Cor Nur-Samazzar did her very best to fake interest as she listened to another charade of fat nobles complaining about having to tighten their belt. Looking at Tahlim’s chin bounce up and down while he talked himself into a fever, she wondered which of them would be the most likely to survive if she put them all in a pit and threw in a spear. Her hands absently stroked the rubies of her throne as she nodded at a particular feverish exclamation from Ganash’s governor. What a pathetic man he was. In a few years time, when the last pieces were moved, all of this wouldn’t matter, anyway. She just had to endure it a bit longer.
Cor’s eyes flickered to the door a heartbeat before one of her messengers stumbled into the room, his white robe stained with sweat. He fell to his knees just before her throne, his shaking hand holding up a small piece of paper. “Apologies, empress,” he huffed. The room fell momentarily silent. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the messenger. Cor lazily snatched the piece of paper from his hands, dismissing him with a flick of her index finger.
The parchment was barely the size of her hand. Two simple sentences were written on it. Cor re-read it three times until she believed what she saw. Al-Talash unearthed just south of The Pass. Crimson Dunes have stopped shifting.
A thousand years. It had taken them over a thousand years to find it, but finally, her people would bloom again. Reclaiming the northern territories would be a child's play, with the Ceraviehlians currently at war with the Adjhin’tor. Even if only a few of the Inventor’s machines had survived, they would be enough to usher in a new age for the Drakh. The age of Cor Nur-Samazzar.
The Empress let a rare smile form on her lips.
***
Somewhere within the eastern forest, an old man stood watching over the woods, letting his calm gaze roam over the trees he had seen grow from a sapling to the proud giants they were now. Things had certainly been more interesting when that annoying buggar was still around. Not for the first time, the old man told himself Silas would be alright. He was a strong lad, that one. Quick on the uptake, as well. Familiar thoughts warred in the old man’s head. Maybe teaching the boy the path of the thousand Arts and the Ravuhn’s body enhancement had been naught but a fool’s gambit. Most practitioners simply didn’t have the magical capacities to attempt such a feat. Yet, the boy was different. He had potential, even if he was a bit hotheaded, sometimes. With a little luck, he would manage to not get himself killed in the Legion.
Snippets of memories came to the old man’s mind, memories of times so long ago most people believed them to be mere stories. Memories of a single Artist, driven by revenge, hunting down the Sadmora one by one. The old man was surprised Silas knew of the tales about the infamous Bane of the Sadmora. Not a title he was proud of, but one that had been given to him nonetheless. More than once, the old man had considered telling his apprentice the truth. In the end, he was glad he hadn’t. Nobody would want to be taught by one such as him. A murderer of his own people, and the most wanted Artist in Ceraviehl, a murderer of his people.
A myth to most, and a butcher to all.
Grey eyes rested on wrinkled hands. If he wanted to make the final push, he needed to get out of this cabin. Maybe he’d travel a bit. He had some friends of the Yucahue in the western Marshlands he could pay a visit.
Suddenly, a pulse of a foreign aura passed over the forest, gone in a heartbeat. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there. The old man turned around and lifted his gaze towards the mountains. A sense of unease crept over him. He knew to whom the signature belonged. He had seen her in person, and was one of the few who lived to tell the tale. The old man suppressed a shiver. If the Matriarch had awakened, few could attempt to stop her. But what could be important enough for the gigantic beast to interrupt her meditation?
Elusco only hoped his apprentice had nothing to do with it.
***
Ilugei decided to knock on the prisoner’s door before opening it. He needed the Mage on his side. Intimidating him wouldn’t do. The old metal clacked loudly, the heavy iron-set door swinging wide open.
“I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Mage.” The door swung closed again behind him seemingly of its own accord.
“What, you’re going to bleed me dry for one of your foul rituals?” The prisoner’s eyes flickered towards the closing door before he glared at Ilugei through the matted blonde hair that fell over his head. Barth sat on the small bed standing in the right corner. Apart from the wooden pot on the opposite side and the small window, the cell was bare.
Ilugei rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Kaghu, the Gifted who visited you earlier found something very,” Ilugei stroked his chin before he continued, “alarming in your Landscape.”
Barth stood up, taking a step towards Ilugei. For a second, Ilugei thought he would attack him. “What did you savages do to me?” Barth growled.
The leader of the Adjhin’tor sighed. Greenlanders were so naïve, sometimes. “Stop behaving like a beaten dog and listen to me.” Ilugei tapped Barth’s forehead with one finger, sending him sprawling back onto the soft bed. “Where do you think your spells come from, Mage? There is something very, very wrong with your Inner Landscape, Barth.”
“What do you want from me?”
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“I want you to listen,” Ilugei said calmly as he chose his next words carefully. “You are a slave. The same as each Mage of your Guild. You are a slave, and your Archmaster holds the chain to each and every one of you.”
Barth bristled. “Your lies will not convince me, savage.”
A flash of anger sparked in Ilugei’s eyes before he forced his voice to be calm again. “In which room did you sleep in?”
“Why do you want to know that?”
“So you see the truth. What was the last thing you ate there?”
Barth hesitated. “I don’t see what you gain from this, but I ate—,” his mouth froze suddenly, his face contorted in agony. Then came the seizures. Spasms rocked his whole body. Nails clawed over the stone ground, fresh blood running from the Mage’s fingertips. When the pain was finally gone, Barth lay cowering on the ground like a newborn, his chest heacing. “What did you do to me? Must you torture me before killing me?”
Ilugei kneeled down, lowering his voice as he spoke to the prisoner. “I apologize for causing you pain, but I didn’t know how else to show you the truth. Listen closely, Barth.” Ilugei waited until he was sure he had the Mage’s full attention. He hated to repeat himself.
“The “ritual of initiation” from your Guild, as you call it, is a branding imprinted upon the participant’s Inner Landscape to relent control to the one conducting the ritual. You may think you are a free man, but should you choose to do anything that goes against the interests of the Guild, the branding reacts and causes your whole body to convulse in seizures,” Ilugei said after Barth had calmed down again. “But I’m afraid that’s not all,” he continued, letting a hint of anger show in his voice. “It also gives the Archmage absolute control over each and every member of your Guild, including you. Do you understand what that means, Barth?”
Barth frowned, his lips moving, but no sound coming out.
“It means that if he wished, the Archmage could activate the branding with a mental command and you’d watch your own hand slit your throat, unable to move a single muscle.”
“This c-can’t be. Archmage Dross would never do such a thing. People would know and rebel, the Guild has thousands of Mages, someone must have known,” Barth shook his head, hands tearing at his hair. “I can’t take this anymore. Just kill me, please.”
“I won’t kill you, Barth,” Ilugei’s soft voice echoed through the small cell.
Barth’s eyebrows twisted in confusion. “Why?”
“Because I’m not your enemy. I came here to offer you a solution, and a choice.” Ilugei gently pushed the Mage’s chin up until he met his eyes. “What if I told you I could break the compulsion? Make you a free man again?”
“Even if that were possible, why would you do such a thing?”
Ilugei smiled. “A few days ago, the lost city of Al-Talash has been discovered by a small group of adventurers. According to my knowledge, at least one of them is Ceraviehlian. Once I find them, I would like you to bring them here as my personal representative.”
“What for?”
One hand cupped the prisoner’s cheek. “I would like to talk to them.”
Barth jerked his head away, looking up at Ilugei, the defiance written all over his face. “And if I decline?”
Ilugei raised a hand, and the thick metal door of the cell swung open, bathing the cell in bright light. “You may be a slave to your Guild, but you are a free man to the Adjhin’tor. Run back to your masters, if you desire another pair of shackles. By my order, no Adjhin’tor will harm you, should you wish to leave. Personally, however, I would advise against it. Your cult-like Guild may suspect there are ways to circumvent the branding. I don’t think they’ll welcome you with open arms.”
Ilugei held Barth’s gaze for a moment before standing up and turning his back to the tattered Mage. “You will receive clean clothing and refreshments soon. I await your decision by next morning.”
Ilugei turned his back on the Mage, leaving the door ajar as he walked out. “Choose wisely, my friend,” Ilugei’s fading voice echoed along the hallway. “Your life depends on it.”
***
A strong gust flew over the sands of the Endless Desert, changing its course as it crossed the border into the Crimson Dunes. Where previously jagged towers emerged and disappeared back into the sands in a never-ending cycle, the Dunes were now locked in stasis. The sands were silent, waiting for what was to come. On the horizon, the raging thunderstorm that had been plaguing the region for a millennium slowly shriveled and died, the last rays of violet thunder still piercing its midst.
The breeze gently stalked over the red sands, letting its form fall down the high dunes, only to begin its ascent again. In the distance, crimson rivers of sand flowed down a gaping hole, the brilliant pearls reflecting the scorching sunlight. The breeze eagerly let itself descend, marveling as it found what had lain undiscovered for so long. Below, a gigantic, three-domed structure struggled under the avalanche of sand that gradually crushed its roof, one of its domes already shattered.
With great caution, the wisp crept into the structure, approaching four creatures that seemed to rest in one corner of the building. Half of the chamber was already collapsed, a small mountain of debris covering the crushed corpse of a massive beast. The crimson sands took on an even deeper shade, the pungent smell of dried blood hanging in the air. Voices reached the wisps, their sounds, partially drowned out by the multiple rivers of sand descending from the surface.
“Why he no wake up?” a girl said, gesturing at a boy lying on the ground.
“I don’t know, Zaya,” a second voice responded. “His body somehow rejects my healing. I can’t figure out what’s wrong with him.”
“Try harder,” Zaya insisted, louder this time. “Look at him!”
Spasms rocked the boy’s body. His eyes violently jerked open, revealing tiny clusters of purple that grew and shrank within. Veins of stark red went through the white, pulsing with energy.
Nurana sat down and lay a hand on Silas' forehead. It hardly took a few heartbeats before she pulled her hand away again, her face contorted with pain. “I can’t do anything. As soon as I try to give his body energy, it attacks me. There is something in him that is just wrong. Almost like it’s alive.”
“We need do something. He not die here.”
“I’ll try again a bit later. For now, however, I can’t do much. It’s odd because his body isn’t suffering from any real injuries. He should just wake up in a while.”
“You sure?” Zaya asked, her glassy eyes fixed on Silas’ twitching body.
Nurana hesitated. “With the amount of Taint Silas was subjected to, I’m not sure of anything. Even if he wakes up, I don’t know in which state he’ll be in.”
Zaya sent a helpless glance at Gnarly who stayed silently at Silas’ side, his arms wrapped around him. The Spriggan’s body would twitch occasionally, flashes of pain across his face.
Nurana looked up at the gigantic hole over the academy. The dome of the academy was cracked in multiple places, rivers of sand flowing down all around them. The sand had already reached knee height, and they had to shift Silas’ body multiple times already so he wouldn’t get buried beneath the avalanche.
“Either way, we need to get out of here as soon as possible. I doubt the roof will hold for much longer.”
Zaya nodded, preparing herself to carry Silas. He owed her for this. When he woke up, she would make sure the idiot boy wouldn’t ever dream of doing anything that stupid, ever again. When he woke up. Zaya refused to accept anything else.