The House of Makadaran *HF*
By Harbinger
THE HOUSE OF MAKADARAN
Prologue
Part One: Renewal
Night held Arcadia in its unfeeling, indifferent grasp, clothing the land in the purity of darkness. The only creatures that continued to stir were the hunters, the stalkers that only struck by the moon. The jagged shapes of trees dotted the landscape, empty frames that once held abundant life. When the land dried up, the tries began to slowly die, and the animals residing in them were forced to relocate or face the same fate. A squirrel mother had remained behind, in a solitary tree at the edge of the wilderness. Her children waited in the confines of the tree, waiting for their mother to return with sustenance. An acorn, some kind of delicious nut to stem the tide of their hunger. She had wandered for too long, and starvation claimed her. Her children perished not long after, never knowing what became of their mother. Maggots riddled her body, consuming her from the inside, fighting their own desperate struggle to survive in the forsaken land. As the moon began to set in the west, the few creatures that were prowling through the desolate wild made their way to their homes, to rest for the next night's chase. It was something that they had not had to endure before, since there had not been day or night on Arcadia for many years. The night-creatures sought and fought the day-creatures, each battling to ensure their own existence. They raged through the endless half-day, half-night, stealing and plotting and betraying one another as the land died. Food had become terribly scarce. But the coming of this strange night had frightened the day-creatures into sleep, and the night-creatures were free to hunt them unhindered. They had not been prepared for what was to come: the dawn. As they sensed the end of their night, they scampered back to their nests and holes. The sky began to brighten slightly, and then sunlight flashed across the landscape. Its warmth trickled down the land, and the cracked, barren soil began to change. Moisture and minerals were infused into it, and the plant life almost immediately began to take hold. The maggots inside the squirrel mother panicked and fled, as if by some strange warning. Her eyes opened, and she no longer felt hunger. She looked at the blazing sun, a sight alien to her eyes. In confusion, she ran back to her tree, only to find her children alive and well, not the starving skeletons that they had been.
...
Apothecary floated high above Lehat, taking in the restoration of the land. After Arcadia's first night in thirty years, its first day was beginning. And it was all because he was here, with the power of the Makadaran inside him. It was a renewal. A renewal of the land, a renewal of order, but not a renewal of his wholeness. At the periphery of his consciousness, the question of why he still had the sentinel technology embedded in his body continued to trouble him, but it did not diminish what he was experiencing now. It was breathtaking, and his eyes were forced to watch. Trees were brought back to their full green pride, the soil enriched itself as if in tribute to the trees, and animals recently dead sprang to life once more, to inhabit the glorious trees and forests. Dry lakebeds and ponds were no longer dry, instead filled with fishes and plants and fresh water. Wisps of cloud streaked here and there across the sky, offering no obstruction, just their inobtrusive smile upon the inhabitants below. Apothecary smelled the scents of Arcadia, the scent of flowers in bloom, of hearty breakfasts being cooked in small huts, the quiet musk of the animals in the city. The sounds of children at play reached his ears, as well as the tapping of horse hooves on the dirt. Merchant booths popped up all around the city, and commerce reigned in the market squares. Innumerable voices shouted prices, offers, warm greetings, and sweet goodbyes. Oh, he noticed the occasional threat, the word blurted in anger, but the city bore no violence, save for that of the children tackling each other playfully. Apothecary had never, in all his life, witnessed such a beautiful scene. Snow-capped mountains off to the north gave the scene a finishing touch, and he slowly glided down to the soft, new grass. He smiled as Mythia approached, and took her hands in his.
"Hello," he said softly, smiling for the first time in years.
"Do you understand now, Franklin?" she asked.
He nodded. "I do. This world needs me."
"It needs your guidance and leadership, and the power that you wield. You are destined to unite Arcadia in a way that has never been accomplished."
"How is that?" he wondered, looking over toward the mountains.
"You must create an alliance with the Maligned," she replied seriously. "I do not even know if it is possible... but the texts say that only the Makadaran can achieve such a thing."
"What 'texts' would those be?"
"The Ovid Rek contains the history of the Makadaran, as well as the prophecy of his return."
"Then I'll have to look into it. Is there some specific reason that you came to see me?"
"There is, actually. R'Mener wishes to know your plans for the next few weeks. Arcadia is still largely devastated from the wars of the past thirty years, especially the destruction visited upon us while the Prophet was possessed by the Makadaran."
"What would you suggest?"
"I think a visual survey of Arcadia would be in order. Perhaps you and myself, and then either Luthos or Dragonmaster. It would give you an opportunity to acquaint yourself with the land and the people, and the chance to practice your newfound powers. And it will give us the chance to spend some time together."
Apothecary's smile grew. "Now you've sold me on the idea. When do we leave?"
"We should start packing as soon as possible. Plan for at least a few weeks' journey. You do intend to establish relations with the Maligned, correct?"
"I hadn't really been thinking of that... but it looks like I don't have a lot of choice in the matter."
"It is for the benefit of Arcadia. In fact, the Maligned will be helped, as well. We will be stronger together as allies, than divided as enemies."
"Let's hope it's that easy to convince the Maligned."
As the day began, Apothecary and Mythia trekked back to the government building in Lehat, which was serving as their temporary home.
Part Two: Cockatrice Surprise
In the Grand Archive.
Luthos and Dragonmaster pored over the texts located in Lehat's Grand Archive, trying to refamiliarize themselves with Arcadian magic and customs. While they had endured only a thirty-year absence, they were a bit rusty on the formalities and particulars of Arcadian life. Luthos learned a few new spells that had apparently been discovered in his absence, no doubt improvised from the lack of magical energy due to the theft of the Obelisk. He breathed a sigh of relief as he thought about what had transpired in the days past. Arcadia was plunged into near-oblivion by the Prophet's mad scheming, even allowing himself to be consumed by the Makadaran's ancient energies. Apothecary's birthright (as well as a good measure of skill) brought about the fulfillment of prophecy, and Apothecary himself became the new Makadaran. Arcadia was invigorated with magical energy once more, and Luthos intended to enjoy it. It would be a far easier task to help rebuild the battered world, now that his magicks were at their best. Dragonmaster was pondering a book on the use of flails, something which he had previously not had an desire in using. He had received his fill of battle in the confrontation with the Prophet, and was more than ready to relax for awhile. But Arcadia called upon him, just as it did the Battle Mage, to aid in the restoration of the world's former glory. He put the book away and looked at his friend, and they both stood.
Antoine DuQuesne entered the Archive just as Luthos and Dragonmaster were leaving, and he stopped before them. "Where are you two going?" he asked curiously.
"We were preparing to eat. It is nearly midday," Luthos told him.
"Would it be all right if I joined you?" DuQuesne requested.
"I suppose there would be no harm in that," Dragonmaster answered. "But we have not forgotten the assistance you rendered to the Prophet."
"I know, I know. I promise you, I will find a way to gain your trust... that is why I decided to serve Apothecary in the first place. So, what are we eating?"
"I do believe that the royal chef--that is, the best one in the city as of now, since there is not precisely a 'royal chef' as yet--is serving what he calls 'Cockatrice Surprise.' It sounds tempting," Luthos said.
"I never did have a taste for 'trice," Dragonmaster stated, "but it is acceptable."
DuQuesne was unsure whether eating with these gentlemen would be a pleasurable or painful experience, but he decided to risk it. After all, he didn't have a clue as to what "Cockatrice Surprise" was, and his curiosity always tended to get the better of him.
Part Three: Plans for Reconstruction
In the government building.
Avalon, Nemesis, and R'Mener sat talkatively in the aptly-named sitting room. While ShockWave was exploring Lehat and Gomurr had departed to "attune" himself to the planet, the trio discussed what would be happening in the coming days and weeks. R'Mener, quickly showing his organizational skill, formulated a strategy in a matter of hours.
"You see, of course, why I require the assistance of both of you in the--complete, mind you--restoration of the city. Young Avalon, my friend, you seem to have an immense talent for the technical. You will do quite splendidly, I believe, if you focus your talents, immense as they are, on the task of rebuilding Lehat's aqueduct system, which itself happens to be quite immense, as are your talents, as I am sure you have gathered by now."
Avalon and Nemesis were slightly annoyed at R'Mener's convoluted sentences, and his never-ending babble. Obviously, his city planning skills did not cross over into the realm of grammar. Avalon sat forward in his rather comfortable chair and spoke. "Exactly how long is this aqueduct?"
"Oh, it must be somewhere in the approximate estimation of perhaps, say, nine thousand torins long. With the information given me by your generous Gomurr, I have converted that value into units that should be much more meaningful and useful to you."
"Just tell me how long the damn thing is," Avalon said, covering his face with his hands in frustration.
"Eight kilometers," R'Mener answered--for once--succinctly.
Nemesis' thoughts were concerned with the Harbinger. He hardly said anything to her before he had departed back to Earth. She knew he was upset over Thresh's death--anyone could see that--but she had no idea exactly how the man reacted to such things. She worried, and hoped that he would be feeling at least a bit better by the time she returned to Earth. After all, it would only be a few weeks--a month or so, at most. To take her mind away from the matter, she listened to R'Mener and Avalon.
"How much water, in your assumption, do you believe you could make the aqueduct ferry in any given amount of time, if such a given value were one day?" R'Mener asked.
"Well, if we're assuming an aqueduct that's eight clicks long, and fifty meters wide, I'd say it could pump about four million liters of water across the city in one day. That is, if you use the power system I told you about."
"I viewed the design for the power supply, and I wondered exactly how it worked. In fact, I am still wondering. Could you, if it does not cause you enormous hardship, perhaps explain its operation to one such as myself?"
"It's solar-powered. The water pumps are operated using energy gathered by solar cells."
"What is, if I may inquire--"
"--yeah, I know, you have no idea what solar power is. It's powered by the sun. Is that good enough of an explanation for you?" Avalon snapped.
"Its energy is pulled from the sun? What strange enchantment did you undertake to achieve such a beneficial bond with the life-giving light?"
"There's nothing magical about solar cells, R'Mener... they work based on the laws of physics. Which, as the Harbinger explained, don't work the same way here. I'm pretty sure that solar cells will work just fine, in any case. Now, don't worry how any of it works, okay? Just let me build it."
"You have the finest craftsmen and masons and builders and smithies and work animals in Lehat at your disposal," R'Mener said.
"That's just fine," Avalon replied, hoping that the conversation was over.
R'Mener turned to Nemesis. "You, my dear, are to venture out into the city and locate those that are the most virtuous, intelligent, and powerful in the city. They will, if you choose the correct ones, be the royal court of our new Dridseor, the valiant Apothecary, he who wields the power of the Makadaran. I understand that you have the desirable ability to consume the thoughts of others, and peruse them at your will. A very nice advantage, yes, yes."
Nemesis frowned a bit. She knew absolutely nothing of this world, and now she was being sent into Lehat to find a royal court? "Why do you need a new royal court?"
"The madman whom was called the Prophet, but who was possessed by Makadaran, slew those who would have served in such a capacity. Alas, it was a terrible deed. However, I survived, if only by my incalculable wit and veracity. But digression serves not our needs, and you must depart at once. Go! Find those that are worthy of the most gracious honor of serving our stalwart Apothecary, greatest of kings, lord of the Dridseors. Young Avalon, you shall remain to tell me more of these wonders from your world, including this device that you keep in your pouch, that you refer to as 'television.'"
Avalon squirmed in his seat, and Nemesis grinned at Avalon as she left. She certainly didn't envy his having to spend more time with the ever-talkative R'Mener.
--End Prologue--
Chapter One
Part One: The Fire Drake
The Grand Archive.
Apothecary dropped the Ovid Rek on the table once he noticed the huge red eye staring at him through the window. His mouth opened and went dry, no words coming forth. He had seen many things in his life that no longer would surprise him... but this was one thing that could elicit a pure sense of fear. He stood and approached the window carefully, drawing his sword from its hilt. Vengeance began to burn red with the energies of the Makadaran that flowed through him, and he neared the window. The sound of Mythia clearing her throat forced him to shift his head to the right. "What's that outside?" he asked quickly. "And how long have you been standing there?"
"Outside is our transportation. His name is Bereid'Atan. He prefers just plain 'Atan.' And I have been standing here for a few minutes, just waiting for you to notice me."
"Well... what is Atan? He's not dangerous, is he?"
"No, he is not. He is a fire drake, and he is only a threat to those that would attack us. The sword is not necessary." She twitched her wrist, and Vengeance lost its glow, and Apothecary felt compelled to return his sword to its hilt. He simply looked at her in mild annoyance.
"You need to show me how you do that sometime."
"It is just a little magic, Franklin. I will make sure I teach you some while we are on our little trip. Now, since Atan cannot get inside this building, it is only fair that we go out to meet him." Apothecary followed Mythia out of the Archive, but not before he grabbed the Ovid Rek from the table. He had been studying the immense book, and wished to continue his perusal of it.
Once they were outside, Apothecary plastered himself to the Grand Archive's external wall. He had no idea that a fire drake could be so huge. "Hello," Atan boomed, and nearly knocked Apothecary and Mythia to the ground.
"Please be more careful with the volume of your voice," Mythia gently instructed.
"Sorry," Atan said, lowering his voice to a whisper. His wings fluttered a bit in embarrassment, and he curled his tail up behind him. Apothecary watched the drake as he moved closer, still unable to convince himself that he wouldn't be harmed by the creature.
"I--I apologize," Apothecary said. "It's just that... I'm not used to... well..."
"Don't worry about it," Atan said cheerfully. "I get that reaction a lot... especially from people who have never seen a fire drake before."
Apothecary had been clutching the Ovid Rek to his chest the entire time, and relaxed his grip a bit, and tried to calm his breathing. He'd seen much worse, he kept reminding himself.
"What's with the book?" Atan asked straightforwardly.
Mythia laughed quietly and faced Apothecary. "Fire drakes usually say what's on their mind. I'm sure that you two will get along quite well."
Apothecary smirked, noticing her veiled insult. Instead of retorting, he turned back to Atan. "This book is the Ovid Rek. It's a historical volume, and contains the story of the Makadaran's origins, as well as the prophecies of my own coming. Since I'm new to Arcadia, I thought it would be prudent to read up on it."
"I'd read it, but the writing is too small," Atan said. "It's frustrating that they don't print books in my preferred size."
"At least you can get oral instruction," Mythia said. "And there are benefits to being the only fire drake in the Eastlands."
"Like what?" Apothecary asked.
"Oh, like being able to do just about anything I want, as long as it doesn't destroy anyone's property," Atan answered.
"Why are you the only fire drake in the Eastlands?" Apothecary queried.
"We all come from Infernal Bay in the Maligned Regions. Not many of us ever make it as far south as the Arcadian lands. The climate is certainly nicer up there, I must say. But the people... what a nightmare. They try to kill us all the time."
"You mean the Maligned?"
"Yes, them. It's understandable, since we're just so big and powerful... but it's not like we really want to hurt anyone. Mythia, don't we have somewhere we should be going?" Atan asked.
"We should tell R'Mener of our excursion," she said.
"Are you trying to avoid my questions?" Apothecary asked accusingly.
"I'd rather not speak of the Maligned," Atan said simply, raising his head and snorting.
"I'm... sorry," Apothecary said, until then unaware he had offended the creature.
Bereid'Atan took to the air and flew toward the government building where R'Mener was staying. Apothecary and Mythia walked. They received a fair amount of stares from the citizens, and the stares were more suspicious than anything. Apothecary knew they had every right to be suspicious. They had lived for thirty years in near-darkness, their magic very limited, their world in ruin. Now, some man from another world had come to replace their leader and supposedly carry Arcadia into a utopian age. A nice vision, certainly, but he knew they were all skeptical. His first order of business with R'Mener would be to gather the citizens of Lehat so he could deliver a speech to them. They at least deserved to hear him explain his intentions.
He relayed his plan to Mythia as they walked. "So it's all right if we delay for a day or so?"
"I suppose we can manage that. The people will likely warm up to you more quickly if you make yourself accessible. But please be careful... Arcadia may seem more peaceful than Earth, but our people can be just as devious and treacherous."
"I understand," he said, and they continued to the government building, which Avalon had just nicknamed "Poth's Flophouse." They noticed the sign hanging above the entrance.
Part Two: Exploration
Elsewhere in Lehat.
ShockWave's feet touched the soil lightly as she walked, raising up a small amount of dust. Horses whinnied as they passed her, their riders shouting at her to get out of the way. She just smiled and took herself out of their path calmly. This was a different world, with customs that differed from Earth's. While their language seemed slightly different, she was able to understand it fully. One of Nemesis' thoughts forced itself into her mind, and she jumped.
There's a reason you can understand what they're saying.
She spun and faced Nemesis, who must have been walking behind her. "What did I tell you about getting inside my head?" she asked with a tone of threat.
"I wasn't probing your mind, so don't get so concerned. I was simply going to explain to you why you can understand them, and they you."
ShockWave waited while Nemesis looked at a merchant stand across the way. "Well?"
"Oh, right," Nemesis said, drawing her attention back to ShockWave. "R'Mener told me that there is a spell over Arcadia... some kind of enchantment... and it makes everyone speak the same language. I suppose that we're both speaking 'Arcadian' right now and don't even know it. This is certainly a bizarre world, isn't it?"
"I'll say," ShockWave replied, noticing the purple lizard that was zipping past her feet. It seemed to turn green, then yellow as it moved further away. "So what are you doing out here?"
"R'Mener sent me to find a royal court for Apothecary. I need a Treasurer, Regent, Grand Vizier, Archmage, Historian, and a Liaison."
"I think I understand what most of those are... but what does a Liaison do?"
"I was told that a Liaison basically goes between the Dridseor and those in charge of the cities themselves, to coordinate work efforts."
"The Dridseor is Apothecary, right?"
"I'm pretty sure. Who knows? This world is too strange."
"But oddly familiar, in some ways," ShockWave said, glancing up at the Earth-like sky.
"Where are you headed?" Nemesis asked.
"I was still exploring the city. I was hoping to catch up with Gomurr somewhere around here."
"Gomurr? R'Mener said that he headed north, toward Verin Pass. Didn't he tell you that?"
"No, he didn't. At least I familiarized myself with the city."
"Well," Nemesis said, "I have to go recruit some royal court members now... I hope you enjoy yourself, because I doubt that Avalon and myself will be enjoying much of anything for awhile." With that, she walked off to fulfill her assignment.
ShockWave smiled and continued walking down the dirt street. Buildings stood all around her, the streetways themselves getting ever-narrower. For the apparent level of technology the Arcadians had, their architecture was quite stunning. Arches seemed to be a predominant feature, as well as pillars. There were also glass windows, which she found slightly unusual. Then again, "unusual" also described the people that levitated down the street, were half-visible, or that ran faster than she could see. The people of Arcadia seemed to have many talents, and she was enjoying learning about them. She only wished that Rahsas had opted to stay for awhile... but he insisted on going back to Earth aboard the D'Aguiar. She suspected that Robyyn's existence inside the Prophet's mind compelled him to go with the ship, but she would rather have had him with her.
She noticed a building of a design atypical, unlike the other structures. In the place of arches were squarish doorways, and there were no pillars. Just strange walls that curved left and right and outward, and a flat roof. The building was grey, much like the others, but its design still registered something ominous to her. Perhaps it was the presence of coiled patterns all over the walls, and images of multi-tentacled creatures that disturbed her. The walls looked like they had an overgrowth of vine, but it was only the odd conglomeration of stone tentacles that wrapped around it. She stepped toward the doorway to the building, and saw only darkness. She quickly stepped back, but something else grabbed her. It grabbed her ankles, she felt something grab them, and she was knocked to the ground. She clutched at the dirt, at the doorway, trying to pull free, and kicked at whatever was grasping her. She tried to activate her powers, but found them somehow unusable. Something struck her head, and she was conscious no longer.
--End Chapter One--
Chapter Two
Part One: Warning from the Dawn
Verin Pass.
The mountains flanked him on either side, towering cones of rock and ice with speckles of trees in patches here and there. Animals of flight swooped through the sky above, circling and hunting. The path of dirt upon which he walked consoled his feet, urging him farther. He had not intended to come this far... but something was calling him. He wondered if some locus of the Crimson Dawn was speaking to him, begging his arrival. He would soon have the answer.
His sandals were strangely sufficient; his feet kept warm despite the chilled air. His kimono also kept his body warm, with no need for more. His hair--much thinner now, than the last time he had checked--was kept in a neat ponytail, hanging down the back of his neck, a sliver of silver-white. Winds whipped around him, but did not sear his wrinkled face. His walking stick communed with the path, warning the creatures ahead that a master of magic was coming. This entire world spoke to him, each tree spilling years and years of magical starvation into his mind, every animal crying to him of three decades of mystic death. No one understood what had happened to this world better than Gomurr. The people themselves certainly grasped their own hardships... but he knew that they had no idea how deep the world's pain could run. The Obelisk, the object that bound all magic in Arcadia, had been ripped away, taken to another world. Arcadia had slowly died, and was only now recovering, with the return of its rightful energies. The way in which the Makadaran--he whose essence had been trapped within the Obelisk--had arranged his own escape chilled him. A being who manipulated the Prophet, the pacifist from Limbo, and used him to free himself. Now, the power was within Apothecary. Gomurr did not know him. Luthos, however, did. Gomurr had developed a respect for the Battle Mage's abilities, and if Apothecary could be trusted by Luthos, then he himself had to accept the new Dridseor. But he would continue in his suspicion, for he knew of the agony this world had endured.
He moved farther and farther along the trail, deeper into the mountains. He pressed on, despite the unfamiliar surroundings, following that which called to him. It grew stronger and stronger, and soon he was being consumed in the warmth of a mystical light. He recognized it. The Crimson Dawn held a node on this ravaged world. His own magicks had been drained during the past several days, and so a communion with the Crimson Dawn would serve him well. He walked into it, feeling its invigorating power, filling him with the energy that was rightfully his own. But the Dawn was warning him of something else, something that plagued Arcadia. A something that hungered for the Makadaran's power. He stepped back, somewhat shocked by the urgency of the Dawn's warning. He now felt a strangeness about the land, and could sense that something was still terribly wrong in Arcadia. And it was close. Gomurr clutched his walking stick ever more tightly, and briskly walked back to Lehat.
Part Two: Apothecary Against the World
Lehat.
Apothecary stood on the large platform that stood in the city square, and advanced toward the podium. He looked back at Mythia, who gave him a reassuring smile, and then to R'Mener, who showed him an expression that only one kind of person--the kind that were called "Yes men" on Earth--could own. He frowned, but only slightly. He was used to working alone, in the shadows, out of view from everyone else. Standing in front of a crowded mass of people, all of them directing their attention at him, was terrifying. But he was no longer just Franklin, the Apothecary. He was Dridseor Franklin, the Apothecary, avatar of the Makadaran, leader of Arcadia, and the stuff from which destiny was made. He had a responsibility he had never sought, on a world he no longer remembered, filled with people he did not know. This, he decided, was his destiny. He would survive it. He looked down at them, all of them waiting for him to speak. He was suddenly wishing he had a glass of water on the podium, something to cure the dryness of his mouth, and perhaps something to fill his mind with meaningful words and reassuring phrases that this world would be better under his leadership. He sighed and breathed deeply, trying to keep calm. This was his world now. He had to keep control of it.
"People of Arcadia," he began, "I have come here today to tell you who I am, and what the future holds for all of us."
They were still hanging on his every word. He noticed a wide-eyed child near the front of the crowd, so close he could nearly reach down and touch him. The boy's blond hair was shining in the sunlight, but his smile was even brighter. Focus, Apothecary told himself.
"Thirty years ago, the Obelisk was stolen from Arcadia. It was whisked to Earth, the world which seems close to our own, yet not at all the same. That was where the Obelisk stayed, for thirty years, gradually feeding its power and madness to a man who called himself the Prophet. Arcadia was ruined during those decades, as every ember of hope slowly died in its people. On Earth, the Prophet tried to release the Makadaran inside the Obelisk, and it drove him insane. He fled to Arcadia, and tried to burn Lehat to the ground... and I came. I stopped him, but I did not do so alone. There were many brave men and women that fought with me those few short days ago, but few of them are still here. Mythia, the woman who stands by my side, who balances the power I hold within me, will rule with me. Luthos, the once-great Battle Mage, shall be great once again. He will be my Archmage. Dragonmaster, the truest and most honorable warrior I have ever met, will serve as Regent."
R'Mener's eyes narrowed, and he spoke to Mythia. "What is wrong with the Makadaran, what evil sickness is leaching the reason from his mind? He cannot make Luthos and Dragonmaster members of the royal court, not men of ignoble blood, nor workers nor laborers. Luthos the Battle Mage, the magician of the common folk, the servant of kings, never the equal! And Dragonmaster, hands awash in blood--"
Mythia put her hand over R'Mener's mouth. "You will not mention any of this to him, R'Mener. He is now the Dridseor of Arcadia, and he will appoint whomever he chooses as his court. You will not challenge his decisions." She stared fiercely into his eyes, and R'Mener saw something menacing within them. He kept silent for the rest of the speech.
Apothecary continued. "I was born some three thousand years ago in the house of Dremma, one of the greatest kings that Arcadia has known. When an invasion from the Maligned toppled my father's house, he sent me away to Earth, where I held no memory of this world. I grew and continued to live, living beyond those on Earth that had become my friends. Each century passed, friends and enemies passed, but I did not. Then I encountered Luthos and Dragonmaster, who had resided on Earth since the theft of the Obelisk. While I did not know it, the sword I had found years earlier had already bound me to Arcadia and to my destiny. Events beyond our understanding clouded the sword's identity, and so my own was left unknown. Then, I met Mythia. She knew of my heritage, and guided me to this, my rightful place. I have all of them to thank for where I now stand, at the seat of Arcadia. And I wish to thank all of you, for you will help me restore Arcadia's glory. I cannot do this alone," he said, and the emotion filled his eyes and heart as he spoke again, "I cannot do this alone."
The crowd stood silent for several seconds, and he wondered what he had done to them. Perhaps his power had run amok and swiped their minds clean? No, no. He smiled at himself for being so paranoid. They were truly riveted by his speech, it seemed. They applauded, and a few even cheered. But he was not finished. After the clamoring subsided, he continued further. "I am preparing to depart Lehat this evening, to survey Arcadia firsthand. I will unite the people of the other cities, and we will nurture and defend one another. And, if all goes well, the Maligned will be our allies."
He was not prepared for the reaction of the crowd. They stared at him with similar expressions, like a mixture between shock and outrage. He had to act quickly. "I will not hand Arcadia over to them, I assure you all. We will reach a peaceful decision, I promise you! You have nothing to fear... please believe me." With the last three words, his voice had quieted. The people posed no threat to him whatsoever... but he had absolutely no desire to massacre them with his power, either. Very gradually, their frowns and stares turned to smiles and skeptical glances. Certainly better than before. He wiped the sweat from his brow, glad that particular hurdle had been passed. A few of them began to clap, and words of praise swept across the crowd. Mythia stepped up next to him, and then Luthos and Dragonmaster appeared. They had heard Apothecary's speech, and had been suitably surprised with their new positions. R'Mener stormed off down the street, away from the teeming crowd. Apothecary did not notice, nor would it have detracted from his experience if he had. The people seemed to love him, and were willing to accept him. He only hoped he was able to live up to their expectations.
Nemesis, who had been standing in the crowd, had been impressed. "At least I now have two less royal court members to find," she said to herself.
--End Chapter Two--
Chapter Three
Part One: The Journey Begins
Not far from Lehat.
Bereid'Atan flew across the Arcadian sky, carrying two very important passengers. Apothecary and Mythia were both on his back, though Mythia was far more at ease than Apothecary. The latter clutched the fire drake's scaled back, with his irrational fear of falling off. He knew that he couldn't possibly die from such a fall--he could quite easily slow his descent and levitate himself magically. Still, the fear remained. Mythia looked back at him, and smiled. "How are you holding up back there?"
He checked for his sword, something which had become a compulsion of late, and looked at her. "Oh... I'm just fine. When I was in the Clan Chosen, we rode dragons all the time... well, not really."
Mythia laughed, and put her hand on his. "You know you don't have to be afraid of falling."
"Yeah, yeah... I know."
"We should be arriving at Perus Pond soon... it will allow us to get a supply of water for the journey. Our packs are still securely fastened to Atan's back, aren't they?"
Apothecary looked behind him, and saw the knapsacks that were magically attached to their mode of transportation. "Yeah, they're all fine... By the way, could you tell me what our itinerary is like?"
"After Perus Pond, we will be heading to Tember, where we can get more supplies. We will eventually get to the crossroads at Er, and head for Tevar. If you're up for it, we can stop at the ruins of Dremma along the way. After Tevar, we will cross the border into the Maligned regions, and try to make it to Morvus before the Maligned get to us. If we are successful, we can get back to Arcadia by way of Northrim."
"At least you have a plan," he said, feeling a bit more confident about their quest. He reached into one of the knapsacks, and removed the Ovid Rek. He opened it to a page near the beginning, and Mythia looked at him.
"You're going to read that while we're flying?"
"Not much else to do. Besides, I need to get caught up on Arcadian history."
"Good idea," she said, and turned her head forward once more.
Part Two: The Roots of the Makadaran--Alpha
20,000 years ago. Lehat.
Makadaran's palace glittered in the skyline of Lehat, the most impressive and beautiful building in all of Arcadia. Makadaran was benevolent, kind, always listened to his subjects. His royal court was wise and circumspect, painstaking in their decisions. The people of Lehat were content. All had enough to eat, comfortable clothing, warm shelter, clean water. The city was a monument to his leadership. Dridseor Makadaran had at his side Lorah, who also held a large amount of responsibility in the court. They were all a harmonious team, and all worked for the betterment of the people. This was Arcadia's utopian age. But the accidental interference from two Outsiders would forever shatter the tranquility of Lehat, and it would spread the chaos throughout Arcadia.
Part Three: Planning Stages
The present. Lehat.
Avalon looked over the aqueduct plans, tapping his fingers idly. They were going to build a metal frame, and attach magical nodules to specific parts of the frame. When supplied with magic energy, they would generate an invisible tube that would contain the water. He was still concerned that they were depending on magic for the most critical part of the aqueduct system, but did not question R'Mener. A group of workmen had been sent into the Vral Mountains to determine the correct location to start the aqueduct, so that the water would flow down to Lehat itself. Eight kilometers long. After the aqueduct proper carried water to the center of town, it would branch off in several directions, supplying fountains and filling backup reservoirs (upon which Avalon insisted). The Harbinger had left some equipment behind on Arcadia, and Avalon had used it to create a series of solar-powered water pumps. He knew he was bound to have questions asked of him, of the same type that R'Mener had asked. He didn't want to have to explain solar power repeatedly... but there also seemed to be little choice. He would endure this particular struggle, and go back to Earth. After everything he had been through recently, [See: Well... try just about any story Avalon is in! Sheesh!] he wanted to take a vacation. While he seriously doubted she would accept, he was considering asking Nemesis to come with him on any such excursion.
"Avalon," Nemesis said as she entered the room.
Avalon tried to hide the redness in his face by looking more closely at the aqueduct schematics. "Hi," he said, not looking up.
"Are you having any luck with your aqueduct plans?"
"They're okay... But if one more person asks me what kind of magic solar power is, I'm going to scream. This is not magic, this is science."
"I suppose you are feeling a bit out of your element?"
"Oh, just slightly," he responded.
"You'll only be here for a few weeks," she said, smiling. "Then you can get back to your quasi-normal life as Black Prince."
"Until then, I'm Avalon: Arcadian Engineer and Construction Foreman."
Gomurr entered the room abruptly, and both Avalon and Nemesis looked in his direction. Nemesis was more disturbed by his expression than his quick entrance. "Gomurr... you look like you've just seen a ghost."
His unusually pale face turned to face hers, and he spoke quietly. "Perhaps..."
--End Chapter Three--
Chapter Four
Part One: A Return
Somewhere in Lehat.
ShockWave hated waking up in strange places. In her line of work, it was an especially bad sign. It usually indicated that one was becoming too old for the intelligence business. But she was not yet ready to give up... and she'd be damned if she was going to die on some backwater world she'd never heard of.
Her captor looked her in the eye. "I don't know you, do I?" the woman before her probed.
"No, and I don't know you. So let's just say you made a 'mistake,' and got the wrong person... if you let me go, Nemesis, Avalon, and Gomurr will go easy on you."
ShockWave noted the woman's strange appearance. She wore long, flowing robes that seemed to melt in the air behind her, as if she were part of this world, connected to it intimately. The woman simply laughed at her captive's threat. "You're going to send Gomurr after me? The last time I met him, I used the Crimson Dawn against him, and murdered his favorite student... I would think nothing of doing it again."
ShockWave had made herself familiar with all of the members of the BHC, past and present. She remembered reading that SuperGrover had been killed by a cosmic entity called Entropy. But Entropy had appeared in the form of a child. Nevertheless, ShockWave began to suspect that this was Entropy, a being as powerful in its own right as the Phoenix force.
"Entropy?" ShockWave asked, hoping it would catch her off guard.
It didn't. "Very good... At least I won't be fighting children this time. Or am I giving you too much credit? Now... you made mention that Gomurr would come for me. He is on this world, then?"
"He's in Arcadia... but he'll find you before you find him."
"Actually, I am counting on that," Entropy whispered, and left ShockWave alone in the dimly lit room.
Part Two: The Skreeans Over Arcadia
20,000 years ago. The skies above Arcadia.
Stak and Vral monitored their ship, the Aeon, as it surveyed the surface of this new world they had discovered. They had slipped into a higher dimensional plane while running a teleportation experiment, and were drawn to this world, which seemed strikingly similar to Earth... if not in geography, then in indigenous life, as well as atmosphere and chemical composition. They were more than a bit surprised.
"Vral, make certain our ship is undetected. There are humans on this world, just as on the other."
"But the humans here are more advanced... and a type of energy I cannot identify flows through their planet, and all the life forms upon it," Vral replied.
"Continue the survey... our technology is still superior to theirs, but it would be disastrous for them to have any of our knowledge."
"I don't believe there is any danger of that. There is, however, a large gathering of humans near the eastern part of the main continent. A very large city, apparently."
"Bring the ship in for a closer look, Vral. Be extremely careful... this is only a survey, not a contact."
"Yes, sir."
Part Three: Induction with Contempt
The present. The government building in Lehat.
R'Mener stood before Luthos and Dragonmaster, and prepared to read them their induction oaths. He was upset, but not visibly so. Taki may have been the Dragonmaster, but he held no noble blood in his veins, and neither did Luthos. It was unthinkable to have two low-borns as Regent and Archmage, but Apothecary had left specific instructions. R'Mener had to find a way to correct this complete breach of tradition without overplaying himself. He held the scroll in his hand, and the words came from his mouth as he inducted them.
"Taki, the Dragonmaster, born of many generations of the Arcadian faithful, do you hereby agree to accept the position of Regent of Arcadia, and all the rights and responsibilities to which that position entitles you?"
"Yes," he spoke proudly.
R'Mener looked at Luthos. "Luthos, the Battle Mage, born of many generations of the Arcadian faithful, do you hereby agree to accept the position of Archmage of Arcadia, and all the rights and responsibilities to which that position entitles you?"
"I do," Luthos replied in his usual soft manner.
"Do you both vow to defend the ideals of Arcadia, and abide the will of the Dridseor, and protect the citizenry against all threats to its peace and prosperity?"
"We vow," they answered in unison.
"Then with the grace of the Makadaran, may both of you represent the magnificence to which Arcadia strives, and be examples to the populace."
He rolled up the scroll and began to walk from the domed room. As he stepped down from the podium, Luthos approached him. "You dislike our new appointments," Luthos said.
R'Mener tried to keep his temper in check. "I dislike seeing this nation run by low-borns, even if they are the Dragonmaster and the Battle Mage. However, the magnificent Apothecary, our Makadaran and Dridseor, has decreed that you are each suitable to the positions of Regent and Archmage, and I do not have the right to question his judgment in the matter, even though he made me his own Grand Vizier."
"I think your attitude needs to be adjusted, at least a small amount," Luthos said. "We are not as dissimilar as you might believe."
"You were bred from the filthy bed of a farmer, the only men lowly enough to till the soil and grow food for the rest of us. You were raised on a farm, with other equally-low children, and you pounded the soil with shovels and plows and hammers to make it feed you. Only by your extreme good fortune did you manage to learn inklings of magic, and only the mentoring of the great Unferth gave you the magical means to become the Battle Mage. Had you not encountered he who bore the Ring of the Obelisk, you would still be farming, sticking your filthy, blighted hands in the mud." R'Mener's voice was saturated with contempt, and nearly hatred.
Luthos kept his temper. "R'Mener, I shall accept that you were raised as a noble, and therefore not judge you for what you have said to me. However, keep in mind the old Earth adage that you shall reap what you sow."
"A fitting phrase, coming from a farmer."
At that, R'Mener walked briskly from the large room, and Luthos went to rejoin Dragonmaster. "He does not like us in the least," Dragonmaster observed.
--End Chapter Four--
Chapter Five
Part One: The New Liaison
Lehat.
Antoine DuQuesne wasn't sure what to say. Luthos and Dragonmaster had come to him, explaining that he had been chosen to be the Liaison in Apothecary's court. "You will be responsible for communicating the will of the people to Apothecary, and vice versa," Luthos explained.
"In other words, I'm his mouthpiece," DuQuesne said with slight annoyance.
"If you wish to see it that way, yes," Dragonmaster said back. "But it is not such a terrible thing. You will have significant influence."
"I doubt R'Mener will be agree to it."
"We will deal with R'Mener," Luthos said, looking at Dragonmaster. "As soon as Apothecary and Mythia return."
"What are you two planning?" DuQuesne inquired, his interest piqued.
"R'Mener does not like any of the three of us being in the royal court, because Luthos and I were not born into wealth, and because you are from Earth," Dragonmaster said. "That is a prejudice that must be exorcised from this administration."
"Well, good luck," DuQuesne said. "And by the way... remind me never to eat cockatrice again. It made me puke for over a day."
"That is actually quite normal," Dragonmaster informed him. "No one likes 'trice the first time they taste it."
"I don't even want to like it. Keep it away from me."
Luthos and Dragonmaster smiled, and started for the exit of the small study. "When will they get back?" DuQuesne called behind them.
"In a few weeks, perhaps," Luthos said. "You will have sufficient time to settle into your new role."
DuQuesne hoped their faith was well-placed.
Part Two: Construction Duty
The Vral Mountains.
Avalon stood on the scaffolding that provided a lookout point, as the laborers worked the rock. A wide river flowed down between the mountains, and that was to be the water source for their aqueduct. He was distracted, angry that Gomurr had ordered him to continue his work, while he and Nemesis went to search for ShockWave, and whatever was causing Gomurr to sense an evil presence. They told him it was for his own good, that they could take care of it, etc. etc. He had heard things like that before. He thought it was idiotic. He had battled before. He had escaped Hedge O'Ryan, which was quite a feat in itself (as seen in Hold You Up To the Flames). Just because he was in the unfamiliar surroundings of Arcadia, they must have thought he wouldn't be able to handle himself. He found it more than a bit insulting. While he fumed, he didn't notice the head laborer approach. "I understand you're in charge of this operation," he said.
"What?" Avalon asked, turning. "Oh, right."
"We need to know how wide you want the starting section."
"Make it ten meters wide."
"Meters?"
Avalon grimaced. He grabbed the meter stick Gomurr had fashioned for easy conversion, and handed it to the laborer. "Ten of these."
He nodded. "And the pumps?"
Avalon pointed. "Place them there, and there, on opposite sides of the river."
"Why there?"
"We're going to put a dam there. The pumps will carry the water out of the reservoir that's created from it."
The laborer looked confused.
Avalon found himself explaining... again. "This area has a topography that's excellent for making a reservoir. All we need is a wall on one side, and the area will fill with water. There are natural barriers on the other two sides, and we can divert the river in another direction upstream, if flooding becomes a hazard. The pumps themselves will be immersed in water, except for the tops, where the solar panels will be. They will control the flow of water through the dam's gates. The water will go to the aqueduct to the central distribution point, which is already being constructed. From there, it will travel to individual buildings and wells and fountains. Now, do you understand?"
"I believe so."
"Good."
The laborer walked over to his men, and talked with them. They all started laughing, and the head laborer came back.
"What are you all laughing at?" Avalon asked.
"Mr. Avalon, they all think you're quite mad."
Part Three: The Search in Lehat
Elsewhere in Lehat.
Gomurr and Nemesis tried their best not to stick out in the hustle and bustle of Lehat's people. For the most part, they succeeded. Most everyone was too busy to notice them, and the two of them were busy concentrating on their search. Nemesis was scanning minds for a familiar "voice," and Gomurr was trying to mystically detect the mysterious enemy of which the Crimson Dawn warned him.
"I'm getting nothing from ShockWave," Nemesis eventually told him.
"I am having no luck, either," was Gomurr's defeated reply.
"Any suggestions?"
"How about taking me where you two were just before you parted ways."
Nemesis led Gomurr halfway across Lehat. Some scorched buildings were evident, damage that had been incurred by the Makadaran while in the Prophet's body (see: The Archons). They finally came to a narrow street, and Gomurr was suddenly sensing something unusual. "There is... something here," he said, still uncertain what he was feeling.
"Is it that building?" Nemesis asked, pointing to a greyish structure with bizarre coils that seemed to slither along the walls.
"It may be. Are you sensing something from it?"
"Faint voices, like minds without bodies."
"I detect powerful magic within, but I can scan no deeper. I am being blocked."
"So am I, aside from the vague voices."
"Nevertheless, I believe we may have found what I was warned about."
"And, with any luck, ShockWave won't be far behind."
Part Four: The Path to the Makadaran
Along the trail to the Er Crossroads.
Apothecary hammered the stakes into the ground, securing the large canvas over two poles placed three meters apart. Four stakes with ropes attached held the tent together, along with the dual poles of wood. His flawless assembly of the tent, Mythia attested, was the Makadaran's work.
"You can do just about anything perfectly, you know," she said. "It's that power you now have."
"I didn't know it would be so convenient," he said in amusement. "Can it start fires, too?"
"Try it."
Apothecary took some of the sticks they had gathered when they set up camp, and focused on them. He imagined them burning, giving off warmth, glowing brightly. He jumped back when they exploded into flame, shooting high into the air with a loud gust of wind. Then the fire calmed down, and moved his head in Mythia's direction. "I didn't know it would do that," he said.
"You don't have the focus, yet. You have the raw power, but you have to learn how to use it correctly."
He rolled his eyes. "That's the same shit the Harbinger fed all of his Clan Chosen lackies. And where did it get all of us? Nedereth is still a drunk, Thresh is dead, Bluespark vanished without a trace, Malice is God-knows-where... the only ones of us who are somewhat 'okay' are myself, Luthos, and Dragonmaster. And frankly, I don't feel like going through this whole 'You need to learn to control your powers' bullshit again. I had to be taught how to cast and how to use my sword... that was plenty for one lifetime."
"But you will live for countless lifetimes, Franklin. What will you do for all those eons?"
Apothecary sighed. "I'm sorry I vented like that. I just... I didn't want this power in the first place. I just wanted to be healed. I wanted the sentinel technology removed from my body. That's it. But now, it's still there, and I have more power than any person has a right to."
"You were destined for this power. It does not matter that you didn't want it."
"So does anything I want or don't want matter?! Or is it all that 'destiny' bull again?"
Mythia moved closer to him, and brought her face in very near proximity to his own. She locked eyes with him, and spoke slowly. "You are no longer Apothecary, the lone warrior. You are the Makadaran, and you are responsible for the lives of millions of Arcadians. There is nothing you cannot do. I have always believed in you, even when you couldn't believe in yourself. But to use this power correctly, you have to believe in yourself, and you must have the will to use that power."
He took her hands in his. "So, why me?" he asked.
"There are probably many reasons why you were chosen, Franklin. You know the lessons of humility... you have endured three thousand years of hardship on Earth. You have battled for just causes across a world. And even though your humanity was stripped from you, you didn't let it destroy you."
"But I... I went to Inferon and attacked my friends. Revenge isn't a trait I should exhibit, is it?" (see: Vantage Point for the attack)
"You lost your way. That is another thing that must happen to all of us. But you found your path again... and it led you to the Obelisk, and in turn, to the power of the Makadaran."
"Thank you," he whispered.
She smiled. "I suppose you're tired now."
"Actually, a little."
Then they heard a screech. Apothecary had no idea what it was, but Mythia did. "It's Atan!" she shouted. They both sprinted in the direction of the screeching, and Apothecary unholstered his sword. As they approached, they saw purple-white blades tearing into the flesh of their fire drake companion. Bereid'Atan's head swung, and crashed into a group of whatever was holding the blades. The drake lifted himself into the air, and breathed fire down upon its foes. Some of them ran, and some were incinerated. But all that could be seen of them were their blades, which vanished once they were destroyed. Apothecary and Mythia approached their friend as he landed. "Are you badly wounded?" Mythia asked.
"Not too badly... my hide is fairly thick," Bereid'Atan replied.
"What were those?" Apothecary asked, watching as some of them vanished into the night.
"They're Nightblades, Franklin. And if they attack once, then they intend to return."
--End Chapter Five--
Chapter Six
Part One: The Nightblades
Along the trail to the Er Crossroads.
Apothecary drew his sword, and it began to emanate red light, as it always did when he was preparing to use it. Mythia put her hand on his, and eased his sword down. "Not yet. Perhaps we can reason with them."
"Has it been done before?" Apothecary asked doubtfully.
"No, but the Makadaran has also never negotiated with them."
"So what do you know about these 'Nightblades'?"
"They were once the elite guard in Trev's regime, hundreds of years ago. When Trev was dethroned, they were disbanded. They began to raid travelers and plunder villages. They also have a deep hatred of anything Maligned."
"Which is why they attacked Bereid'Atan, right?"
"Exactly. Traditionally, they are led by a Warlock. We will have to go into the forest to find them."
"We can't just move on?"
"They'll hunt us, Franklin. Once they strike, it means they intend to kill us. It'll be even worse, since we thwarted their last attack. Nightblades don't retreat easily."
"Then lead the way," he told her, and she walked carefully into the forest. They left Bereid'Atan behind to stand guard over their camp, and the pair disappeared into the trees.
"You must be terribly careful," Mythia warned him.
"Careful of what?"
"Your power. I'm afraid you may kill them, even without meaning to. If we can persuade them to join us, then we may have a better chance with the Maligned."
"All right... I'll do my best to keep my temper under control." He remembered the many times in his long life that he had lost his temper. Usually, people died. He had witnessed countless atrocities across three millennia, surviving for reasons he was only now beginning to comprehend. He had faced countless wars, losing more than he had won. He had always feared losing control of himself, for he suspected latent abilities within him, threatening to rip forth from him in violent fury, and engulf those endeared to him. He had found the power he feared, and its name was Makadaran. He had no idea how he was going to talk with the Nightblades, much less the Maligned. He was no diplomat... he was a warrior. He thought on the contents of the Ovid Rek. The book painted the original Makadaran to be a kind, if vain, leader to his people. He was skilled in the art of talk. He wondered if he could pick up a few pointers from his reading.
Flashes of purple light thrust him back into reality. He ducked and ripped his sword from its sheath, and swung instinctively. His eyes scanned for Mythia, but it was next to impossible to see her dark skin in the scarce light. He felt a crackle of dangerous energy pass over his head, narrowly avoided. He then remembered his new capabilities. He concentrated on safety, a shelter, some reprieve from violence. He felt something form around him, a bubble of protective vapor that deflected attacks. He calmly put his sword away, breathing deeply. Purple blades crashed against his shield, but he paid them no attention. Then he heard the cry of a stranger, and one of the blades crashed to the ground. Mythia stood atop the nearly invisible body. "Cease your attack," she commanded.
The Nightblades swarmed toward her, and she jumped upward. Their blades twirled and spun in the air, but none would touch her. Apothecary sensed that she was using part of his powers... but he wasn't sure how it was possible. She stood among them as they tried to slay her, and found the same impenetrable vapor around her. The swords now had bearers, men and women dressed in robes, wielding blades of magic. One of them spoke. "You have power that supercedes us."
"We are not here to kill you," Apothecary said as convincingly as he could. He was sorely tempted to kill all of them.
"We have met ones greater than ourselves... has the Makadaran come to us?" one asked.
Apothecary nodded. "I am the Makadaran."
"Come with us, then," the same one suggested. "We will feed you and give you shelter, and tell us of your rise. Our Warlock awaits you."
Part Two: The Demands
Lehat.
Nemesis came to with a splitting headache. There was intense telepathic interference in the area, and the wail of thousands of minds racing through her own. Her field of vision was narrow, and she could barely see. She sensed Gomurr's mind nearby, though it was less conscious than hers. She was sitting on a floor, leaning against a wall. Stone, she guessed from the texture. Much different from the dusty dirt that most of the city was floored with. She smelled something that reminded her of rotting flesh, and she was beginning to understand what the voices in her mind were. People that have been killed here, she thought. And they were numerous indeed.
She crawled across the floor, not finding enough strength in her legs, and groped for Gomurr. She sensed she was getting close, but was not finding his frail form. Suddenly, her psionic impression of him shifted to the other side of the room. She turned in the proper direction and squinted. Too dark to see much of anything. She dragged herself along yet again, feeling cobwebs and small creatures scamper across her hands. She tried her best to ignore them, and felt for Gomurr again. She was sitting right where he should be, but she didn't feel his skin or any part of him. Then there was a shift to another corner. Someone is toying with me, she thought. Gomurr's not in this room at all.
...
"You killed me, old man. Aren't you proud?"
Gomurr tried to wake himself. Surely this was a dream... wasn't it?
"What's wrong? Pissed off because I didn't Ascend?"
"Grover, stop this foolishness... you know I had no other choice."
"Bullshit. You raised me for one function, and when I didn't fulfill it, I got the shaft. Then you realized that you were attached to me, and brought me back... even if all you got back was my body, and not my soul."
"I HAD NO CHOICE!" Gomurr shouted. "The world needed you."
Someone came up behind him. Cold hands touched his shoulders. "Why are you yelling at your pupil? He is merely stating facts."
Gomurr's head turned, and he saw a face that was vaguely familiar. Like that of a young girl that had so cleverly deceived him. "Entropy!"
"I am what I am, old man... and you will know me as the person that destroyed your world."
"You won't trick me the way you did last time, wench."
"Of course not! I have something far better in mind than your pathetic Crimson Dawn." She waved her hand toward the SuperGrover that was standing before them. The Gauntlets that surrounded his wrists began to form spikes, and the spikes grew longer and longer. They would soon tear into every part of Grover's body. He groaned in pain and dropped to the floor, and the spikes continued to grow.
"Now, you see, poor Grover is having a hard time controlling his Gauntlets. Whatever will you do?!" she mocked.
"He's not real... he's just an apparition you've created."
"How can you be certain? What if he dies?"
"He won't, Entropy," Gomurr said with conviction.
"Hmph. It seems I'll have to try harder." The image of SuperGrover vanished, and they were transported elsewhere.
ShockWave lay on the ground before them, signs of violence evident on her person. "She is not dead, old one... but her continued existence is entirely up to you."
"What do you want?" he asked.
"I want to know how you repelled the Maligned invasion when you were on this world so many moons past. I wish to know how you traverse the gap between Arcadia and Earth."
"I will tell you nothing."
"Then ShockWave and Nemesis shall die." She lowered her hand towards ShockWave's crumpled form, and Gomurr cried out. "NO!"
She smiled and looked up at him. "Are you more willing to talk now?"
"Yes, Entropy. I will tell you whatever you wish to know."
"Excellent. And when we are finished, you will help me take the Makadaran's power as my own... or I will destroy Arcadia and Earth."
Gomurr suspected she was bluffing... but he had no way to be sure. The way she laughed chilled him to the bone, and he was starting to doubt that she was merely issuing threats.
Part Three: Wandering in the Streets
Elsewhere in Lehat.
Antoine DuQuesne strolled through the dark, empty streets of Lehat. Night reigned, and he heard the sounds of night-creatures. A crescent moon shone overhead, providing enough light for him to see by. He felt a need to be alone, some way to escape what had happened during the past several days and weeks. He looked to the mountains in the distance, and thought about the dam and aqueduct that Avalon was constructing. He was responsible for maintaining "good relations" with the work force, as part of his role of Liaison. He wasn't sure if Lehat ever had strikes, be he was certain that they were possible... especially with the construction being coordinated by a so-called "Outsider." The wool clothing he was wearing kept him warm in the chilly night, surprisingly comfortable, considering Lehat's comparatively primitive technological status. He strolled up toward the mountain. He would have to see this new dam for himself.
Part Four: Unintentional Contact
20,000 years ago. Lehat.
"What is this that hovers above my city, with the countenance of a vulture?" king Makadaran asked as he stepped through the gates of his palace. His seer/sage, Singh, stood at his side. "Perhaps it is an omen."
"Or perhaps the Maligned have found the means to propel themselves into the sky," Makadaran said. "The city must be defended, Singh. Fetch my War Counselor at once, and prepare the city to defend itself."
"Aye, my king," Singh said as he disappeared into the palace. Makadaran looked at the strange object hovering above his city. While it made no hostile move, it pulsed with strange energies that were reminiscent of those from the Maligned Regions. If they and their knowledge had progressed this far, he feared for the safety of all Arcadians.
...
"Vral, the ship has lost invisibility!" Stak shouted in panic.
"I know!" Vral replied, scrambling to the nearest control panel. Oolian and Skreean personnel rushed about the bridge, trying to find the root of the malfunction.
"We've contaminated them!" Stak shouted over and over. "Contaminated them!"
"It's not too late to minimize the damage," Vral said forcefully. "Now control yourself, or I shall relieve you of command."
Stak measured his words. "I apologize. I have never had a mission go so terribly wrong..."
"Would it be prudent to travel back a day and repair the malfunction before it occurs?" Vral asked his superior.
"No, I do not wish to use time travel in such an unfamiliar environment. Simply find the malfunction and--"
"Sir!" a technician shouted as he rushed toward Stak. "Someone on the surface is preparing to fire some sort of weapon at us!"
Stak activated the nearest viewscreen. A man stood at the gates to a palace, red energy seeping from his hands. His eyes were aimed toward the ship, and they betrayed his intent. "EVADE!" Stak screeched, as their ship was enveloped in mystical fury.
--End Chapter Six--
Chapter Seven
Part One: Unease
The forest of the Nightblades.
Apothecary was never one for trust. He'd been betrayed too many times, betrayed his friends too many times himself, lied and was lied to, took advantage of others and was taken advantage of by yet others. The Nightblades may have been cooperating, but it meant almost nothing to him. A trap, some sort of ruse. He believed he was being led into an ambush, or perhaps something else. He was on his guard.
Mythia knew how Apothecary felt. Earth was a difficult world to live in, full of treachery and deceit. She wanted to tell him that he didn't have to be worried about the Nightblades, that they were honorable individuals, but she didn't say anything. He would not be patronized, and he didn't need to be told who he could trust and who he couldn't. As they followed the pack of Nightblades, they both expected some sort of surprise. Apothecary was anticipating an unpleasant one.
A man they deduced to be the Warlock approached them from farther into the forest. "Greetings," he said, and bowed.
"You're the Warlock?" Apothecary asked straightforwardly.
"I am."
"I'm the Dridseor of Arcadia, as well as the Makadaran. Your people attacked our fire drake."
"And you seek an explanation. Of course... I apologize for their actions. They would never have knowingly attacked the ruler of Arcadia. They simply look out for their own livelihood, and unfortunately, they have suffered under the attacks of greedy travelers before. They also care little for Maligned creatures."
"Bereid'Atan is a member of our party," Apothecary said. "And if you don't like him, that's your tough shit."
The Warlock raised an eyebrow. "Not the sort of language one would expect from the Makadaran."
"I don't care what you were expecting."
"Now now, let us not get off on the wrong foot."
"Too late for that," Apothecary said. "I won't waste any more of my time here. Just stay away from us." He looked to Mythia and began to walk away. She grabbed his arm.
"We need them," she whispered in his ear.
"Why?" he whispered back.
"They have useful skills, and they're not disloyal if they have the right leader. Just give them a chance."
"A chance... that's all they're getting."
He walked back to the Warlock. "Mythia has convinced me to ask you to join us. We are going to make peace with the Maligned... you can either try to help us, or you can stay here. It doesn't matter to me, but it might matter to you."
The Warlock smiled. "Such a generous offer. One that I am inclined to accept. We follow you, great Makadaran."
"Great," Apothecary said, trying to hide his annoyance. "Follow us."
They walked back through the forest, and met up with Bereid'Atan at their camp. Apothecary ran toward the drake, holding up his hand. "Don't worry, they're with us... and they'll be on their best behavior," he said, glaring at the Warlock.
"Yes, of course," was the robed man's reply.
"We shall stay here until morning," Mythia said. "Then we will depart for Er."
Part Two: From Beginning to End
She was birthed at the same time as her universe, flying out of the fires of infinity, and began to search for a host. She was power, but had no one to serve as her avatar. Not until intelligence appeared on Arcadia. Then she joined with its people, binding herself to them. She coexisted with them, but was corrupted by something from Outside. While goodness surrounded her on Arcadia, evil called to her from somewhere else, somewhere that was both Arcadia, and at the same time, was not. Somehow, she made it to this other world, this place called the Earth. She was trapped in the body of a child, and fell under the care of a tiny old man. She tried to kill him. She tried to destroy his friends. She murdered his favorite pupil. Then a counterpart came. It was like staring into a mirror, finding only a vague reflection of herself. She was vanquished with only a word, banished back to Arcadia. But she had tasted Earth, and needed more. Arcadia was not the cesspool of violence that she craved. And despite her efforts to subvert her world, the people resisted. Those on Earth were weaker, more receptive to her wishes. She would find a way back there. Entropy would find a way.
Gomurr would tell her how. Or perhaps the Makadaran could take her. Maybe the Battle Mage? She had so many options... the first options she had encountered in years. Morvus would be her destination. She would take Nemesis, ShockWave, and Gomurr to the capital of the Maligned Regions, and show them all the kind of havoc she wished to bring to Earth. And the Makadaran would bear witness to her, raptured in her glory, so she could rip his power away. But first, she had business in Lehat.
Part Three: The Offensive
Lehat.
Avalon looked at the dam that his laborers had constructed. It looked almost perfect. He was surprised at their skill, though perhaps he had underestimated them. Water was flowing through the gates, as he desired, controlled by the solar-powered pumps. The magical channel spiralled the water down to the people below, who were certainly grateful for his efforts. They now had a new source of water, something they would need if they intended to restore Lehat to its lost fame. Avalon stepped down from his platform, and looked at those who were coming closer. Luthos, Dragonmaster, R'Mener, and DuQuesne. "What's up?" he asked.
Luthos glanced toward the dam, and the connected aqueduct. "It is completed?"
"Not totally, but it's close. That magic plumbing works very well."
R'Mener surveyed the dam. "Very exquisite, certainly worthy of the Makadaran's endorsement, absolutely the level of craftsmanship demanded by the loyal denizens of Lehat, without a doubt some of the finest construction yet seen on this grand world."
Dragonmaster stepped next to the aqueduct. He dipped his hand into the water, and tasted it. He grimaced. "Something is wrong with this water."
Avalon came down and tasted it, as did DuQuesne. They both frowned, and Avalon gagged. "It tastes like...sulfur." He coughed.
Upon hearing this, R'Mener tasted the water for himself. "The Outsider is attempting to poison the unsuspecting citizenry!" He aimed his finger for Avalon. "Trouble, you only bring trouble to Arcadia!"
"I had nothing to do with this!" Avalon said. "There was a team that came up here and picked this site for the dam. The water tasted fine just yesterday!"
Luthos tapped Avalon's shoulder. "I believe I have found a culprit."
Avalon turned. "Who??"
Luthos pointed toward the sky, where a woman was hovering in the air, glowing ever brighter. "Perhaps we should take cover."
--End Chapter Six--
Chapter Seven
Part One: Future Fulfillment
Near the Er Crossroads.
How did a man become a legend? Legends were a hook upon which to hang the identity of a people, an icon to represent their hopes and fears and ideals. Some legends became religions. Other legends spawned generations of questors, men and women who sought a foretold individual, some great being to bring out the best or worst in a place. Some legends were real, and others were not. Some were truly people, and others were fantasies delicately constructed by each successive generation, adding their own unique aspects, showing the great power that their legend possessed. And so Apothecary had become a legend, a living symbol of magic and power, goodness and tranquility. Yet a spectre of evil hung over him, shades of the Makadaran that were not to be tampered with. The same shades that had driven the Prophet to insanity, in an attempt to destroy Arcadia. He had already met his first followers: the citizens of Lehat. The ease with which they agreed to live under his name frightened and exhilarated him. He had assumed the reaction was that of common folk, people who desired and required a figure in which to believe, a source of stability in a world that had succumbed to thirty years of chaos. But then he encountered the Nightblades, who were intellectual, methodical, scrutinizing, powerful women and men. And they, too, chose to follow him. All their lives were bound to this legend of a Makadaran, a great man to lead Arcadia to salvation. What he did not know what the part of his destiny scripted at the end of the Ovid Rek:
Upon the great rise of the new Makadaran, an evil will come to tempt and taunt, subjugate and proliferate the evil eye of the Makadaran. Only the perseverance of one with stability can stay him to his goal, but ones of power must be sacrificed for his preservation.
He would encounter the passage long after he had fulfilled it.
And thus his feet trod the dirt innocently, the walk of a man adjusting to a new world, far less fearful of it than he had been, but not so willing to give his complete faith to it. Mythia walked at his side, and the Nightblades followed behind. They had set up a camp for Bereid'Atan a bit farther back, knowing that the drake's presence would be likely to frighten the residents of Er.
As they neared the gates to the city, Apothecary saw where the Crossroads were. The road continued to the west, past Er, along the route they were following. Another branch spread off north, toward Northrim. Yet another veered south to Zephyron, and the road they were traveling cut back east to Lehat. Er was nestled between the north road and the west road, a calm, quiet city. "Mythia," Apothecary said, facing her. "What is it we're doing here?"
"We are here to make known your position and bring the leader of this city under your banner. It should not be difficult..."
"I hope you're right," Apothecary said with less optimism.
Part Two: Destruction
Lehat.
Avalon coughed and gasped as the water crashed over him. He heard men and women screaming, animals whinnying and screeching, children crying at the raging onslaught of water. He wanted to warn the children, tell them that their cries would not stay the tide, push them out of harm's way, but the liquid saturated his mouth. It was bitter, cold, and tasted as if it were poisoned. Someone had tampered with Lehat's water supply.
Avalon assumed it was Entropy, the madwoman who floated over them. He gripped a branch as he slid down the mountain with the water, and pulled himself up to solid ground. He checked around for DuQuesne and the others. He couldn't see them.
...
Luthos erected a barrier of magic over himself and Dragonmaster, but there was much resistance. "This being is leeching my power," Luthos said, hoping to find a countermeasure quickly.
Dragonmaster tried his best to create a shield of fire over himself and Luthos. Not a use of his fire magic that he often entertained, since it only barely worked. And this time, it was even less effective. Luthos' shield gave way, and the two old friends were swept into the current, spiralling down toward the unsuspecting city as children and their parents along the banks of the aqueduct screamed and scrambled.
...
A mouthful of water came from Antoine DuQuesne's throat as he tried to gulp air. Nothing but bitter, horrid water filled his mouth. He tried to force it out, keep it from delving into his lungs. He felt the pressure build within his chest, death by suffocation if he didn't act quickly. He grasped for something, something to pull him out, someone to grab him by the arm or leg and yank him from the rush. Unconsciousness greeted him in the guise of a stone, his body collapsing upon it as the water ricocheted over and around him.
...
Entropy's eyes were full of delight as she laid waste to Avalon's work. The workmen were mostly dead, their animals drowned or dying, innocent people along the banks being swept away. R'Mener clung to her arm, summoned by her magic. The conniving little man would make an excellent pawn. The city would soon know her judgment, and the Makadaran would come back for his inevitable meeting with her... or she would go to him.
--End Chapter Seven--
Chapter Eight
Part One: The Reverence of a God
The City of Er.
Apothecary and his group were admitted to the city by a duo of armored guards. They were all too eager to make way for the Makadaran (though he had to prove his identity with a display of his power). He was informed that the sitting Dridseor in Er had been awaiting his visit, that he had caught word from caravans and travelers from Lehat. Bereid'Atan was still quite distant from the city, guarding their encampment for their eventual return. Mythia was at his side, as always, lending her support. "Franklin, there is something very crucial you must keep in mind," she said.
"What's that?"
"Be extremely careful how you speak. You must understand that in Arcadia, we have a very structured way of communicating. We avoid contractions and colloquial phrases and slang, and we are also meticulous when it comes to grammar."
"Is there some reason for that?"
"Mastery of language leads to mastery of magic."
"But you use contractions and so forth around me."
"That is only because I know you are more comfortable with it. The Dridseor of Er, I assure you, would be quite insulted. The Warlock of the Nightblades made his reaction to your speech quite clear, did he not?"
"Oh yes, he did. He seemed amused."
"Dridseors, on the other hand, are not subject to idle amusement. Please speak carefully."
"I shall... thank you, Mythia."
Pillars spread out before them in parallel rows, etched of marble, shaped in intricate displays. They seemed to pulse with magic, perhaps the intent of whoever carved them. Apothecary's eyes widened in awe at the architecture, the grand dome on the ceiling, and the elaborate paintings all about. When they had first entered the city, they noticed mostly the ordinary-looking buildings constructed of wood, and occasionally stone. This vast palace contrasted spectacularly with the rest of the city. Apothecary and Mythia nearly forgot the Warlock behind them.
"It does not serve a Makadaran to be awed by the secular," the Warlock warned. "Your power runs beyond physical bounds, and past the glories of mankind's hand."
Apothecary stopped and turned around. "I was not aware of that."
Mythia stopped, as well, and stood a few steps away. The Warlock continued. "You must present yourself as being a god amongst men. You look down upon us, you threaten us with your wrath, and you must reward our faith."
Apothecary bit his lip and began to feel a twinge of anxiety. He thought this entire Makadaran thing was about power, pure and simple. The man with the power rules Arcadia, or something like that. Instead, he was learning that he was more of a religious symbol. "Are you telling me that people will worship me?"
"Some may, others may choose merely to follow your guidance. Arcadia thrives or starves by your command, there is no doubt of that."
He looked at Mythia, and moved closer to her. He whispered, "Why didn't you tell me about this??"
Her eyes moved downward, and she responded. "I... did not want to place you under so much pressure so quickly."
"I would have appreciated it if you had been up front with me," he said.
"I am sorry..."
"Don't worry about it. I know now, so it's just one more thing I have to deal with."
As they made their way to the hall of Er's Dridseor, none of them realized the change in the weather outside. Apothecary's rains had returned.
Part Two: The Way to Earth
Lehat.
She regarded her captives as playthings. Even the ancient Luthos and Dragonmaster. They were both but cogs in her machine. R'Mener was a fool, a man who thought he could so easily renounce the power he had been given. But she knew he would always be tempted by the title of Dridseor, that even this new Makadaran would not keep him from a position he had come to regard as fully his own. Avalon was nothing more than a child, not half as intelligent as he held himself to be. She held Nemesis and ShockWave in the same perspective, as well: insignificant, expendable. But Gomurr offered her several avenues for her entertainment. If Luthos could not provide her with a means to Earth, Gomurr certainly could. She would find and destroy those that had cast her back to Arcadia those scant years ago.
Her hands gripped Gomurr's as she knelt on the floor next to him. Her grip was not one of kindness and nurturing, but of force and domination. "Show me the path to Earth," she demanded.
"There is no road that shall take you there."
"Whether the road be through the Axis of Time, the Focus, the Astral Plane, the Red Dimension, or the Winding Way, you will reveal it to me!"
"I shall not."
"You earlier told me that you would! Am I to believe that the great Gomurr lies simply to buy himself time?"
"I would allow you access to Earth if I knew you would not venture there on a campaign of violence and blood."
"What other purpose could I possibly have?!" she shrieked. "You and yours thought you could match my powers, that I was just a child that you could control! I would have killed every last one of you, had the Phoenix not sent me back here! I should flay the skin from all of your bodies, and show you what it means to deny me!" She threw him against the wall, and smiled as she heard his bones breaking. He was unconscious... though he could take more of a beating that one would believe.
She moved on to Luthos, who was barely clinging to consciousness. "You know, the people in Lehat are all dead or disarrayed now. Their city has been flooded, and you could not help them in the slightest. So much for the great Archmage!" His hands reached up for her throat, and she clutched his shoulders. The old wound on his wrist reappeared, from where the Prophet had severed it thirty years before. He screamed as his hand was pulled and twisted from his wrist, but Entropy held him to the floor. "I will show you pain, Battle Mage, and you will show me the way to Earth!!"
Part Three: Forced Entry
20,000 years ago. Lehat.
Makadaran hovered around the strange vessel that shadowed his city. Energy filled his hands as he threatened to strike another blow to it. But he would not strike again until he was attacked. He touched his hands to the exterior. It was metallic and extremely cold, as if it were from some arctic wasteland. The shape was nothing so much as a giant wedge, with metal structures all across it. Part of it was also rock. Yet it all radiated with energy he had never encountered. It felt to him that every strip of the fabric of time ran through the ship, and that it was poised to tear his city from that fabric. His hand pushed into the metal, and a doorway was made for him. He stepped through.
...
"We have an intruder!" one of the Oolian crewmen shouted. Stak jumped to the nearest console. "Deck thirty," he breathed.
"What do you plan to do about this?" Vral asked.
"That human attacked our ship... he forcibly gained access to it... the technology is far too sensitive to allow him to see it. We must, regrettably, eradicate him," Stak said.
Stak and Vral looked at each other across the bridge. Their relationship had always been one of teamwork. Stak had been a staunch supporter of diplomacy; Vral tended to lean toward forceful measures. Yet, in this instance, they saw only one option. A primitive, plodding human had somehow broken into their ship. His contamination could mark the downfall of his race, if they did not destroy him. Their duty was clear, even if neither would take pleasure in it.
--End Chapter Eight--
Chapter Nine
Part One: The Test
The palace at Er.
When they entered the throneroom, Apothecary was not terribly surprised. There was a clear path leading directly to the throne itself, which sat directly on the floor. The throne was not extremely elaborate. It was elegant, but not excessively so. It had a few golden adornments, probably family momentos of the Dridseor. The man that sat upon the throne seemed young. Were he from Earth, his age would have been in the thirties. Apothecary guessed that the man was at least a thousand years old. His hair was dark, with a hint of a beard forming. His cheekbones were prominent, and Apothecary had the impression of a sleek, hard-edged war machine. The scowl the man wore further indicated an individual not to be tested. "I bear greetings from Lehat," Apothecary said. Mythia clasped her hands behind her back, hoping that Apothecary managed to impress Er's Dridseor. The Warlock looked on in amusemnt, wondering what Apothecary was going to do.
The Dridseor held up his hand. "Lehat, you say? I have a brother there. A good-for-nothing toad. He steals bread from the marketplace. Alas, the punishment of an idiot son. I hope you are not here to bring me news of him... I would prefer to not hear it."
"I know nothing of your brother, good Dridseor. I am Dridseor Franklin of Lehat, but I am also the Makadaran."
"Makadaran? Truly, I had not expected such an event." He rose from his throne, and waved his hand. Apothecary was struck to the ground, and so was Mythia, both by a ball of light from his hand. The room around them waved and pulsed, and the Warlock vanished. The walls and floor stopped moving, and Apothecary felt something he had never felt before. It was a strange feeling of energy, power crackling around him invisibly.
"You have no right to bring him here, Jevin!" Mythia shouted, clenching her fists.
"And what of yourself?" he asked. "Are you not offended by my presumptuousness?"
"I know and understand the Otherplane. He does not," she said, looking at Apothecary.
"The Otherplane?" Apothecary echoed.
"I have a right to test the man under whose leadership I will follow," Jevin said. "And you, Makadaran, will be tested by me."
"This is against prophecy and order!" Mythia cried, moving toward the Dridseor. "You will cease immediately, and return us to the normal realm!"
"I will do whatever I please, and you will be silent. Now, Makadaran... affront me."
Apothecary crossed his arms. "I don't fight upon invitation. I do it on my own terms."
"Very well." Jevin leapt from his throne and landed face-to-face with Apothecary. "Defend yourself."
His hand moved faster than Apothecary could see. He was struck in the stomach, and Jevin's foot moved to trip him. Apothecary did his best to recover from the blow to his abdomen, and jumped to avoid Jevin's foot. His elbow drove down into the Dridseor's face, and was met with a punch to the right side of his jaw. Apothecary was uninjured, and Jevin drew back his fist, groaning. "I... I see you learn to anticipate," Jevin said.
"The power I wield only allows me to accept a certain amount of attack before it defends me. Now, if you wish to continue this 'test' of yours, I will be more than pleased--"
"No, I have seen enough. You have done well." He turned and walked back toward his throne. Apothecary and Mythia both sighed, glad that Jevin wasn't turning this into a fight. As Mythia and Apothecary glanced at each other, they failed to notice Jevin's volte-face, and his hand sliding through the air. Energy ripped from it in a blue wisp that grew larger and larger every instant, and it sped at Apothecary. Apothecary held his hands in the air and gritted his teeth as the energy crashed into his hands. He pulled it into himself, told himself he could contain it. He refused to give in. Jevin moved closer and closer, his hands leveling with Apothecary's. Their palms touched, and the crackling energy subsided. Jevin spoke softly, nodding his head. A smile crept up on his face. "You are the Makadaran."
Part Two: Skaven
Morvus, capital of the Maligned Regions.
The city itself was a testament to what the Maligned had accomplished. Vast towers sprawled out across the city, looming over the houses. Metal frameworks dominated, each tall spire linked with hanging cables and live wires. Technology was the tool of the Maligned. Where the Arcadians had favored magic, the Maligned depended on technology. It was said that eons ago, the Maligned were one with the Arcadians. The united people were in an age unparalleled, living each day to the fullest, and preserving a high quality of life. But some began to grow beyond their contentment, and decided that invention and advancement were the key to a proud civilization. So they left and formed their own culture. But their technology twisted them. They manipulated their forms into bodies more suitable for labor. One group were the Orcs, who were splendid construction workers. Trolls were perfect for military functions and law enforcement with their brute force and sheer size, even if they lacked significant intelligence. Some of these people were said to be killed in accidents in the humongous factories. They grew into a legion of Undead. Men that lived an eternity of waking death, with no will except that of their master. Almost none of them managed to keep their forms the way they were; change had already swept through their people. So they built vast cities, forged armies and created technologies beyond anything their Arcadian brothers could imagine, and they prospered. But their regions were polluted and darkened. Blackness was their dawn most of the time, and on the rare days when the sun would shine through, these Maligned would scurry into their abodes, their eyes never used to the alien fire.
And a capital was built, and they called it Morvus.
A leader came among them, called Skaven.
On this day, Skaven was at the top of the Principal Spire. It was the source of power for the entire city, harnessing the magical energy that coursed through the air for their own use. His skin was grey and leathery, his eyes dark and strange. He had only a few traces of white hair on his head, which he touched with his clawed hands from time to time, just to make sure it was still there. He could no longer tell it was there. He had no mirrors with which to see it, as he could no longer bear the sight of his own face. Burned during an attempted Maligned invasion, hundreds of years ago. A man called Gomurr confronted him them, and ended his campaign against the Arcadians. He promised revenge. But it had been so long ago, he was no longer certain he would have it.
His chair was uncomfortable. The feeling of the energy pulsing around him made his skin crawl. He grunted in a pattern that could only indicate language, and an Orc came to his side. He touched the Orc's head, and made more strange sounds. The Orc nodded and scurried off. A purple glow surrounded him, and he no longer felt the uncomfortable surging of power around him. A nice little shield, that's what he'd asked for. He smiled, one of his teeth pointing out of his mouth proudly. His eyes scanned across the city, his city. All seemed well.
...
Entropy appeared in the heart of the city. Her prisoners were encapsulated in a tiny box which she held in her hand. They would serve her in the coming conflict, whether they wanted to or not. But first, she had an appointment with the leader of the Maligned.
--End Chapter Nine--
Chapter Ten
Part One: Failed Alliance
The Otherplane.
Apothecary looked at Jevin, wondering what the Dridseor of Er was contemplating as he sat stoically upon his throne. Jevin's fingers toyed at his chin, as if he were deep in thought. "Does something trouble you?" Mythia asked. Jevin's eyes moved to her. He had passed the initial thrill of meeting the Makadaran, and had begun to ponder the implications. He wondered if Arcadia was truly ready for its prophesied savior.
"This world may not be ready for the Makadaran," Jevin said. "What if we are unprepared for his majesty and glory?"
"Jevin, this world has awaited the Makadaran's return for twenty millennia. How could we not be ready?" Mythia asked in disbelief. "We have waited...I have waited. Now, I have found him and brought him to us... and this is the question you strike me with??"
Jevin held up his hand. "Do not be angry, Mythia. I had no intention of incurring your wrath, I simply wondered whether Arcadia was yet ready for his coming."
Apothecary spoke up. "How in the hell does it matter if Arcadia is ready? I'm here, right now! Whether anyone likes it or not, the Makadaran is upon you."
"But we could wish to imprison his essence once more," Jevin said as he took to his feet.
"Jevin!" Mythia shouted. She stepped toward him, and both Apothecary and Jevin felt the power rising within her. She spoke slowly, glaring into Jevin's eyes. "You must not speak in such a way to your god, and I refuse to allow it. Give him your respect immediately, or I will dethrone you myself."
"Threats now? You came to me in peace! Where is that peace now?" Jevin asked. "Hypocrites, one and all! Be gone from my sight."
The walls and floor wavered as they had before, and they were in the presence of the Warlock once again. They were back on Arcadia, gone from the Otherplane. "Depart my palace at once," Jevin said.
Apothecary spoke as they walked from the room. "This is a decision you may later regret. When next we meet, we stand neither as enemies nor allies... but if you think to strike against me, I shall see to your destruction personally." His eyes fixed on Jevin, and then he turned his head forward. Their second alliance had failed. But they still had other cities to see. Tevar was the next city. But first, they would see the ruins of his childhood, in the palace of Dremma.
Part Two: Resistance
Inside Entropy's Cube.
Entropy wrestled Gomurr's bamboo staff from his wrinkled hands, and used it to strike him in the head. "You do not even need this staff, do you?" she taunted.
He fell backwards to the floor. "Just take from me what you want! If you have the power, witch, then do it!"
"Not yet... You want me to risk destroying you, when you hold the key to my escape from Arcadia. I will not make such an error. Instead, I will force you to make a choice." She waved her hand, and several individuals appeared. Luthos, Dragonmaster, Nemesis, ShockWave, R'Mener, and DuQuesne. She looked over at him once more. "One of these shall live. The rest will die. It is up to you who lives."
He knew that she was not tricking him this time... they truly were there in her grasp. But what could he do? He needed to buy some time. "Is there any alternative?"
"Yes. Take me to Earth at once! I will spare all of you if you complete that simple task."
Gomurr sighed. "Very well." He moved his hands in an ancient motion, his lips spilling words heard by few, and understood by even fewer. A portal appeared before her. "For your sake, this had better be real," she said. "Do not test me, you old fool."
"Just go through the portal. You will find the way to Earth."
She eyed him cautiously as he put her hand through the portal. She felt no attack and no injury. She pushed her head through, keeping her body back. She saw endless water spilling out before her, and she heard Gomurr curse. "You expected me to walk headlong into the portal, did you?" she teased. "You insult me. I recognize the Great Sea of Arcadia when I lay eyes upon it." Her hand struck the side of his face, and he collapsed to the floor. "Fortunately for all of you, my patience is long. But even it has a limit."
She walked to Luthos once again, and grabbed the stump that once was his hand. "Do you want your hand back, Battle Mage?" she asked. "Or perhaps your lost children?"
"I will... make no deals with you," he said, drawing sharp breaths, still in obvious pain. "As the Harbinger would say... you can fuck off."
She sighed and traced his nonexistent hand with her fingers. "I wish you would cooperate, Luthos. Our relationship could be much more congenial if you simply agreed to help me. Sadly, you choose the obstinate road of your comrades." A new hand appeared in place of his old one, right along the invisible line she had been tracing in the air. He eyed her with a confused glance, and then he realized what she had done. The hand--his own hand--reached up for his throat and latched to it. He had decided to resist her, and she was forced to punish him. She vanished from the Cube, and left her captives to their misery.
The technological wasteland of Morvus surrounded her once more.
--End Chapter Ten--
Chapter Eleven
Part One: The Rains
The palace at Er.
The moment they stepped outside, the rains hit them. Apothecary held up his hand, catching raindrops in his ancient palm, and sighed. "This is my fault."
Mythia put her hand on his shoulder. "This is not your fault. Jevin is a stubborn fool. You did what you could to convince him."
The Warlock agreed. "Jevin made a fatal error when he chose to oppose you, Makadaran. Though I am curious... what trials did he put you through on the Otherplane?"
"The first was a physical test... he attacked me, and forced me to defend myself. I did it without attacking him. The second test involved him trying to hit me with magical energy. I absorbed every last bit of it. I think that's the result he expected."
"Then why did he choose against you?" the Warlock asked.
Apothecary turned to the leader of the Nightblades. "He said Arcadia is not ready for my coming." He faced forward again, and walked through the rain, through the palace gates, down the road leading into the center of the city, and finally to the city gate. Mythia and the Warlock magically shielded themselves from the rain. She came up next to him and tried to cover him with her magic shield. He waved his hand and dissipated it. "I don't need that, Mythia."
"You will make yourself ill," she protested.
"Who gives a shit? It seems it doesn't matter what I do here... no one will take me seriously."
"Franklin, you must understand that these people think for themselves, just as the people on Earth. You can't expect all of them to follow you."
He stopped and looked her in the eye. "Then why did you make it sound as if they would follow me?"
"I am... I did not mean to... Franklin, I just didn't want to overwhelm you. If I told you that most would be skeptical of you, I was afraid you would be less willing to make this journey."
"And why is this little quest so goddamned important??"
"I already told you... we must meet the leader of the Maligned."
"And what about the 'god' thing? When were you going to tell me? And what else are you keeping from me about this 'Makadaran' status?"
"Again, I didn't want to make you feel overwhelmed with your responsibilities."
"What about the amount of power I have? It's a lot more than you let on, isn't it?"
Her face began to change from her cocoa complexion to a sickly gray, and she clenched his shoulders as the rain trickled down her magic shield. "Please, Franklin, don't try to use more of your power than you're ready to... please."
He put his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. "I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you... I... what scares you so much about that?"
"I had a student once, Franklin... he had enormous potential... and I made the mistake of pushing him into using it before he was ready. He... I don't want the same thing to happen to you." She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Her voice was soft and filled with a quiet intensity he had not often heard. "You're too important, Franklin."
His eyes were locked with hers, and he wondered what had happened with this "student" of whom she spoke. He imagined he knew what had happened... it seemed fairly obvious to him. He took her hands and squeezed them slightly. "You don't need to worry about me so much. I'm three millennia old... I think I can handle anything that comes my way. You don't have to be so protective of me."
"Yes I do. It is my role... to balance you, and make sure your power doesn't consume you. You are more to me than just a Dridseor. You are my destiny." While her words comforted him, they also seemed ominous. He knew she wasn't telling him everything, but could it really be for his own good, as she claimed?
The Warlock cleared his throat. "I do believe we have someplace we should be heading."
Mythia turned her head. "Yes, of course... we will be heading to the ruins of Dremma."
"Ah, to see the birthplace of our Makadaran?"
"That's right," Apothecary said.
"Then lead the way, great Dridseor."
"We have to go back for Bereid'Atan and the Nightblades," Apothecary said.
"If they've harmed Atan, you will be held responsible," Mythia warned the Warlock.
"I instructed them to behave themselves... you have nothing to worry about," the Warlock assured them. Somehow, as the rain poured upon them, Apothecary wasn't quite convinced.
Part Two: A Simple Defeat
Morvus.
Entropy silently walked through the city, seeing the metallic towards spiralling upward and leaning into each other above her. The city could almost make technology look natural. But she knew that the buildings were not originally so curved and bent. The inhabitants used magic to shape them after initially building them, twisting and warping them until they met their requirements. Some sort of brown liquid trickled down the side of the building next to her, sending off tiny sparks as it moved. The stench of industrial by-products engulfed her, and she breathed them naturally. This was her kind of city.
She saw the Principal Spire up ahead, and she teleported herself to it. She knew that Skaven stayed atop it most of the time, looking down on his city. She was certain he would refuse her offer... if she could even communicate with him at all. No Arcadian had ever accomplished that task. None could speak their language, and for some reason the global language enchantment did not translate. In her arrogance, she convinced herself she could will herself to understand the Maligned language. She crossed her arms and floated upward, looking into the Spire's windows as she rose. Surprisingly, she found offices. Maligned working at rather grim-looking desks, stacks of parchment around them. Their offices were illuminated with jars containing some kind of green liquid. It pulsed and glowed, almost hypnotically. She shrugged off her amusement and continued on her voyage to the top. She looked up and saw the roof coming closer and closer, and leveled her eyes with it as she passed it. She floated down to stand upon it, and saw Skaven staring at her. She smiled and walked toward him.
"You will either join me or I will take your city from you. I know that the Makadaran is already on his way here, and when he arrives, he will find me here... one way or another. It is entirely up to you whether you accept my offer or not."
Skaven simply grunted and backhanded her. But then, a backhand from a Maligned was more like a piledriver. She reeled backwards and fell on her rear end, spitting blood from her mouth. "Have it your way," she sneered. She ran up to him and tried to grab him. Her arms surrounded his abdomen, and Skaven clawed at her. She threw him to the floor with a might that belied her appearance. Skaven shrieked, and she picked him up, holding him over her head. "Enjoy your trip," she taunted, and threw him off the building. She heard a scream erupt from him as he sped through the sky, past the city, and off into the distance. "Go, meet the Makadaran... perhaps you will make my task simpler."
Part Three: An Impromptu War
20,000 years ago. Aboard the Aeon.
"You realize you will lose your command for this incident," Vral said.
"I know," Stak replied. "And you will be in command as a result."
"Not until after we solve our current problem."
"Indeed. Do we have a group ready to detain our intruder?"
"Six Oolian security officers. They should suffice, with personal force shields and plasma rifles."
"I hope you are correct."
...
Makadaran walked through the immense ship in wonderment, never having seen such sights before in his life. Lights of every color blinked around him, and odd noises immersed him. Clanging and snapping sounds, like those from some kind of machine, came to him. He sensed other beings approaching him. A bolt of energy formed in his hand, but he did not wish to use it right away. When six things that walked like men came into view, he stared at them and shouted, "I do not wish to attack you! I simply must know what your intentions are here."
His eyes widened in shock as bolts of energy came from them. He released his bolt at them, and it sapped theirs in the process. They were struck, and collapsed, and he stopped over their unconscious forms. "So you have decided to declare war on my people? Very well." He picked up one of their weapons, and tried to discover its method of operation. It fired into the floor when he pressed a button on the side of its elongated barrel shape, and he jumped. He held it close to his body as he walked cautiously through the ship.
--End Chapter Eleven--
Chapter Twelve
Part One: Thoughts
The skies above Arcadia.
Bereid'Atan carried them through the air. Apothecary, Mythia, the Warlock, and the Nightblades. There were six Nightblades, and the fire drake had been thankful that there were not more. While he was alone with them, they nearly came to blows when he attacked their treatment of his people. They tried to defend their actions as being in self-defense, but he would have none of it. When it started raining, the Nightblades went to their tents instead of continuing the debate. Bereid'Atan was not in a good mood, having to carry them on his back as he was. But he would do it for Apothecary, since he knew he would be treated well by him.
Mythia was not feeling like herself. She knew Franklin was angry with her, over her keeping the nature of his power a secret. He had not known that he would be worshiped. She did not tell him how powerful he really was. Her fear of losing him kept her from revealing the truth. She loved him more than life itself. For him to use his new power to its full capacity would drive him mad, and the thought of losing him was, to her, unthinkable. She needed him as much as Arcadia did. But if he didn't trust her, then what good was she to him? She was torn between her responsibility to Arcadia, and her feelings for him. There was no easy solution to her dilemma.
Apothecary appeared to be pouting. He felt as if he were being used by Mythia, for some purpose he couldn't determine. Why had she kept things from him? He found it hard to believe that it was for his own good. The cynicism he had developed during three millennia on Earth had taken its toll on his psyche, and he found it difficult to take anything or anyone at face value. He was still suspicious of the Warlock, and kept a close eye on him. He didn't trust the Nightblades at all. But he also didn't care to think about them... he was too preoccupied thinking about Mythia. Things would have been so much simpler had he not fallen in love with her, he decided.
The Warlock looked behind him at his Nightblades. They were sitting silently on Bereid'Atan's back. He had not informed them of his plans for when they reached Morvus. He was unsure how they would react. He turned his thoughts to Mythia and Apothecary, and wondered if their problems would only worsen.
Part Two: The Hand of Evil
Inside Entropy's Cube.
Gomurr's eyes adjusted to the strange light inside their magical prison, and saw the rest of those held captive. He noticed Luthos lying on the floor, red streaks on his neck that indicated someone's fingernails had ripped into his flesh. He also noticed one of the Battle Mage's hands was gray and twitching, and he sensed an evil presence within it. He crawled over to Luthos, and eyed the hand cautiously. He tried to rouse the Battle Mage. "Wake up, Luthos... I must speak with you."
Luthos came around slowly, blinking his eyes. "The hand... you must remove it from me!" came his shout, though it was drained of all strength.
"What is it?" Gomurr asked in reference to the hand.
"Some sort of... magic. It is evil... please sever it!"
Gomurr reached over and took the gray hand in his own. It gripped him, and he drew back. "My magic does not work properly in this place. I am uncertain how to remove it."
Luthos reached into one of his pockets and drew a knife. "Use this."
"It will be--"
"--painful, I know," Luthos finished for him.
"Hold still."
Gomurr tried his best to cut as quickly as he could. He attempted to magically deaden the pain, but he was unsure whether or not it worked. It elicited a scream from Luthos as the hand writhed and spurted on the floor, detached from its body. Gomurr threw a mystic bolt at the hand, watching as it burned and vanished. "At least my magic works a little bit," he mused. He tried to heal Luthos' wound with his Crimson Dawn energies, and found that they had no effect.
"Healing magic does not work here," Luthos explained. "You must bandage me."
Gomurr ripped a shred from his kimono, and wrapped it fully around Luthos' bleeding wrist. Dragonmaster awakened and approached. "Luthos, my friend... what happened to you?"
"Entropy wished to know the way to Earth." He shook his head and looked at Dragonmaster. "I would not show her. Were she not so fond of me," he groaned, "I would be dead."
"Fond of you?" Gomurr echoed. "What do you mean?"
"I knew her long ago... and I refused to help her then. I was in... a relationship with her even before that. It seems she never forgot me."
"It may be the only card we have to play," Gomurr said. "Please tell me more."
--End Chapter Twelve--
Chapter Thirteen
Part One: The House of Dremma
Along the path to Dremma and Tevar.
They were an unlikely group. Mythia and the Warlock, perhaps more similar in attitude than they would admit, were truly two sides of the same coin. She kept her secrets for the good of Arcadia. He kept his secrets for his own benefit. But her perspective made her vulnerable, her dimension of compassion opened her to pain. Were she detached from Apothecary and the world she was supposed to defend, perhaps she would have been better able to fulfill her obligations. But it was too late to stop caring. Too many years spent watching the children die, the fields rot, and world go to ruin. She understood as well as anyone why this world needed the Makadaran. The Warlock of the Nightblades could not deny Arcadia's need for strong leadership, but he wondered about Apothecary's fitness to be that leader. The man knew almost nothing of Arcadia. How could he lead a world he knew not of? Mythia had informed him that part of this journey was to acquaint Apothecary with the people and the land, but how successful had it been? Rains followed them, the rains that Apothecary unconsciously called upon himself. The Warlock felt Apothecary's disappointment.
Franklin himself was quiet. They had come here to see the ruins of Dremma, on the chance he would remember something. He wasn't sure he even wanted to remember what had preceded his departure to Earth three thousand years ago. He had no recollection of this world, and he imagined it was for good reason. He sensed Mythia behind him, something that unnerved him. Not so much that she was there, but that he was able to sense her so casually with his powers. He was afraid they would rage out of his control if he allowed them free reign. He pushed back the energies building inside him, and could no longer sense her. He sighed, hoping he could sustain his thus-far-successful measure of control. He turned and faced her. "What do you want?" he asked calmly.
"I just wanted to see if I could help you. This isn't a journey you have to make alone."
"Isn't it? If what you say is true, I was born in this place... these rocks, these fallen pillars...they were my cradle and my home. And I can't remember a damned bit of it."
"The shock of being sent to Earth probably suppressed your memories. Perhaps being here will reawaken them."
"I don't know, Mythia... I've seen a lot of things in my life, but this world holds surprises that continue to unnerve me. I mean, I've not yet encountered anyone or anything truly evil, but what I have seen still scares me. I know I will see evil if I awaken memories of my past."
"Why do you say that?"
"You know why... the Maligned invaded Dremma. It somehow warranted me being sent away to a whole other world. Obviously, something bad happened here!" he shouted, and then regained his composure. "I'm sorry... I just don't know if I am ready to see."
"That you are so fearful of what you will see indicates you already know what you'll see. You are better off just facing it now, Franklin. It will make your coming trials easier."
"I really need you to help me, Mythia."
"You are no longer angry with me?"
"I... you kept things from me. Right now, I really don't know if it was justified or not. All I know is that I need you here and now... and I need you to keep me from losing myself in the memories."
"How would you lose yourself in them?" she asked, taking his hand.
"This... Makadaran...there are memories that aren't mine. I can... sense... that I can relive memories here... that I... I don't know... it's like being able to replay my youth by touching a part of it. I don't know how I know I can do it... I just know I can."
"I will be here the entire time, Franklin. I will help you when you need it."
"That's all I am asking. Thank you."
While the Warlock, Bereid'Atan, and the Nightblades stayed behing, Mythia and Franklin ventured into the ruins of Dremma. They passed through the only part still standing as it did three millennia ago--the palace gate. While its surrounding structures had faltered, it remained steadfast, guarding the entrance to the royal house of Dremma. Franklin's eyes moved to each pillar and each crumbled statue, searching for a trace of familiarity. His felt a throbbing in his head as he sensed echoes of a struggle from so long ago. But his mind went back farther.
"Now now, Korin, you must be mindful of your mother," his father said to him. He was looking up at his father, as if here were very small. He clasped his hands.
"I will, Father," the boy replied.
Apothecary slipped back into the present. "My name, Mythia... it was Korin."
She looked at him and smiled. "It's a beautiful name... Korin."
"But there's more..." he said, and stumbled forward.
"I would hate for you to fall, young man," he heard as a hand wrapped around his abdomen. He was saved from falling, and turned to look at his savior.
"Treskin!" he said gleefully.
"Who else would save you, my boy?"
The elder man pulled Korin up to him, and the child kissed his cheek. "Take me for a ride, please," Korin requestion.
"Why, certainly!" He grabbed Korin with both hands and placed the boy atop his shoulders. Korin's legs clung to Treskin's sides, and his arms went around Treskin's neck. "Be careful not to choke me, now," Treskin warned.
"I will be careful," Korin said.
Korin felt a hand touch his, and a voice called to him. "Franklin?"
"It was...Treskin," Apothecary said. "When I was a boy...when he carried me around on his back."
"Before the Maligned attacked?"
Apothecary nodded. He took her hand, and it somehow fell away to be replaced by the sharp claws of a troll. He screamed, and tried to run the other way. Snarls pursued him, and he grasped vainly for something to defend himself with. Hands grabbed him, but they were kind hands. "Father!" he cried out. Dremma clutched his son. "They did not harm you, did they?" his father asked.
"N-No...but they were going to!"
Dremma held his son in one arm, and clutched a scepter in the other. "Do not approach me, fiends," he cautioned them. They grunted in their language and came closer. He struck his scepter to the ground, and the earth split open and swallowed them. But more came, seemingly forming out of the air, masses and masses of them. Korin cried in terror, and his father did not have time to comfort him. He kept his attention on the approaching orcs and trolls, and tried to blast them with magic from his scepter. They kept coming closer. For each one he felled, three more stepped forward in its place. They were within arms length when he called out. "Treskin!!"
Apothecary screamed, and a hand squeezed his own. "Franklin...Franklin...it's all right."
"M-Mythia..."
"I'm here," she said softly.
"The...Maligned attack. I was right in the middle of it... I can't...arrrghh..." he groaned, and then let forth a scream of pure horror as he was thrust back into his nightmare.
He was held in Treskin's arms, his eyes fixed on the broken body of his father. Trolls hung over it, sniffing it, a few ripping shreds of flesh from the corpse and devouring them like mad dogs. Tears streaked down his face as he screamed all the louder, flailing his arms as if he could somehow find his mother with them. But she was already dead, as well.
"I must keep you out of harm's way," Treskin told him as he ran and carried him. "I must send you to the world next to this one. The world they call the Earth."
"W-why?" he asked between sobs.
"It is the only way to protect you. I am sorry, for you may never see me again... but know this: someday you will come back to us, and you will rule us all. You will be the most powerful and righteous ruler in Arcadia!"
Korin didn't understand his protector's words... he simply continued to cry uncontrollably. Treskin muttered ancient words, and a whirlpool formed before them. He set Korin on his feet, and guided him to the vortex. "Through that portal lies your destiny, Korin. You must do this."
The boy walked through the vortex reluctantly, and watched as every trace of the world he knew vanished. Fires raged around him, as if he were passing through the Underworld his parents had always warned him of.
Hands touched his face, and he blinked his eyes. Mythia was wiping away his tears, and he put his arms around her, as if he feared he would be pulled back into the nightmare again, forever.
Part Two: Infallible
Morvus.
She had thrown them all off the Principal Spire. Some orcs, a few trolls, and even a goblin she had found wandering around. Most of them had shrieked when they saw her coming, apparently having heard stories of her. It only made her take that much more pleasure in casting them off the tower. She knew that Maligned were very resilient... a little fall from a tall building wasn't enough to kill most of them. They had tough hides and even stronger bones. She sat in the chair formerly occupied by Skaven, and wondered just what to do to his city. She could level it, if that was her desire. But she had just razed a village a few weeks ago... it didn't hold the same thrill as it used to. She had done it more slowly last time, so she could hear the screams and watch her victims bleed into the soil... but it wasn't quite the same as being face-to-face with someone, holding their mortality in her hands, being able to murder them at any instant, and them not knowing exactly when that instant would come. It was the epitome of control. She was Fate. She could take any life at any time of her choosing. Yet she could not whisk herself to Earth, as was her ultimate wish.
Entropy stood in anger and allowed a wisp of energy to rip through a nearby building. Explosions rocked through it, and it collapsed into a heap of rubble. It satiated her desire for chaos as she watched burning, dying Maligned scurry from the wreckage. She pointed at each one, and her smile grew a bit more as they collapsed at her pointing. She was causing their hearts to explode, one by one, killing them on the spot. Of course, no one would know what she had done until Skaven's aides recovered from their unfortunate tumbles from the Principal Spire. And it didn't even matter that they would give away her presence. She could kill them all at once, if she wanted to. But as long as they lived, she knew Skaven wouldn't organize a full assault, for risk of killing his own people. No, Skaven would come across the Makadaran... and they would either join forces or battle to the death. If they joined, she could destroy them both. If Skaven defeated the Makadaran, she could slay him and take his power. If Skaven failed in such an effort, she would rip the Makadaran's power away and use it as her own. No matter which way things went, it seemed her victory was ensured.
--End Chapter Thirteen--
Chapter Fourteen
Part One: History
The ruins of Dremma.
They slowly walked from the broken remains of Apothecary's birthplace. Mythia helped him along, knowing he was still overwhelmed by the sudden resurfacing of his memories. She took his hand in hers once again, and made certain he knew she was there. She tried to keep him talking. "What happened after that, Franklin?"
"I... I landed on Earth. In Israel. It was during the reign of King David. I was found... a family took me in. I had been lost in the desert, and I couldn't remember who I was or where I had come from. I could not speak their language... I could speak no language. I was silent for months, until I managed to learn their speech. At that point, I was able to understand why they brought me to their home. They believed I was their son who had wandered into the desert a year before. They told me that the sands had taken my memories. But I had always had this feeling that I was not their son."
"Their son may have been your Earth counterpart."
"That's what I now believe."
"What happened to the family that rescued you?"
"Well, I had a sister... my mother and father died during a famine, and the two of us were left on our own. I think I was about eight years old, and she was ten. We journeyed into the desert, and she told me it was to see our parents again... and I knew exactly what she meant. A few days into the wasteland, and she died from thirst... I couldn't do a thing to help. But for some reason, I didn't die. Instead, I was discovered by barbarians... and instead of killing me, they decided to finish the job of raising me. They taught me how to fight."
Mythia listened intently to all of his words. "You couldn't remember this before?"
"I... it was hazy. I had vague impressions, but never anything concrete. My memories only become clearer in my thirties."
They climbed onto Bereid'Atan's back, and the Nightblades joined them. The Warlock asked Mythia, "Did things proceed well?"
She turned around and nodded. "He remembers now."
The Warlock smiled and Mythia turned toward Apothecary again. His back was to her, and she wrapped her arms around his abdomen. "Do you want to continue what you were telling me?" she asked.
"I think I should," he replied, and then paused for a few moments while he thought. "The next place I journeyed was to China. I was fifteen when I left the barbarians, and it took me five years to make to to China. The Chou Dynasty was in power at the time. I was shunned by them, being an outsider... and so I wandered even farther. Though I didn't know it at the time, I had moved north, into Siberia. I was greeted by Inuits... interesting people. It was obvious they were from farther south, with their features, but they had little in common with the Chinese. They hunted with bows and arrows, and lived fairly static lifestyles... I could have been content to settle with them, but their community broke up in the spring, as was their custom. We all parted ways, and by that time I had become fluent in their language. I moved back west again, and passed through the Middle East once more. I even wandered farther west, until I reached the Mediterranean. I was there when they founded Carthage... the Phoenicians. By then, I had been alive for around two hundred years. I was able to show the ruler of Carthage some of the things I had learned in my travels... new languages, new hunting methods. It even helped them devise a new way of writing. He was so impressed that he gave me a robe dyed Tyrian purple. That's a very expensive dye, you know."
"Franklin... I didn't know you had so many connections in Earth's past," Mythia said in astonishment.
"There are many more stories I could tell you... like my role in the fall of the Roman Empire. I paid them back for Carthage..." he said with distaste.
"What happened to Carthage?"
"Have you ever heard of the Punic Wars? The Romans won all three of them... and then they crushed Carthage. Julius Caesar made the region where Carthage stood prosper again... but I didn't think that was good enough."
"So what did you do?"
"I did the only thing I could... I infiltrated the Roman government. I helped Odoacer depose Romulus Augustulus, and that was the end of that..."
"You helped him destroy an entire empire?"
"I have helped build and eliminate numerous civilizations, Mythia. Can you imagine the knowledge I have acquired in my three millennia of existence? Oh, wait, you can..."
"I have lived as long as you, remember."
"My point is that I know quite a bit more about the way things work than you think I do... you don't have to protect me."
"What about your behavior back at Dremma?"
"That wasn't my fault and you know it, Mythia... I couldn't control the flow of those memories any more than you could."
"You are going to be all right, aren't you?"
"Definitely... Just as long as Atan gets us to Tevar in one piece. I still don't like flying all the way up here."
"You can fly without assistance, Franklin. It's part of your power."
"I know... I'd rather not attempt it just now."
"It was only a thought."
"Well, I think I will try to get some sleep," he said, then yawned. He leaned forward onto the back of Bereid'Atan's neck, and closed his eyes, trying to make himself comfortable. Mythia pressed her body against his, and fell asleep with him. The Warlock simply looked down toward the ground, while the Nightblades carried on their own conversations behind him. They had several hours to go until they reached Tevar.
--End Chapter Fourteen--
Chapter Fifteen
Part One: Kary'n
Inside Entropy's Cube.
Nemesis held her arm around Luthos to keep him sitting upright, and he looked to her face. "Thank you, Nemesis," he said.
She smiled and gave him a reply of "Don't mention it."
They all sat together, having finally regained consciousness, and all mostly recovered from Entropy's brutal attack. Antoine DuQuesne, R'Mener, Dragonmaster, Luthos, Avalon, ShockWave, Nemesis, and Gomurr thought about their predicament. Gomurr spoke first.
"She wants to go to Earth, but something on Arcadia seems to be distracting her. And I am puzzled by her unwillingness to kill any of us."
"You're complaining about that?" Avalon interjected.
"Hush, boy. It may be an important fact we can turn to our advantage."
"You may be correct," Luthos said. "As I mentioned before, I knew Entropy long ago... before she was possessed by the spirit that controls her now."
"What is the nature of this spirit?" Gomurr inquired.
"I will get to that. Originally, her name was Kary'n. She was a student I knew at the wizardry school in Northrim. I could not afford to pay for the classes myself, and so she taught me the first spells I ever learned. She loaned me texts and tutored me for a few years, and we started to become more than friends."
"You never told me of this," Dragonmaster interrupted. "What of your wife?"
Luthos looked at his friend. "This was long before I met Inya. Even before I met you, Taki."
"You never mentioned this woman to me."
"I rarely thought of her, after we were separated..."
"Why is that?"
"I loved her, Taki. She was brilliant and full of creativity... she made the world around her sing with magic, and she danced in harmony with nature. She felt so close to it all, almost as if she were a part of it. Then something came down from the stars and told her that nature was nothing more than a plaything, and that she was meant to twist and destroy it. She came to me, and I saw the horror in her eyes... she had never heard such hateful words in all her life. I tried to stop the creature from possessing her, but it slipped into her soul and refused to leave. Try as it would, it attempted to force her to kill me. She would not do it. She has always been able to battle some aspect of the demon that occupies her... and it would seem she can do so even now."
"But the way she tortured you indicates that she has lost some of that control," Gomurr said. "From what you said, she would never have tortured you this way when she was first possessed."
"I fear you may be right," Luthos said. "But perhaps we can help Kary'n regain some of her influence over the entity that calls itself Entropy."
"Maybe so. When Entropy went to Earth, she appeared to me as a child. I took her in as a pupil, and it nearly separated me forever from someone close to me. It would seem she can use different bodies at will."
"The one you saw was probably a body she fabricated. As your abilities work somewhat differently on Arcadia, hers may change while on Earth."
DuQuesne spoke up for his own well-being. "Why in the hell does she want me?"
"I believe you had the poor luck of being around us," Gomurr replied. DuQuesne frowned.
R'Mener was forced to intercede. "This woman, this beast, must be annihilated! She cannot be allowed to reign her evil across Arcadia! You will not allow one such as her to paint her brand of terror on the landscape, will you?!"
Gomurr put his hand over R'Mener's mouth. "Silence would be the best thing from you right now."
He pushed the old mage's hand away. "I shall not remain silent in the face of this... this tyranny! You sit here and plot and devise and you are finding no routes of escape! You are not making any effort whatever to gain our freedom! Instead, you discuss the details of your simplistic love lives as if this were some sort of spiritual cleansing!"
"JUST SHUT UP!" Avalon blared, finally becoming fed up with the man's ravings.
"Gomurr, can't you put him to sleep or something?" Nemesis suggested.
"Claudia, you are not being helpful. R'Mener's points are valid, even if he expresses them in a confrontational manner," Gomurr said. "We must find a way out of this place, wherever or whatever it is. But it seems my abilities of teleportation only work when Entropy deems it necessary."
"But there is something she did not count on," Luthos said.
"What's that?" ShockWave asked.
Luthos raised his other hand, and the red jewel embedded in his ring glowed. "This."
Part Two: Preparing for War
Outside Morvus.
Skaven grunted and shouted his commands to his troops, demanding that they prepare for the inevitable battle with the woman that had usurped his Spire. No one trifled with Skaven, and no one dared to take his city from him! Orcs and Goblins and Trolls all scurried about, gathering and sharpening their weapons, and prepared their tanks for war. The mechanized steel carriages bore turrets all over them, veritable war machines that were the fist of his army. He would see the evil creature toppled from his Spire, no matter what the cost!
Part Three: Loyalties
Near Tevar.
The Nightblades sat around the campfire near Tevar. Apothecary, Mythia, and their Warlock had gone to meet with the Dridseor of Tevar, and so they were left alone with the fire drake.
"This is sickening," the senior Nightblade, Overdiek, communicated. He had been with the Nightblades since they were founded ten centuries before, under the rule of Trev. When Trev was assassinated by an underling of the Maligned, the new ruler forced them out of his dominion. Overdiek kept the spirit of the Nightblades alive, he was the only one that believed they could still serve a great purpose. Their Warlock, he suspected, was a man of treachery and dishonor. Yet his magic was limited only to offensive spells, spells that empowered his sword. The Warlock was skilled in many forms of magic, both offensive and defensive. He could never stand against their leader, for they would all be killed and no justice would be done. So he waited, and tried his best to keep the spirits of his companions high.
"I share your sentiments," Sherinn, his close female companion, agreed. She kept Overdiek alive, kept his hope in his heart, eased him through each difficult day, and was there with him both when they were victorious and when they failed. Her faith in him was unshakable.
"We should trust the Warlock," Yller told them. "He gives us our purpose, and he holds more power than any of us. What if we were to face a legion of Undead? Who would save us?"
"We would protect ourselves, and stand atop a pile of twice-killed men," Pearson said cheerfully. He took a drink from his cup, some horrible beverage he couldn't name, and laughed as it dripped down his chin. He was the man that brought light-heartedness and gaiety to their ranks. But he could wield a sword as well as any of them, and his magic was known to be quite intimidating.
"Faith in the Warlock is not nearly so important as faith in the Makadaran," Jym said quietly. He was a very religious man, soft-spoken and extremely reserved. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it was important to listen, for he was not the kind of man suited to repeating himself. He wore a bracelet adorned with a red pyramid, a symbol of his beliefs. He knew the greatness of the Makadaran, and he would never turn his back on the magnificent leader. Loyalty to the Warlock was one thing, but loyalty to the Makadaran--to a god--was something else completely. He rubbed his hand over the bracelet, feeling strange energies surge through him, and he smiled. The Makadaran would protect them.
Bereid'Atan slept behind them, providing them shelter from the harsh wind that whipped across this near-desert. Overdiek was glad that they had brought firewood with them from one of their previous campsites, otherwise they would have had no way to stay warm, save for magical means. He put his arm around Sherinn for extra warmth, and sat his cup on the ground. "Perhaps we should be rejoicing tonight. Arcadia is about to be united once more... putting Jevin's obstinacy aside. These are indeed great times to live in!"
The others shouted their agreement, and they began to sing songs of the battles they had won, and took moments of solemnity for those they had lost along the way. While their loyalties to a leader may have been divided, the Nightblades were loyal to one another as strongly as any family could be.
--End Chapter Fifteen--