41

When the mountains parted for the last time a week later, Oliver turned his direction north toward the Capitol of Cavania, opposite the direction of his home. He would follow the mountains north until they began to recede to his right. From there he would move west until he reached the Abandoned Oaks, a forest which was once the ancestral home of the Wood Elves.

Calamity of some sort struck a few thousand years prior and drove them all from their homes within its depths. Oliver had been through the area several times, but he never explored the forest too deeply. Even he had witnessed some strange things near its borders. It was said to be the home of ancient horrors now, so it was always good to skirt its boundaries rather than traipse through the heart of it.

The Kingdom of Dirnistor was largely contained on the other side of the Abandoned Oaks. There were numerous large cities on this side of the ancient forest, but due to the distance from the Capitol, many failed to count the settlements to the east of the Abandoned Oaks as part of Dirnistor. There was only one king on that side of the Headless Spires though. And it was by him that all town guards were paid, so any human settlement was part of Dirnistor in the Kingdom’s eyes.

If Oliver was going to venture all the way to Cavania, it would take him months. Most of that would be spent traveling around the Abandoned Oaks, but it would also be due in part to his need for solace. He would have to take his time, passing through towns only long enough to supply himself before moving on.

The fact that the soldiers were patrolling as far out as the Headless Spires made Oliver wonder just how many resources Ro had at his disposal. The closest settlement was several days from the mountain pass. What was more, an Orenda had accompanied the group. If there was a Blessed so far from the Capitol, it didn’t bode well for him the closer he got to Cavania.

There was nothing Oliver could do but continue his journey. He moved along the mountains, keeping his eye on the sun. The beasts of the area were mostly nocturnal, so as long as he made camp each night well before dark, he would be prepared to face any threats that might come his way. So far, he had not met any creature that wanted to trouble him. It was on the fifth day after leaving the mountain pass that Oliver ran into more soldiers.

These ones were fewer in number, but Oliver marked three of their ten as Blessed. There was an Enduriel leading the men. Oliver made him by his aura. He had the telltale signs of the truly aged within his energy flow, though he looked no older than thirty years. In the center of the ranks was a Brute. His aura was powerful, and at almost seven feet tall, Oliver easily identified him. The last was an Orenda.

This one was obviously more capable than the last mage Oliver had fought. He had an awareness that the others seemed to lack. Oliver had been observing them from cover as they approached, but the second he focused in on the Orenda, the man looked straight at his hiding spot.

As the mage shouted to the others to stop, Oliver quickly jumped from the tree he was using as a scouting point to the branch of another. He continued to the next tree and the one after that before stopping. By that time, the whole squad was looking towards the place he had been seconds before.

Oliver was startled. He had no idea the man would be able to detect his presence so easily. It became clear quickly that the Orenda was a formidable opponent. The other Blessed soldiers formed up next to him, listening to his quiet words. Oliver was afraid to cast Free Form to hear his words, lest he be detected again.

Instead, he just waited. The Enduriel drew a bow from his back and nocked an arrow. In a flash, the arrow was drawn and shot. The missile sailed into the tree faster than the eye could see, but when it struck, it sounded more like a bomb had gone off. The whole top half of the tree was splintered and began to fall. Smoke trailed off from the impact sight. Oliver just stared.

“So fast,” Oliver marveled.

“That is the power of the Blessed,” Angli responded.

“I’ve never seen an Enduriel gather energy so quickly before. How is that possible?”

“The speed comes with practice. But I think the corruption inside of him may be increasing that potential. He is far more dangerous than he looks.”

“What do you mean?”

“All Enduriel have vast reserves of stamina and power within them which allows them to endure through the most severe conditions. But the true danger of Enduriel lies in their ability to harness that reserve in a fight. It takes decades of practice to draw and release power so smoothly. What you just witnessed was the release of a small portion of that reserve. He can channel his energy very quickly through his bow to attack. He might be the most dangerous person among them. It might be better to avoid them.”

Oliver had already considered disengaging, but unfortunately each of the soldiers had a muddy aura which denoted the Dark Matter in them. He had to purify the men before he could leave. If not, they could end up dying by another’s hand and corrupting the Web of Life. It wouldn’t be easy, but he had to stay and fight.

The soldiers were in a rough semicircle around the three blessed, aiming their weapons in a fan formation in the general direction Oliver waited from. None of them appeared to be competent, and he could see many of them quivering. They were terrified of whatever threat they thought he posed. Only the Blessed stood strong, waiting for a sign of his latest location. None of them believed he was dead.

42

Oliver studied the group for a few minutes before deciding on his course. He moved silently forward through the trees as the men stood vigil. When he was almost close enough to be seen, Oliver used one of his favorite new spells. He had been waiting for a perfect time to try it out. As with many great spells, it wasn’t a huge fireball or a blast of power, but a subtle nudge of the perfect variety.

The spell was one of air magic. It was complex in the extreme, but essentially it allowed him to speak from a distance, only his voice would not carry, it simply came from where he chose, traveling on the wind silently until it reached his intended destination. Oliver’s intended destination just so happened to be right behind the trio of Blessed. Just as Oliver leapt from his real hiding spot, he let his words be heard in a shout behind them.

“Got you!” he shouted.

The effect was immediate and predictable. Every single soldier, without fail, turned in a flash to protect the Blessed just when he jumped into their midst. His strike was calculated perfectly and thus the Enduriel beneath his attack was defenseless as he turned to the fake threat behind him. Oliver pierced the Dark Matter within him and had moved on to the Orenda before any of them knew he was in their midst.

Right when he stabbed the Orenda, his instinct told him danger was coming just as the hardest fist he had ever felt slammed into his head. The Brute had noticed him just in time to counter, but not soon enough to save the Orenda. Both he and the Enduriel had fallen to the ground as Oliver rocketed away into the forest, forcibly propelled by his attacker’s punch.

Angli showed her stripes by maintaining orientation enough to emit the same cushioning hand upon his impact with a tree, saving his body from the worst of the attack. It was well that she had. He already felt like he had been kicked by a horse in the side of his head. He looked through blurry eyes at the Brute as he stood still, posing from his perfect attack. He could see, albeit indistinctly, that the other two Blessed had already gained their feet, which was surprising to Oliver.

Everyone else he removed the Dark Matter from was knocked out in the process. This was proof if nothing else that these three were on a higher level than the rest. The soldiers all formed up before running forward to attack him. They only made it a few paces before each of them fell to the ground sliding on the ice Oliver summoned.

The Blessed were outside of the influence of the spell, and thus Oliver had to cast another spell to stop the Enduriel from exploding his insides against the tree he rested on. Already the man had reached for an arrow to finish him.

Before he could finish pulling the string back, Oliver used Quake to shake the ground beneath the feet of the Enduriel. As he fired his arrow the ground bucked, knocking him off balance, and his arrow was sent into the air instead. It flew for several seconds before Oliver heard an enormous explosion behind him in the distance. The whole ground shook in protest.

Oliver pulled himself from the tree and ran forward. He had no time to deliberate the stupidity of his next action. The Enduriel could fire another arrow in the blink of an eye, and if he wasn’t taken from the fight, it would quickly spell the death of Oliver. He was halfway to the trio of men when the archer grasped a new arrow.

Oliver used Free Form to cast a spell just as the man nocked his arrow. It was another tricky spell; one he had simply thought of as “Sticky Fingers”. As the man drew his arrow, he quickly found that he was unable to let go of his bow string. The man quickly grew terrified as he learned this. Oliver thought he understood why. The man could power his arrows in the blink of an eye. The problem was that once he did, the power could not be returned; the arrow had just become a bomb in his hands.

The other two Blessed seemed to pick up on this slower, but still dove away as their comrade struggled for several seconds to let the arrow fly. He was unsuccessful, and as Oliver approached the Brute to remove the spark of Dark Matter within him, the arrow cracked under the pressure of containing the energy. The reaction was instantaneous and violent. Just when the tip of Oliver’s blade pierced the Brute, the arrow exploded.

Oliver saw a flash of light before the archer disappeared in a deafening explosion. The Orenda, who had continued to run from the blast was launched several feet and tumbled through the dirt. Oliver and the newly purified brute were not quite so lucky. Oliver was spared the worst of the blast by the body of the Brute.

The energy washed over them as he completed his attack, and they were both ravaged by the blast. Oliver tumbled with the Brute in a flailing mess as they bounced off what felt like every tree and rock in the area. Even Angli was unable to save him from every strike.

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Oliver finally came to a stop with a groan. The charred and blackened body of the now dead Brute lay crumpled next to him. Oliver felt the blast had burned him badly too, but since he couldn’t see his face, he had no way of knowing how badly he had taken it.

Oliver just sat against the rock that had arrested his momentum, groaning and struggling to make his lungs work right. He coughed up a very painful gob of bloody phlegm and tried without success to make his ears pop. The soldiers accompanying the Blessed had become scattered with the explosion. None had died, but many sported injuries similar to Oliver. The Orenda was nowhere to be seen. After several moments, Oliver shakily rose.

43

As Oliver gained his feet, the seven harmless men on the ground continued to moan. It was simple, if not easy under the circumstances, to remove the spark of Dark Matter from each of them as he limped among them. It wasn’t until he was curing the last of them that the enemy mage struck.

When the attack came, Oliver was unable to react quickly enough to evade. The mage waited for the perfect moment before sending a blast of sonic energy at him. The attack was silent, but the intense ringing in his ears was far from noiseless. Oliver screamed as what felt like hammers driving long metal rods into his head reverberated within him. He fell to the ground and wailed in agony. He knew this was an area of effect spell, otherwise it wouldn’t have been able to hurt him. That meant that all he had to do was escape the area and he would be free from the attack.

It was immensely difficult to concentrate on spells, but Oliver was eventually able to cast two spells. The first was his freeze spell. This time he cast it under his own body. The second spell was his earth spell to shake the ground. He cast this spell slightly beside his position. When the ground began to buck beneath him, his body was automatically slid along the ice for several feet.

He continued to shake the ground as he moved, picking up speed as he went. Oliver was soon out of the attack range of the spell, but his mind was still in agony. So, he spread his ice spell further and further along his path to both increase the distance from the unseen mage and give himself some time to reorient his aching brain.

Unfortunately for Oliver, he happened to be sliding directly toward the enemy magician. He had no idea until a lightning bolt struck him. Luckily, Lightning was a generally targeted ability. His Aura wouldn’t support the spell.

Thus, the lightning seemed to arc in every direction around him. The tendrils wouldn’t come closer than six inches from his body. Unfortunately, the surface he happened to be sliding across wasn’t the dry frozen kind of ice. It was the half melted, extra slick kind of ice that held a layer of water upon it to better trip up its targets.

The result of this was that when the lightning curved around him, it lanced directly into the wet surface beneath him. The pain was not as severe as it could have been, but the water conducted the electricity to the extent that the pain caused Oliver to convulse as he slid along his path. The fresh pain and convulsions made it impossible for him to coherently extend his spell any further and he came sliding to a stop after a couple more seconds.

Above him stood the mage. Oliver continued to convulse as the man looked down on him. His body refused to respond to his commands. All he could do was look up at the man as his convulsions allowed. The mage was calm, almost indifferent to Oliver’s presence, but when he spoke, there was a definite note of caution in his voice.

“What are you?” he asked.

Oliver was unable to form words, but he used his time to finally examine the Orenda closely. The man was middle aged. He had deep age lines beyond his years from the prolonged effects of using magic. His cold brown eyes seemed to penetrate from beneath the hood of his cloak. He had a cold severity that led Oliver to believe he was the leader of the whole group.

His demeanor spoke of power and his aura confirmed it. He had a very diverse signature. It contained several colors within, marking him as a very talented mage. Each color represented a different branch of magic he had ability in.

Oliver had no time to try to decipher what he was seeing, because at that moment, the man spoke a word and the aura snapped out of existence. Oliver was shocked. He had never seen anyone shut down his analyzation. This man standing over him was a seriously formidable opponent.

“I have never met another who acts as you do. You cast spells silently. And my lightning didn’t incinerate you. That’s a first as well.”

Oliver stopped convulsing gradually, but his body was still spasming randomly. He had taken no serious injury since the explosion, but his body was still sore all over. He wanted to curl into a ball and enter Sleep, but he had one more foe to deal with. Before the man could ask another question, he cast a spell. It was the first time he had tried to augment one of his spells with Free Form in a fight. It wasn’t the most subtle of manipulations, but it was gentle enough that he didn’t have to concentrate very hard to accomplish it.

He cast Shard, but instead of spikes protruding from the dirt, he made a single spike shoot from the ground like an arrow. It launched from the ground and impaled the mage through his back. The attack was meant to pierce the mage’s heart, but his reflexes saved him. He lunged to the side, taking the thin rock in his left shoulder instead.

It proved to be enough to let Oliver get to his feet. The mage threw his hands toward Oliver, but his spell was aura targeted, so whatever it was, it didn’t affect him. Oliver drew the Holy Sword in a blink and removed the man’s head. It was over so fast that Oliver had to take a second to acclimate himself to the stillness that the end of the fight brought. He just stood there holding his blade. His many accumulated aches weighed on him, but his conscience was heavier.

Again, he had to kill these men because of something that none of them could control. He had never had to kill anything but beasts. His family rarely dealt with anything sentient. The few times they did, no lives were shed. It was always a matter of diplomacy, never this.

Oliver had no problem defending his life against those who would end it. He had no problem defending others either, like he had done for Con during the Blessing. That was simply one of the duties of the Albrine. Du Varia chose the Blessed, but she had no power to directly defend those who were Blessed from the jealousy and bullying that came from the unchosen. His family had overseen that defense for centuries.

This was different. This was blatant waste of life. None of these men truly had a clue why they were after him. In truth, Oliver had no idea why Ro was sending them either. Was it just to test him? Was it because he believed they could kill him? Oliver simply couldn’t say.

“It’s a shame, really,” Illari said in his head. He could tell she sensed his melancholy.

“What is?” Oliver asked.

“It seems that even curing the Blessed isn’t enough to save them. They seem determined to fight you to the death.”

“I know. They don’t seem to know they are infected with Dark Matter. Removing it doesn’t seem to change their resolution.” Oliver responded.

“Indeed. Ro seems to have them brainwashed into blindly fighting his enemies.” Illari said.

“I have to go, before they wake up,” Oliver said, indicating the seven unconscious men who were incapacitated by the explosion.

He began the incantation for burns that Illari had taught him. He had other injuries, but burns were particularly difficult to heal the longer one waited. It was a lengthy recitation, but not a very taxing spell. As the magic flowed from his hands to where he felt his skin was charred, a soothing sensation permeated his cells.

He couldn’t imagine healing from such injuries naturally. He was more fortunate than most; his ability to use Sleep gave him the ability to heal from anything short of death itself. So, he never really had to recover from anything naturally. Still, Sleep could take days or weeks to replenish his energy reserves and repair his body. That was time he couldn’t afford to waste.

Oliver stoically dealt with his injuries using the spells Illari taught him. It took him several minutes, and by the time he was finished, a few of the soldiers had begun to stir. He quickly hid his presence before silently embarking on his never-ending run through the wilderness.

44

Oliver needed to get some distance between himself and the remaining soldiers before they all woke. He had been traveling through the rough parts to keep pursuits to a minimum. He kept this habit as he continued his way north. It was only a few more days before the mountains curved off to his right. Trees thinned and eventually disappeared; hills turned to flat, bleak fields as far as the eye could see. Amber grains protruded a meter or more from the ground in every direction. He had entered the Golden Plains.

The road he shadowed came to a fork, and he had to finally start following it east as there were no trees to obscure his passing. The fork was monitored by guards, and any traveler coming from the other side of the Headless Spires was supposed to get a badge signifying that they were outsiders.

The Holy Land, as well as all the cities and towns on that side of the mountains were part of the continent of Alvania. Dirnistor was separated from Alvania by the Headless Spires, which was also the only thing keeping peace between the two nations. Travelers were allowed to cross borders, but it was heavily monitored on both ends due to a long history of espionage.

Oliver wasn’t concerned with any of this, and he kept his head down on the road. None of the guards paid him the slightest attention as he passed. These were regular, everyday soldiers, not newly enlisted pawns of Ro. They had no knowledge of Oliver, nor desire to question him.

He continued east from the guard station and soon he was again surrounded by flat plains of wheat. The road was swallowed on either side by endless stalks of the tall grain. Oliver had never liked the plains. He always felt blind to his surroundings while walking them. Only fellow humans could be easily seen, while the various predators were just as easily concealed in the stalks. Unfortunately, there was no way of avoiding them.

The next several days of his travels were blessedly uneventful. He passed numerous groups of soldiers on the road, but surprisingly, none of them contained any Blessed. He assumed these must have been part of the regular military, again, not recent conscriptions of Ro. Still, as he moved closer and closer to the cities of Dirnistor, the concentration of soldiers increased exponentially.

As he passed through the medium sized town which he learned was called Capola, he saw firsthand the signs and warnings posted everywhere about him. His face was painted on large canvases, and he had to make double sure he kept his hood drawn. Luckily, he passed through during the evening, just before the gates would be drawn for the night. Dusk was heavy in the air, and the light was fading as he marched the streets.

He was beginning to relax as he neared the exit to town. Just before the gate was in sight, however, he heard a voice whisper to his right. It was a startled voice. It had elements of fear, outrage and panic. When he heard it, Oliver knew it could only mean trouble.

“It’s him! Go get them!” the voice said.

Oliver didn’t take the time to turn and identify the voice. He immediately ran towards the gate. There was a startled outcry as he sprinted away from the voices which were spreading by the minute. It was only a few seconds before he heard the accosting shout of the city guards. He didn’t stop running, and as the gate came into view, there was a shout from behind him to bar the way. Oliver ran directly towards the guards who had already lowered their spears to bar his path.

There was a second of decision wherein Oliver decided on his best course of action, but already he knew the guards would be no true impediment to him. It was only a matter of getting past the rapidly descending gate that was an issue. In the end, he went with what was becoming his favorite. He froze the ground beneath the guards’ feet and before they knew what was happening, Oliver dove headfirst onto the ice. He slid right through the two men as they fell on their backs, easily unbalanced while trying to react to his dive.

Oliver continued to slide along the ice for several feet. The gate lowered dangerously in front of him as he tobogganed towards it. Oliver feared being impaled by the gate spikes that fit into the cobblestones, but his luck was sound, and he slid straight under the jagged gate just as it neared the ground. Before the anyone could comprehend what had just happened, Oliver rolled to his feet and sprinted into the descending darkness.

Shouts emanated from behind him as the guards that had been pursuing demanded the gate be reopened. Those shouts turned into outbursts of surprise as every one of them came into the radius of ice he had left behind him. Oliver just chuckled as he distanced himself from the small town. He breathed a relieved breath and continued his sprint into the night.