His feet touched the familiar wood floor of the library. The phthalo-blue carpet lay dark beneath the tables in the distance. Julie still lay on the floor, his traveling cloak about her. He cast a glance over his shoulder, a warm orange and purple glow on the distant horizon to the north. Dawn. When moving to kneel beside her, he discerned a small tremor of magic. He spun, pulling his wand free of his robes, shooting his conjury in a sudden, aimless burst. The blast wave ripped through, invisible to the eye, crashing through shelves, splintering wood, ripping through books, and sent paper flying. A grunt escaped his attacker, but he couldn’t see through the ensuing confusion.

Judas stood to his full height, wary there may be others. He darted down the aisle, dipping around a corner, spying the feet of his attacker, the body buried under shelves and tomes and was unable to identify him. Another tremor from behind him, moments before he heard the incantation. Whirling around, he batted the spell away without a word, throwing up his mage-shield. What he didn’t reflect, the shield absorbed. The second attacker stayed in the shadows, cowering in the darkness, hoping to draw him out. They wanted to divide and conquer, moving him away from Julie. But the question gnawing at him was: were they there for him or her? He assumed for him; it made sense. Why would someone come for the girl?

The warlock turned away, hurrying between the bookshelves, back towards Julie. If they managed to beat him, she was as good as dead. Reaching her moments later, he knelt beside her. Once in his arms, his mage-shield enveloped them both. Another stray bolt of energy ripped through the room, breaking more shelves and destroying more volumes. His heart panged at the sight, knowing the scripts were most likely beyond saving.

He called his power, the essence answering his summons. As he started his teleport, a figure materialized at the other end of the aisle, skidding to a stop. A black cloth shrouded the figure, its face hidden, raising its wand, light and force flaring, shooting forward. The flash was so bright, Judas had to blink several times to regain his sight. When he did, his manor stood before him, the teleport successful.

For a brief moment, he pitied Sam, the librarian, who’d come to work this morning only to find the place destroyed. How did they track me?

He shook his head and adjusted the girl in his arms. A black iron gate guarded the front of his manor and stood fifteen feet high, the brick wall the color of burning coals encompassed the entire manor. The gate opened at his thought, moving in silence, admitting him inside the grounds.

The manor was an enormity for one person. Giant, stark-white pillars greeted all guests. The double doors were made of marble and crystal glass, with an intricate design outlined in silver. The house boasted four stories and painted marble-white.

To the left of the house, as a visitor would face from the entrance, sat a huge barn painted deep, dark green. Horses nickering inside floated through the morning air. To the right of the house sprouted a smaller cottage, Judas’s infamous study. No one entered, not even Meristal, though many guests joked openly about it. The house boasted other study rooms, one per floor in fact; Judas kept all his secrets locked up in this particular cottage.

The warlock walked up the front path, carrying the young woman like a bride. His feet climbed familiar wooden steps. Without word or incantation, the door opened, and he carried her through.

Once inside, he kicked off their leather mesh sandals, pushing them aside with his foot so he wouldn’t track dirt, mud, or manure inside the gorgeous house. The floor was a light stained oak with a lustrous, high-polished finish. He stopped a few paces inside the sitting room, pondering if to place her on the long chair or a bed. His eyes moved up, stared through the open ceiling, architect designed to allow an unimpeded view of all four-stories.

He decided on a bed. The winding stairs hugged the wide walls, a daunting task for his age. The oak staircase was built on a marble base with silver handrails, every few feet inlaid with precious gems. Artistic paintings of people, places, and things, as well as abstract art hung on the wall. Most of his paintings depicted rare, beautiful places, tribes of people long gone, and mythical races. At the second landing, Judas stepped off the staircase and headed down one of the many halls, each of which held several rooms. The house tallied twenty guest rooms in all, four studies, a small kitchen on each floor, and a master kitchen located on the first floor. Each floor came with a sitting room and small library of various books Judas bought, found, and collected over the ages.

Once clearing the last step, he hung a left and entered the first door to his right, which opened in the same manner as the front door. With gentle ease, he laid her on the bed. He could have thrown her, and she wouldn’t have woken from her magically-induced coma. Judas detected her subconscious underneath the pall of magic, blissful yet unaware of anything. The Wcic dreamed of an open meadow with a large oak tree; she ran barefoot through the shin-high grass towards its welcoming shade. Birds twittered a bright song in its branches. Judas smiled at the peaceful dream.

He moved away from her and walked to his room where he disrobed in haste, throwing his tattered clothing at the foot of his bed and pulling out a fresh set of formal yet plain robes. He dressed in an alacritous pace. First, the under robe of white linen. Second, the inner robe of deep tangelo. And third, the outer robe of dark indigo with silver needlework along the cuffs and neck. A traveler’s cloak of tanned color with black stitching added the last touch. Checking one last time in the silver looking-glass, he left his master bedroom and peeked inside the guest room, taking a moment to judge the young woman and assess her state.

Closing the door behind him with a soft click, and after a moment of deliberating with himself, he sealed the door to her room with a magical barrier as an extra precaution. Satisfied, he returned to the sitting room to await Staell.

When he arrived on the first floor, a knock reverberated through the silence. Judas paused, startled. He hadn’t expected anyone other than Staell. Had his enemies come to his house? Had they been watching, waiting? He procured his wand from within his garments and walked to the door, his footfalls soft. The memories of the Wizard’s War came back to him. Old habits he tried to forget sprang to life. His gut clenched, his breath held. If a friend wasn’t on the other side of the door, the victim wouldn’t have time to be sorry.

The door snapped open on his silent command, his wand thrust forward, the tip glowing, magic ready to fly out at a simple thought. The young man dropped his belongings, holding up his hands. “Please, don’t!” he cried out.

Judas lowered his wand, his eyes going round. “Toddison? What in the Underworld are you doing here? I almost blasted you to hell and back!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. You told me to come last night, but you weren’t here when I arrived. I waited until midnight.” The young man with dark hair bent to collect his things. “And please, just call me Todd. I hate the name Toddison.”

“I did?” Judas puzzled. He thought back to the day prior. Todd spoke the truth. He ran into the young lad—literally—right after they revoked his citizenship and before the council called on him.

Judas pushed the doors open to the criminal court when he bowled over someone waiting outside. Books, parchment, and ink went flying, crashing to the floor.

“Sorry,” muttered the young man. He stooped to pick up his belongings. “I didn’t see you there.” He bustled to snatch up his things, not bothering to throw a glance at the person who knocked him over. “I’m waiting for the ruling of…” his gaze wandered up, and the color drained from his face. “Master Lakayre!” Blue eyes flashed wide, and disheveled black hair whipped around as he did a double-take.

“Ah,” Judas groaned. He recognized him, but his name escaped him at the moment. “I wondered when I would run into you, though to be honest, I didn’t think it would be quite so literal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the young man sputtered as he picked up the last of his belongings and tried desperately to smooth his hair. “A coworker told me you were in the castle. I came as quickly as I could, but I’ve been busy as of late. My editor at the paper has been hounding me…”

“I see,” Judas intoned with a straight face. To be honest with himself, he didn’t know how to react to the boy.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” the boy asked. His question caught the warlock off guard. Usually, I ask that question. The librarian floated through his thoughts, still fresh. Judas, about to respond, stopped when a man burst from a flight of stairs near him. They locked eyes, and the man crossed over to him.

“The council demands your presence,” the newcomer breathed.

“I just got done seeing them,” the warlock exclaimed. “I haven’t broken any laws that I am aware of, unless knocking over the lad is a capital offense.” He let his attention meander back to the young man when the messenger in green robes cleared his throat. Judas turned to regard him again. “Yes?” he queried.

“The Kothlere Council, not the Kothlere Court, summoned you.”

“Too bad! I might be more inclined to help them if they gave me back my citizenship. Seeing as I’m still an exile, I’m not predisposed to aid them. They can figure out their problems without me.”

“It’s not for me to guess at the thought process that brought about your summons, warlock,” the messenger replied, his answer evasive. He used Judas’s proper title as a rebuke. “I do know their beckons are of the absolute most importance, and your presence is hereby requested.”

“‘Absolute most importance’ huh? What’s so important? Famine? War?” Judas chuckled at the young man. Most likely a gross exaggeration, like everything else the council did these days.

“I can’t discuss the details of their summon, but the consul has called for a closed session,” the messenger replied.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Closed session? Something must be semi-serious for them to close the proceedings to the public, mused Judas.

Still, while intrigued to find out what riled the High Council and the consul enough to close their doors, the warlock couldn’t overcome his righteous anger at being denied his citizenship yet again. His nature to help those in need called to him, festering, like an itch needing to be scratched, but why should he assist those who shunned him?

“I don’t answer to them. I’m an exile, their choice, not mine, and therefore exercising my right to ignore the summon. You should quit being their pawn.” Judas chuckled. “Express your master’s displeasure on someone else to gratify his manhood.”

“Warlock! I must protest!” the errand boy stated unabashedly.

“Protest all you want. Go away.” Judas waved him away with his fingers and turned back to the young man he knocked over. “It’s Toddison, right?”

“Yes, sire. Well, I prefer Todd,” the first boy responded, a glowing smile forming. Soft footfalls and a cleared throat informed the warlock that the messenger crept forward.

“Forget it,” Judas growled to the messenger, not bothering to look at him. “Let the people who elected the council realize they can’t or won’t do anything for them. Perhaps true change will finally come.”

The messenger leaned in, conspiratorial-like. “It’s the mirror,” he breathed, almost inaudibly.

The three words snared Judas’ss attention. If the reasoning for the summons of the council involved the mirror, the importance was paramount. If Xilor resurrected from the dead, an army sat outside the walls of the capital, and famine spread across the land, the Mirror of Imaesion took precedence. All at once, his anger faded, and he realized the moment of duty beckoned. It wasn’t just his fate on the line, but all Ermaeyth.

“Take me to them,” Judas croaked. The messenger turned, and Judas made to follow.

“Hey, but what about me?” Todd, the writer, called.

“Sorry, the High Council calls.” Judas smiled back, humored by the kid’s unrelenting determination.

“But when can I interview you?” he nagged. “The people need to hear your story! The true story! The people want to know!”

“If you can find my house, come by tonight and you can conduct your interview,” Judas yelled back, knowing the young boy most likely didn’t have a clue how to get to his house. Todd would pour over records for hours to get a hint about where the Lakayre Manor lay. By then, he would be tired, disgruntled, and the suns would have set. Instead of flat out refusing him yet again, like the Kothlere Court did to him, he’d give the boy some hope.

“I’m sorry, Todd,” Judas said, the memory retreating. “I totally forgot.” He knelt to help the young man who was almost done collecting his things.

“I figured as much, or you ducked me again. Why are you so afraid?”

The last question gave Judas pause, like a slap in the face. “Afraid? Is that what you think?”

The boy shrugged. “What else? Worried people will hear your story and be inspired by the truth?”

Judas sighed. “No, I’m not.” He stood. Todd finished collecting his belongings off the porch. The fact that Todd thought him scared rankled him. When he spoke, he didn’t try to hide his agitation. “My tale is a narrative of pain, sadness, loss, grief, death, and remorse. Most people would not understand half of what I went through, nor endure. I don’t indulge the idle curiosities of people like you, and the citizens of the city who smile at me are kind enough to keep their distance. I lost loved ones and watched others lose loved ones, saw men who fought and died for ideals not their own. I killed more people than I’d want to count, and I did this all for the sake of a misguided ideal of freedom proposed by a government as corrupt as the enemy we faced. Freedom for you, me, and everyone else who is still alive—even for the ones who died! There’s nothing inspiring about that, son.

“What of the old men and women who cower as I walk by, frightened that I’d kill them, or they’d become cursed for being too close to me? Perhaps they think I’m contagious, and if they breathe the same air, they’ll become sick, too? It’s almost like the Krey, which incidentally, most people are wrong about. Tell me, is it shaping up to be an inspiring story? Do I sound afraid?”

Todd swallowed, the reflex audible. The warlock took a few deep breaths, letting go of his irritation, breathing out the stress. Todd opened his mouth to say something, but Judas waved him off. “Don’t. I’m sorry. I’m in the wrong. I apologize for not being here when I said I would. I’ll make it up to you. Meet me in Dlad City for lunch, and we can talk about the interview, okay?”

Todd’s eyes narrowed, suspicious.

“I swear, Todd. Just not right now. I’m expecting company, and then I am leaving. I’ll meet you.”

“Alright,” he mumbled. “Dlad City. Any place in particular?”

“A small inn called Traveler’s Respite. You know the place?” Todd nodded and turned to leave, a dejected look on his face. Judas bid him farewell, waving to him. A movement caught his eye as he turned to retreat inside. Turning his head, he spied Staell inside his barn, the unicorn waiting for the young man to leave before coming out into the open. As the unicorn crossed the lawn, he called to Judas.

Is she awake yet?

Judas shook his head. “No, I was interrupted by a knock at the door. Since unicorns don’t knock, I was intrigued to find out who it might be.” He sensed amusement from the unicorn, but Staell changed the subject.

What’s her name?

“Julie.”

Staell grew silent, still, thoughtful. When he spoke again, his words were measured. I plan on visiting the Hive.

Judas took the news in stride, but he couldn’t help but feel the weight upon his chest. The Hive, a slang term used for Outpost Dire, home of the Krey, the most lethal killing force in all Ermaeyth. On this side, at least.

The Krey: men and women of the Grand Royal Army exiled and secluded from the masses much like Judas, but for different reasons. Most trained since youth, toddlers or a few years older. A few didn’t manifest the bloodlust until adulthood, a rarity in the grand scheme. The Krey took to the battlefield when the war was at its worst, or when Ralloc wanted a quick resolution to the fighting. In the bloodlust, they became mindless monsters unless controlled by the A’uri accompanying them, channeling the squad into a hive-like mind. If soldiers were proficient, the Krey relied on ruthless efficiency, zealots for death. Bile rose in Judas’s throat the more he thought about them. He didn’t like the Krey, but he held no dispassion for them either. He sympathized for their kindred spirits in regards to exile but no further. He could vividly recall the soldiers of the bloodlust from the war and the carnage they wrought.

“Why in the gods’ names would you do that?”

For reasons far worse than you realize, Staell declared. I go to set them in motion for when the war starts. By the time the council realizes they are at war, it will be far too late. Xilor will be on their doorstep before they can muster forces. The Dark Lord will be at their walls before reality sets in unless we can slow him early enough. Thus, enter the Krey.

“Isn’t there another way?”

Yes, of course, there’s always another way, which leads to many more deaths. Do you want that on your conscience? You know what war is like, what it does to people, who is affected, and not just the soldiers. How many people will be displaced, forced to flee their homes in the wake of his army?

Judas sighed noisily. Staell gave too many points to ignore. He couldn’t let his personal feelings impede what was right, even if lawfully wrong. On that thought, Judas advised, “You do realize what you’re asking them to do is treason. They’ll hunt them down.”

Judas let the conversation drop, knowing it would only rile him further. “I’ll wake her. You better wait till I call you.” Staell dipped his head in acknowledgment before Judas slipped back inside. He climbed the stairs to the second landing, slipping into the first room on the right down the left hall. Hesitant, he entered.

Soft sunlight filtered through the window. Judas stood inside the door. Her subconscious brushed against his. He took a moment to marvel at her ability to perceive and yet be asleep. He planned to wake her in the library in the Kothlere Castle, but that plan never manifested. The moral dilemma flared once more in him, and he wrestled with all the implications. He played with her like a god, deciding her fate. He did it with the best intentions, but he reminded himself that Xilor probably thought the same thing.

Mastering himself, he walked towards her, ready to wake her when her eyes snapped open. For a brief instant, Judas faltered, startled. She awakened, impossible as it seemed; he hadn’t lifted the spell. He always noticed her struggle in the back of his mind, fighting to regain consciousness, but never successful. Now, she broke through, shattering the barrier with sheer force of will.

She lay quite still, eyes blinking rapidly, adjusting before she slowly sat up.

Judas tried to think back just now if he lost control over her at any point. He hadn’t. She broke free. Judas smiled to himself, giddy with excitement. Someone his equal in aptitude, he wouldn’t ever be alone. He knew an opportunity to train her right stared him in the face. She could be someone the youth idolized, a hero for a new generation they didn’t fear like most feared him. With great power like hers came the seductive pull to do as one wished, and the knowledge none could stop you. He pushed the thought aside. He’d worry if the situation warranted it.

“Good morning,” Judas breathed, finding his voice at last. She turned to him, her amber eyes going wide. “I imagine you have a lot of questions, yes?” He stifled a smile, noting the similarities between the question he posed and those of his old master, Fife Doole, who always spoke in a similar fashion.

In silence, she let her gaze linger on him, intent on not responding. Judas noted the fear on her face. He understood. She glimpsed a stranger and woke in a strange place, and probably the last thing she remembered was the chaos when they saved her.

“Do you understand me? You must still be in shock from the whole ordeal,” he reasoned, reassuring himself more than her.

Now, her eyes darted everywhere around the room, frantic and quick, never more than a few moments on anything, but always returning to him.

The fight-or-flight mode, he recognized.

Her breathing was erratic, her pulse quickening from adrenaline. Judas knew it would be a matter of time before she got in control of her body and emotions. He backed away from her so he would not trigger her inevitable flight reaction; he didn’t want to seem like a threat.

I don’t need someone else to think of me that way.

Her pulse slowed, her breathing turned rhythmic and natural. Her lips parted, and a croaking voice spoke.

“Water.”

Judas withdrew his wand, summoned a mug and poured water from the tip. When he handed the mug to her, he was impressed she didn’t react to his use of abilities. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care, or maybe she accepted it. Maybe shock? Another thought, his gamble paid off, and the Essence Transference worked.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my home: the Lakayre Manor near the city of Ralloc.”

“Ral-lock? I remember, the capital of Sonkol.”

“Yes, my dear, you are correct. Good!” He smiled. Tension eased out with his smile, almost a sigh of relief. “Here are some clothes for you,” he offered. He picked them up out of the chair near the window and lay the clothes on the corner of her bed. “Please, dress. I’ll be downstairs. When you’re ready, come down. A visitor came to see you. I’m sure you have many, many questions, and I’ll answer what I can. The timing is a bit sensitive, but we’ll take it in stride.”

He smiled at her and left the room.