidation.

Oh, I think your death will provide me ten lifetimes worth of satisfaction. He glanced at Luthur’s shoulder and smirked.  Last chance, Luthur.  I’d prefer to have you on my side.

Clearing his mind, Luthur turned sideways, his left-hand katana held high and pointed toward Garith, and his right blade held in a guard position.  Better that no one should have my strength than for it to fall into your hands.

Garith opened his stance as well, and raised his katana to eye level, aiming both its point and his free hand at his opponent.  A knowing and menacing smile crept onto his lips.  Oh, trust me – I don’t plan to destroy your crystal.  I have plans for it.

Luthur’s eyes darkened and his face contorted grimly.

Good, Garith stated with satisfaction. I see you understand.  Now, shall we dispense with the warm-up and do this for real?

With the pieces of the puzzle beginning to take shape in his mind, Luthur growled and charged in response.

*

Known to all as the Jade Dragons, Luthur’s army was camped a full league to the east of the dueling pair.  The sea of canvas tents covered a third of a league of frozen earth.  Organized into smaller camps by House, tents were arranged in neat and orderly rows, providing easy thoroughfare for both foot and mounted traffic.  Guards diligently walked their patrols while other camp hands attended to cookfires or the repair of weapons and armor.  However, other than the required duties needed to keep the camp functioning smoothly, it had become a hauntingly silent evening that saw some of the troops sitting in contemplative silence, and others whispering prayers of fortune for their leader as he engaged in honorable combat. 

Yet, on the western side of camp, there were some men and women who had ceased their duties and musings to cautiously eye the storm clouds flowing to the west. The dark clouds were building quickly, and the thunder and lightning erupting from them in the distance was haunting.  There were some troops that went as far as to make gestures to ward off evil spirits.  Few of them, if any, had ever seen a thunderstorm brewing in the middle of snowfall; thus, it was easy to understand how such an anomaly could be construed as a bad omen.  For those, however, who knew what the crashes and booms were, the sounds and growing energy behind it brought fear to their hearts. 

Damion and Darius, their horses in tow, stood well beyond the hearing of the nearest spectators, their eyes and thoughts fixed on the horizon.

By Corith, their strength is incredible.  To feel it that clearly from here is just. . . . Darius shook his head in disbelief.

Damion nodded in agreement.  I had not realized their powers had grown so much over the years. He touched the hilt of his katana nervously.  I’m beginning to believe that leaving him to this alone was an even worse idea than I had originally thought.

Darius shook his head in both agreement and disbelief.  I’m not going to argue with you, but they’re exerting so much fir’gan that I can barely separate one from the other.  It wouldn’t surprise me if the currents around them are raging with enough force to rend a person into tiny pieces.

Another thunderous boom rocked the air, drawing Damion’s attention.  He concentrated for a moment, then smirked.  Well now . . . that is interesting.

Darius eyed him quizzically.  What is it?

Always the teacher, Damion responded with a request instead of an answer.  Focus your mind, and tell me what you feel.

Darius chuckled and narrowed his focus, trying to separate the two power sources from the swirling mass of fir’gan.  Nowhere near as skilled at sensing others of their kind as Damion was, it took him a moment to get a read on the battle.  When he finally did separate the two powers, it brought a smile to his face.  Garith is pushing his limits . . . and it appears that Luthur is holding back and winning!

Patting Darius on the back, he motioned toward the encampment.  Let’s find Darkon and see what we can do about making sure this battle is remembered in as much of a normal light as possible.

Though still somewhat worried about the outcome of the duel, they began to make their way back to camp.  As they neared the first line of pickets, two men broke from the throng and headed toward them.  One man was short, and clad in simple leather armor and a conical helmet.  A badge of black embroidered with five golden stars, signifying his allegiance to House Merandith, was sewn onto the left breast of his armor.  His face was adorned with a thick black beard, and tired brown eyes that stared from beneath a helm that was failing miserably to protect his nose, which was splayed at an odd angle due to having been broken one too many times.  While his grizzled appearance was quite eye-catching even amongst all the veteran soldiers, his companion’s exotic appearance managed to make him seem practically normal.

Nearly as tall as Damion, the darlion was a rare sight on Triclose.  Umber fur, nearly short enough to be mistaken for skin, covered his entire body, while the long white locks hanging loosely from his head served as his hair.  His ears, which swept back from his head to gentle points, were capped with fur that was a match for his hair. Crystalline-blue eyes, with dark vertical slits for pupils, peered at Damion and Darius from astride his broad, flat nose.  Befitting his feral appearance, there was a slight hint of elongated canines peeking from between his thin lips.  His striking facade was further reinforced by elongated proportions that were reflected in his longer-than-normal strides, which granted him a grace that bespoke of beauty and deadliness.  Watching him approach, Damion could only wonder at the mysteries the man was hiding.

When the two groups met just outside the picket lines, Merandith’s man bowed to Damion and Darius before saying, Doms Captains Delverius and Calthis, Damion and Darius nodded in recognition of the respective names they were known by in the army, Doms Merandith would like a word with you when you have a moment.

Damion, whom the messenger referred to as Delverius, nodded again.  Tell Duratain we will speak with him as soon as Doms Gravit’nas returns from his duel.

The man saluted, fist to chest, and bowed before hurrying off to deliver the message.

Once the messenger was out of earshot, Damion led his two companions away from the picket line and prying ears.  I take it everyone’s attention is focused on the show? he asked as another boom rattled across the air, causing Damion and Darius’ horses to snort and paw nervously at the ground.

Darkon hooked his long thumbs behind his belt.  There’s some that aren’t watching, he replied in his somewhat arrogant, baritone voice. However, those are either asleep or attending to duties that don’t grant them a line of sight. He paused and his eyes became unfocused for a brief moment.  I see Luthur is winning, he said as his eyes regained their focus. Does he have any orders for us?

For right now, he wants everyone to remember this incident as just a normal duel, Damion responded.

Darkon shrugged nonchalantly.  There are enough of us here to accomplish that.  Is there anything of real importance?

Damion eyed him suspiciously for a moment.  Was that merely disdain, or was it arrogantly casual disregard for the complexity of manipulating the minds of this many people?  He let the notion go and simply shook his head.  Not right now.  We’ll know more when–

A thunderous, earsplitting boom sounded in the distance, drawing everyone’s attention and spooking all the animals in the camp.  Men and women throughout the encampment either stopped what they were doing to watch or began moving toward the western side of camp as a large dark dome of energy appeared on the horizon, growing rapidly before suddenly vanishing.

Dear Corith!  What was that?! cried Darius as he fought to settle his horse.

Weaponized transformation, Damion muttered, his hopes quickly turning to fear as he reached out with his senses in an attempt to discern what was happening even as he calmed his mount. 

At first, it was hard to sort through all the excess fir’gan that had been released.  The flood of power almost overwhelmed him even at this distance, but his disciplined mind pushed forward and began to make sense of the currents.  To his horror, a cold dread gripped his heart as he began to separate the power sources.  Now, instead of two sources, he detected ten distinctly new signatures, two of which seemed almost in harmony with each other.  As he had feared, Garith wasn’t fighting even remotely fair.  Cursing himself, he swung up into the saddle of his nervous mount and signaled for Darius to do the same.

What is it? asked Darkon, unable to make sense of the mass of power.

There’s ten new sources out there – and Luthur just released all his fir’gan!

Darkon’s eyes went wide as he cried incredulously, Impossible!  We’ve been keeping watch ever since we scattered them to the far reaches!  We would have known if they moved!

I know! Damion growled in frustration as he swung his horse about violently, drawing angry complaints from her.  Darkon – get the others and alter the army’s memories!  Don’t let anyone follow!  Darius – with me!

They then spurred their mounts to a full gallop and were quickly speeding across the snow-covered land with all haste, leaving Darkon to contend with an army of memories.

As soon as they were out of visible range of the camp, they came to a halt and swiftly dismounted.  What they felt in the distance was sinking their hearts, and it was becoming obvious that they might not make it in time. 

Loosening his katana in its scabbard, Damion stated gravely, Not too fast.  If they sense us, they’ll be on us before we can get our guard up.

Darius tossed his cloak onto his saddle and readied his sword before nodding grimly.  I’m ready.

The two eyed each other one last time before they each dug a foot in and seemed to vanish, shattered earth erupting from where they had stood, startling the horses.  The land became a blur as they picked up speed.  To an outside observer, they would have simply seen a spray of snow and felt the wind from their passing.  Still, even as they closed the distance, Damion couldn’t help but feel that they would be too late.

*

The snow had melted and the grass had been incinerated, leaving the barren terrain with only smoking, muddy craters as decor.  The smoldering carcasses of a few animals unlucky enough to have wandered into the battle dotted the landscape.  Just from examining the extent of the damage, one would think that whatever or whoever had caused it could not have survived its own destructive rampage.  However, in this case, the two men responsible for the carnage were very much alive. 

Luthur parried a downward cut before stepping back and slamming his foot into Garith’s face.  Bones crunched and Garith stumbled backward, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.  When Garith made no move to advance, Luthur took the opportunity to catch his breath.  Both men showed obvious and violent signs of their struggle.  Luthur’s body armor had been shredded and his tattered shirt hung from his belt.  Cuts and bruises marred his torso like a second skin, and his right eye was beginning to swell and close up.  His aura, however, was still pulsing strongly and the wounds were slowly healing – albeit, much slower than they should have, which added to his unease. 

Where most men would be dying from the beating he had taken, the injuries Garith had sustained, on the other hand, would have killed a normal man long ago. 

His left pauldron had been shattered, leaving the tattered remains of his cloak hanging from the remaining pauldron.  Blood soaked the unprotected shoulder, darkening the conforming black-scaled bodysuit he wore under his armor.  Both his greaves had been destroyed and his legs were fractured in numerous spots.  His torso armor was rent open from his waist to collarbone, blood trickling from numerous lacerations, and a deep cut in his left side burned with pain. Furthermore, five of his ribs and his nose were broken, and his left eye was swollen shut. Unlike Luthur, however,