Far upon the plains of Grey
A thing of dread is there to stay.
The Sirinese Sergeant shifted uneasily. The indigo and gold pennant attached to his halberd flopped about now and then like a dying fish in erratic puffs of breeze. All around him and the eleven men and women that comprised his squad, in all directions as far as they could see, lay a dead land.
The ground beneath their feet was cracked and covered in a fine layer of grey dust, like ancient pottery. Here and there, blackened stumps and broken logs dotted the flat landscape, along with occasional burnt trees stretching their stark limbs to the sky, like macabre memorials. At least, the Sergeant thought nervously, he thought they were trees; some of them, in the distance, appeared eerily Human-shaped in the haze of the sun.
He knew it was just his knowledge of history playing tricks on him. These vast plains, known simply as The Grey, were the site of a horrifying massacre – or noble sacrifice, depending on whom you talked to – a thousand years ago; the war known as the Great Breath, the desperate battle in which six Dragons were lured into capture and their rampage of terror finally ended.
And ten thousand brave souls were turned to dust.
Sergeant Caskin didn’t care to dwell on the morbid facts of the past, nor the solemnity of an ashen landscape shimmering under a brilliant blue sky, nor indeed the dust that clung now to his dark leather boots.
What truly held his unwilling attention – and that of his silent, grim-jawed squad – was the strange, huge object looming in front of them.
It hung suspended, impossibly, in the air above the parched surface of the plains, its shadow in the bright sunlight cutting across the ground like a massive black blade. Caskin estimated the width along the base of the thing to be around three hundred and fifty feet, at least.
The upper half resembled a perfect pyramid, its four razor-sharp sides smooth and featureless and oily black, cutting a triangular-shaped hole in the sky. The pyramid’s base nestled in a cluster of gigantic metal-like shards protruding in all directions, with the longest pointing downwards, as though the whole monstrous thing had thrust itself up from some deep, sinister forge within the dark underbelly of the world, though the land beneath its looming shadow showed no sign of disturbance.
It was alien and incongruous and bizarre: a malignant mountain infecting the sky. No one knew what it was, or where it had come from. None of them had ever seen or heard of such a thing.
Apparently, it had just appeared one day out of nowhere.
Bandits roamed this wasteland, fond of hiding out in the bleak vastness where few sane folk were inclined to tread. They often struck out at the highway that skirted The Grey, ambushing travellers and merchants laden with expensive goods bound for major Darorian cities.
It was one of these bandits that had first reported the object. Peculiarly, the ruffian had shown up at the gates of the Capital in a hysterical state and thrown himself at the Trystanian Guard, begging to be arrested.
He was dutifully locked up, assumed to be mad, and no one paid any attention to his nonsensical ravings.
Until all of the bandits disappeared.
Merchants began congratulating the patrols on their fine work dealing with the criminal scum, thrilled that they could now travel the highway unaccosted. Baffled, the patrols ventured into The Grey to confirm for themselves that the bandits were indeed gone.
They disappeared as well.
At some point, the Guard began taking their lunatic prisoner more seriously, though they could glean little of use from him other than vague, whispered warnings about something unexplainably dangerous far out on the grim expanse of The Grey.
Their Graces the Twin Emperors had ordered heavily armed squads be sent out to investigate.
They did not return.
Sergeant Caskin’s team was the third to be sent out.
Staring ahead at the looming pyramid, Caskin felt unnerved that the bandit madman had actually proved to be right. He had fully expected to encounter nothing but the wind on these blasted plains – either that, or a carefully constructed trap…
Is that what this is? he thought, frowning. Some kind of strange trap? Did the madman lure us here to see this? Why??
Shifting his dark blue gaze away from the pyramid, he cast it sharply about the landscape again.
Nothing moved.
There was little to be seen. The Grey was situated in the very centre of Siriaza, hundreds of miles from the capital, Trystania. It had taken them a week’s steady march to get here. Even the Snowranges and great Perpetual Peaks had dwindled into memory in the south; the Red Ranges invisible somewhere to the northwest.
Death, grey and silent, sprawled out to every horizon. Not even a weed to be seen, or a beetle.
Caskin’s hand tightened around the shaft of his crescent-moon halberd. Whatever this odd pyramid was, there was no doubt in his mind now that it involved some form of foul, dark magic. That it had appeared here, the site of the most powerful spell ever cast, was surely no coincidence?
And that was why they had brought the girl.
She knelt on the hard, crumbling ground, a small, lone figure about halfway between his team and the alien object. Long, dark brown hair fell in tangled curls about her shoulders. Wings, dark for an Angel, were folded at her back – mottled shades of brown and black ending in pure white tips that trailed in the dirt. Her clothing was a curious mixture of filthy rags and finery, as though unable to decide if she were a noblewoman or a tramp. Her hair was bound loosely with a pink silken scarf, the long ends trailing down her back, fluttering softly now and then in the breeze.
Caskin suppressed a shiver as he watched her. This young woman was Rose Rex: it was the only name anyone knew her by. She insisted that she had not come from Arkana, and certainly didn’t act as though she did. Most assumed that she was the child of an exiled Angel family. She had turned up in Trystania mysteriously a couple of years ago, and immediately caused a stir with her… abilities.
In Siriaza, magic was not outlawed in the same way it was in neighbouring Daroria and Arkana, nor was it treated with violent hostility. The Sirinese people considered themselves enlightened and tolerant. They were also highly opportunistic, reluctant to dismiss anything that could be beneficial to their society. As long as the study and use of magic did not present a significant threat to their way of life, then it was not forbidden, merely discouraged. Many scholars studied magical texts out of pure intellectual curiosity, without ever actually practising it.
Hence when Rose Rex arrived with her unique talents, she was not immediately run out of town, arrested or murdered in the street. On the contrary – there were many in the community who found her to be of very great use to them.
Rose was completely blind; or perhaps more accurately, she didn’t see quite the same way that others did. She saw... into things; she could determine the truth of someone, discern their deepest secrets, just by looking at them. She could tell who had owned an object or who had brushed by a wall, or walked down the street. She saw all the things that were hidden from normal folk, yet remained oblivious to the mundane, everyday world.
There were people in Sirinese society, very rich people, who were willing to part with quite a lot of money to know the truth about things. There were others who paid even more to keep those secrets to themselves. Not surprisingly, the Angel girl did very well for herself. And yet… Caskin shook his head. Rose refused to reside in a house, stubbornly choosing to live on the streets instead among the alley cats and flea-bitten mice, foraging for scraps and surviving on the food that people gladly gave her, sometimes in payment for her services. Caskin wondered what on Arvanor she did with all the money. Everyone in the city speculated that she had a stash somewhere, but no one had ever found it.
Rose’s abilities seemed to be innate. She could not read or write. She did not cast spells or mutter incantations. She just… looked at things. Innate magic was extremely rare, but not unheard of, especially in an Angel. Angels had a higher degree of tolerance to magic than did Humans. Human children born with magic usually perished swiftly and horribly. Angel children were more likely to survive… if sheltered, of course, from prejudice.
There had been others, in the past, who had fled to Trystania for this very reason. Rose was merely the latest.
The Twin Emperors had suspected, as Caskin had, that whatever was lurking out on The Grey may well be magical, and that if anyone could find out what it was, it was Rose.
She is taking her goddamned time with it, Caskin thought irritably. His hair, beneath his helmet, was damp with sweat, as was his tunic under his gleaming breastplate.
It was hot out here in the sun. Too hot.
Yet, the inside of him was cold, and grew more deeply chilly the longer he looked at that pyramid.
Is it made of trigon?
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The damning thought crept through his mind, a forbidden horror that he had not allowed himself to acknowledge, until now. Four years ago, he hadn’t even heard the word. Now, everyone from the rulers of countries to the lowliest street urchin paused in fear when it was spoken.
Few yet understood exactly what trigon was, including Caskin. He knew only that it caused some kind of incurable disease, responsible for the plague of terrifying wraiths that had spread unstoppably throughout the Darorian Coastlands. So far, the black scourge had not reached his own country. So far, Siriaza had remained safe; its people watchful, fearful, but distant. But now… now… this had materialised…
His squad were becoming restless, as though sharing his thoughts. Some of them kept looking over their shoulders, clearly contemplating fleeing. One man even took a step backwards…
“HOLD!” Caskin barked, causing half his squad to jump in startlement, their weapons clanking on their armour.
The young soldier flushed, lowering his gaze to his boots guiltily.
Caskin glared at them all. Drawing a deep breath through his nose, he gripped his halberd in both hands and prepared to go and fetch the girl. This had gone on long enough. She had been kneeling there for half an hour – it felt like all day – just staring!
He took a step forward… and Rose cried out.
As one, his entire squad swung their weapons forward, crescent blades glittering, dark blue pennants swishing across the dirt. Caskin looked around in alarm.
Nothing had changed.
The black pyramid continued to look ominous.
Ahead of them, the Angel girl got to her feet, turned, and started walking back towards them. She hugged herself as though freezing, though she was bathed in full sunshine.
Caskin watched her come, tense. She dropped to her knees again at his feet.
“Well?” he snapped testily.
Rose Rex did not respond at once, but continued to stare at the ground. The ends of her pink scarf twitched in the breeze. Finally, she lifted her head, slowly, her strange reddish-pink eyes piercing him, as though she could see all that he was and all that he ever would be – every memory; every hidden thought.
And then she smiled.
“Run,” she said softly, as though bestowing a kindness. “Run, dears.”
For a moment, Caskin just stared at her. Then he took a breath…
And then the pyramid changed.
It began to move, very slowly and in complete silence – the entire mammoth thing rotating on its horizontal axis, still floating above the ground. Its sides shimmered with dim colours as the sunlight passed over them. The colours seemed to swim together, as though alive.
As the southern face turned around into view, Caskin felt his heart drop into his feet.
There was an eye there! Or something like an eye – an enormous, glowing blue iris, with a pitch black ring-shaped pupil within it.
The pyramid-mountain stopped with the eye facing them.
Caskin’s heart hammered in his ears. Vaguely, he was aware of a soft rush of feathers and shadow as Rose took to the sky. He knew he ought to heed her warning, but it floated somewhere outside of him, lost in the wind, abandoned in this desert of fear. He was transfixed by the alien thing, unable to take his eyes off it.
For long, thudding heartbeats, nothing happened. The pyramid was silent and still.
And then one of his men screamed.
Caskin and the rest of his squad whirled.
And the world broke into chaos.
Black spikes, sharp-tipped as spears, erupted from the ground all through the group, piercing limbs, sending blood splattering across the parched dirt. The squad’s defensive stance turned to panic, but no one could flee, every one of them neatly skewered…
A spike shot up an inch from Caskin’s face. Gasping, he stepped back.. and pain exploded through him.
A scream of his own joined those from his squad. They were all still alive: cursing, wailing, bellowing in anger and slashing at the spikes which held them, with little effect. Through a red haze, Caskin looked down to see one of the spikes piercing his right foot, pinning him in place. Furiously, he smashed his own halberd into it, but it glanced off with a ring of steel and shower of sparks.
It WAS a trap! He screamed a curse.
The pyramid within its floating nest of giant scrap-metal stared down at them, cold, black and merciless. Intelligent, yet like no living thing imaginable.
Caskin fought a wave of pain that threatened to send him tumbling to the ground. He dropped to one knee, his vision spinning. But a moment later, the agony subsided, replaced with a freezing numbness that spread up his leg, into his hip. He could feel it creeping through his veins like an icy poison.
Desperately, he tried to think what to do, or at least make sense of his impending death. Why had the thing trapped them like this? The spikes were five feet high. It could have killed them all in an instant. Instead, it was watching them suffer.
With an effort, Caskin lifted his head to look at the pyramid.
The blue eye glowed brighter. Its sides seemed to have turned into liquid, swirling and roiling, contained within its sharp pyramid shape. Caskin retched involuntarily. Something about the movement twisted his stomach into knots.
He was sure he had seen faces in there…
Then something else gathered itself up off the ground before his blurry eyes. It was the dust, stirred into eddies by no breeze that he could feel, whispering across the dry land, forming into strange shapes. The shapes twisted and joined to become something more substantial…
Caskin’s mind froze in horror. The shapes were recognisable!
Humans. Men. Women. Even children. All clad in dusty, decaying armour.
They were the ancient fighters, dead for a millennium; those who had made a last, valiant stand against the raging Dragons. The army that had been obliterated by sorcery, unable to survive the entrapment spell used to transfer the Dragons to their long prison on the Middle Isle. The people whose bones and flesh had been reduced to ash which rained down across the length and breadth of these terrible plains, now known as The Grey…
The ghastly dust abominations surrounded the group. There were thousands of them. There were no eyes in their heads; their skulls made of whirling particles of dirt. Skin or clothes hung in shifting, ethereal tatters. They were oddly deformed, as though not put properly back together – some with too many limbs, or body parts that didn’t belong to them.
They moved in on the squad.
Caskin struggled to his feet. He could no longer feel his right leg. Wildly, irrationally, he considered hacking it off to escape, but he never got the chance. The grey ghost closest to him was armed with a massive, two-handed greatsword, which swung silently at Caskin’s head.
Caskin brought his own halberd around with a scream.
The Imperial Palace sat like an exotic, dark flower on the edge of high red cliffs overlooking the seemingly endless expanse of ocean known as the Sea of Forever. The building was huge yet delicate; an intricate array of wrought-iron archways supported a massive dome of tinted dark tiles changing gradually in colour through shades of violet and indigo to bright blue at the lower edges. Gleaming golden statues, all Angels or winged animals, lounged with idle, lofty grace beneath the improbably ornate dark fretwork.
Where the Darorians preferred pragmatic simplicity in their architecture, and the Arkanians insisted on smooth elegance – the Sirinese adored detail. The more, the better. Any eye lingering too long upon the Imperial Palace inevitably became lost, bewildered and awed by its complex beauty.
In front of the domed building was a large circular plaza with a radiating pattern of tiles in blue, purple and white. Around its circumference stood carefully maintained topiaries in the shapes of birds, between gently tinkling fountains. Tall black gates on the western side led in broad steps down to the great city of Trystania – the largest in all of Arvanor, and the easternmost brink of civilisation.
Two majestic, sprawling jacaranda trees framed the entrance to the Palace, overflowing with bright blue blossoms that fell softly now and then to the polished floor. In the perfumed shade beneath them, two guards fought the laziness of the long, peaceful afternoon, slouching on their halberds. The western sky ahead of them glowed fiery pink, as though the rest of the world were on fire.
They blinked to alertness, however, at the sight of a small dark figure approaching out of the glare.
The Angel dropped onto the sunset-lit, flower-strewn steps in a crumpled heap, like a bird shot from the sky. Recognising her, the guards leaped at once to assist, but Rose hissed at them like a cat, and they hesitated. Panting with exhaustion, trembling, she picked herself up and stumbled up the steps into the Palace.
The interior of the Palace appeared to Rose as a series of ghostly white shapes fading in and out of a deep pinkish mist. Great columns passed by, like the trunks of forest trees. Dark patches indicated doorways or passages to either side. Decorations and other objects came silently into view before disappearing once more into ethereality. Something vague moved high above: banners or drapery stirring in the draught.
All of it was dull and uninteresting to her tired mind. These objects had no history, no soul, no importance.
But the people – the Palace guards and servants, moving across her vision, making way for her, keeping their distance – ah, they were different!
They blazed like multi-coloured, Human-shaped fires, their life-forces radiating out into the ether. Rose could read them at a glance, as easily as others understood words written in a book. Orange anxiety flickered in all of them, every one.
Rose smiled a little, then scrunched up her nose in annoyance. They were too bright. They hurt her eyes. She squinted against the dazzling glare. She needed sleep.
As she made her slow way forward, she considered simply collapsing in the middle of the floor. No one would dare disturb her, if she chose to do so.
But one thing kept her feet moving steadily across the smooth floor.
Fear.
The black pyramid…
She forced the panic back with an effort, made herself keep going until she was at last within the central chamber. The walls and ceiling were beyond her rose-tinted sight, but the echoes and slightly draughty, cool air told her she was inside a vast space. All of the guards and attendants had retreated; only two small, glowing figures sat before her now, on the floor amidst an array of soft, formless shapes that Rose deduced were cushions and rugs. The dim outline of a single throne rose in the background.
Rose sank to her knees in front of them.
Murmurs of twin displeasure accompanied a shifting of their auras to an agitated hue. Rose ignored them. She knew it was poor etiquette for an Angel to kneel before the Sirinese, especially the Emperors. But she couldn’t stay on her feet any longer. Only a pressing sense of urgency and dread gripped her consciousness, keeping her from falling asleep. She had flown hard to get here.
Yet still, she was reluctant to impart what she had discovered.
Silly Humans, she thought instead, and their inferiority complex…
She wished that she had settled in Daroria instead. Being treated with contempt there was much preferable to this insufferable, misguided Angel worship…
“What have you to report?” one of the Emperors asked anxiously. The boy.
Rose took a long time to reply, staring down at the floor; so long that her silence became her answer.
She heard a deep intake of breath from the other Emperor: the girl. Her aura rippled briefly with terror. “Trigon?” the girl whispered. “Then… it is as we feared...”
Rose lifted her head slowly to look at them. They were nothing more than faceless pale silhouettes in her vision, yet the colours and distinctive patterns of their life’s scintillating essence told her everything she needed to know about them.
They were rulers of a country, yet they were just children, not even into their teenage years. However well they had been bred into leadership, no matter their training or studies, that… thing out on the plains was beyond their comprehension. It was beyond hers.
And there was no one on Arvanor with the ability to stop it.
The dark pyramid loomed large in Rose’s mind. She had gazed upon it too long; mesmerised, awed, appalled, and now it had infected her thoughts. She could feel it trying to wrest control of them, attempting to twist her words, make her lie, urging her to say that everything was fine…
Shuddering, Rose clutched her hands to her head. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to drown the pyramid thing in darkness, but it was darker than dark. Its blue eye glowed through the black.
She banished her thoughts, quieted them, became as nothing. The eye would lose interest in her if she was just a mindless thing. The fear continued to bound freely through her, seeking to destroy her, to set her ablaze with panic. But it found nothing to latch onto, and so gradually faded…
A small voice floated through the emptiness, calling her name. The sound of it reminded her that she was still alive.
Blinking her eyes open, Rose let her hands fall from her face, brushing her golden earrings, which tinkled slightly in the silence of the hall. When she lifted her head again, she was deathly calm, her expression smooth.
“Trigon,” she affirmed softly. “Yes. But more.” Her eyes widened as she stared into the Twin Emperor’s glowing souls. “Old ones. Ancient ones. The Eaters of magic. The Devourers of life.
“They have returned!”