CHAPTER TWELVE

Elzor sat beside a small fire his men had created from the branches of several dead trees near their encampment, just outside a pair of tents erected for both himself and his sister. He sat alone, warming his hands against the chilly night air as he cast his eyes skyward. Thick clouds loomed in the distance but did not seem to be moving in their direction.

He and his army had spent the day riding in what Langon believed was the most direct route to the northern edge of the Kaberian Mountains. They had officially left Agrus behind when the clutch of nipa trees, which grew prevalently all over the country, became sparse. By the time the tree line disappeared over the horizon behind them, they reached the dry and dusty hardpan marking the Praskian Desert. If they didn’t run into any inhospitable weather or rough terrain, they could reach the mountains in three days. And then they would have a decision to make.

According to Elzaria’s vision, the women who were caretakers of the Stone that had once been held in the bowels of Agrus’ Castle Tynal resided in a far-distant village next to the River Ix. The fastest way to get there would be to skirt the northern tip of the mountain range, beyond which lay several hundred more miles of inhospitable desert. Several merychs had been loaded up with enough food and water to sustain the Elzorath and their mounts for the journey, but they would have to be careful about rationing. No one had made a trek across the desert like this in recorded history, and to run out of food or water before reaching their destination would be catastrophic. It was unlikely they would be able to replenish their supplies in the middle of the lifeless desert.

The third Stone, however—the one unearthed by the beings from the Above—was still aboard their mysterious bird-shaped craft, unguarded and vulnerable, somewhere within the vast mountain range. They would no doubt have to find this vessel, but doing so presented a host of other problems.

First off, the Kaberian Mountains were massive, stretching for hundreds of miles south before curving east as they neared the impassable southern wetlands. Pinpointing the alien craft’s location would be nearly impossible without more information to narrow down the search area. Even if they could do that, finding a safe passage across those mountains could take just as long.

Elzaria had seen the alien woman bitten by a hugar several days ago, and the boy had taken her to the female tribe’s village. His sister did not know if the woman had survived, but it was safe to assume one or both would be returning to their ship, and the Stone. They could leave Elystra forever, which meant his quest to accumulate all three Stones would fail.

Staring into the flames, Elzor picked at his scrap of salted meat and a crust of chaska bread. He shot occasional glances at Elzaria’s tent, waiting for her to emerge from her latest communion with her Stone. He hoped whatever higher power fed her the visions would give her the knowledge as to how to proceed ... or at the very least, a more precise location for the alien vessel.

Elzor prided himself on his patience. He would not have gained the wealth of knowledge he had amassed without it, to say nothing of creating such a substantial following right under the nose of that sadistic braga, Viceroy Callis.

It was in the Viceroy’s very own library that he’d discovered, hidden in the back of an otherwise inconsequential collection of documents, a sheaf of letters written almost a hundred years before by Merdeen, the third High Mage of Darad. These missives had been addressed to a scholar named Miro, and in these letters Merdeen discussed some very interesting visions he’d had.

Elzor had hoped to find some information regarding the Stone he and his sister had found at the Mogran mining camp as children. When he’d read Merdeen’s prophecy about the Stones, and the reward of omnipotence granted to he who held all three, he knew immediately what his purpose was.

How ironic—and inconvenient—that his years of patience had brought him so close to achieving his goal, and now they were in a race against time ... with aliens from the Above, no less. Their arrival, as well as the recently-revealed knowledge of an all-female tribe of Wielders, had shocked even Elzor to his core.

He did not ascribe to the same religious beliefs that most of Elystra did: the belief in Arantha. However, so many unbelievable revelations in so short a time, coinciding with his invasion of Agrus, led him to believe there were much more powerful forces at work, forces even he could not begin to understand.

If only Elzaria could bring him that understanding.

A short distance away, most of his men had turned in for the night, sleeping as best they could on the hard earth. As soldiers, they were used to such rough conditions. So was he. He hoped, though, that the clouds wouldn’t bring a torrential rain with them. The season for rains was imminent. Downpours were common, and they were usually accompanied by heavy winds. If his army hadn’t reached the mountains before inclement weather struck, it would slow, perhaps even halt their progress.

A soft groan from his right drew his attention. Elzaria emerged from her tent, looking rather unsteady on her feet. In the past, touching the Stone would energize her, but since she’d started having visions, contact with the Stone seemed to be having the opposite effect.

He rose to his feet, striding over and grasping her arms. Her breathing was labored, she was shivering, and her eyes were hooded. It even looked like her pitch-black hair had developed a few strands of gray.

He led her over to the fire, sitting her gently down on the ground beside it, making sure the smoke wasn’t blowing in her face. She held her hands out, warming them as she stared into the flames’ depths.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Elzor unfastened his cloak, stolen off the body of the vanquished King Morix of Agrus, and draped it across Elzaria’s shoulders. She pulled it around herself like a shroud, and her trembling abated. “Thank you, brother,” she whispered.

He sat beside her, not speaking. After checking that no one was watching, she grasped his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“You seem pensive,” Elzor said after a protracted silence.

A slight nod was her only response.

“What are you thinking?”

She cast a brief furtive glance in his direction. “I’m wondering if Merdeen left something out of his prophecy. The one regarding the Stones.”

Elzor’s brows knitted. “‘Left something out’?”

She nodded. “Ever since we first found the Stone, I’ve wondered why I was given these abilities instead of you. After all, you’ve always been far stronger than I.”

He didn’t respond. This was a thought that had crossed his mind more times than he could count. A small part of him had always envied her fortune, her power. Though he’d never vocalized it to her, he wasn’t surprised she could sense his frustration.

She continued, “We both just assumed that it was my destiny to help you achieve our goals. It seemed such a perfect fit. Your men follow you because you’re a natural leader who will do whatever you must in order to fulfill your destiny. They would certainly never have followed me.” She snorted. “But because of these visions, we know a lot more about our origins than we did before.”

“You’re referring to our mother?”

“I am.”

Elzor leaned forward, staring at the remnants of the weakening fire. “We don’t know for certain whether she came from this female tribe to whose village we now journey.”

“It’s the most logical explanation, especially when you consider the history of the Agrusian Stone. It was discovered a thousand years ago, and in all the ages that have passed since, the only ones who have been endowed with Wielding abilities have been women.” She shook her head slightly. “Of course, back then, Wielders were put to death as demons or sorceresses, along with their families. That’s when the rulers decided to hide the Stone underground.”

“But it was stolen,” Elzor interrupted. “By the Vandans. And then it fell into the hands of these women.”

“Exactly my point. Not a single man who has ever come into contact with the Agrusian Stone has been affected by it at all. Not the man who unearthed it. Not the king who tried to hide it. Not the slaver who stole it. Only women.” She gestured at the tent.

He ran his fingers through his beard. “You believe that when we acquire the other two Stones, they will not affect me any more than this one does.”

She nodded. “Do you remember Merdeen’s prophecy? I mean, the exact wording?”

“‘Three Stones, remnants of a great light older than Creation itself, shall fall to Elystra, cradling themselves within the bosom of the world. He who gathers together these Stones shall be granted power untold of in all of Creation’,” he quoted. “It’s been a while since I’ve read the words, but that was more or less what they said. Merdeen’s prose was rather too flowery for my tastes.”

“You’re sure the prophecy said ‘he who gathers’? Not ‘she’?”

He fixed her with a stony glare. “I would hardly have embarked on this lifelong quest if it said ‘she’, sister.”

She met his stare with one of her own. “Hence my belief that there was something missing from the Prophecy. Something Merdeen chose not to share with Miro. Something so obvious I can’t believe we missed it.”

The harshness melted from his expression, replaced by curiosity. “Pray tell.”

“If our mother truly was a Wielder, then that means her blood runs through your veins as well. Her abilities may be your abilities.” She straightened up, leaning in close to him. “There’s only one place on Elystra where men become Wielders.”

His jaw dropped open. Of course. It was right there in front of him the whole time. “The Crystal Cavern, at the heart of Mount Calabur.”

“Exactly.” She spread her arms wide, her face cracking into a triumphant smile.

Elzor felt a hunger grow from deep inside him. For almost twenty years, he’d watched Elzaria train, perfecting her deadly craft, far from the eyes of those who would exploit her or do her harm. He’d stood back and watched as she mowed down his enemies, his detractors, obstacles to be removed. The Agrusian army had felt the full force of her power. Power that lay within him as well, just waiting to be awakened.

He pictured himself, at her side, blue lightning crackling all around them as thousands of helpless citizens groveled at their feet. He envisioned them laying waste to every enemy castle, fortification, and garrison that dared to oppose them. They would be the gods of all Elystra. Arantha’s name would be banished forevermore, and monuments would be erected to pay homage to his greatness.

Elzor shook his head, dispelling the fog that had come over his mind. “Mount Calabur? The most heavily guarded sanctum in all of Darad?” He stood up, striding angrily to the other side of the fire. “King Aridor’s army is ten thousand strong. Even with you at full strength, I don’t envy our chances.”

She tilted her head at him. “Which is why our plan must be more ... insidious than that.”

He exhaled, his voice rising to a frustrated shout. “Enough riddles, sister! What plan?!”

In an instant, her mood shifted. “Don’t yell at me!” Elzaria clapped her hands over her ears, and it sounded like she was near tears. “You don’t know what it’s like to have these visions! You can’t possibly know!” She stood up, glaring at him, making emphatic gestures with her hands. “Imagine everything you’ve ever seen in your life just ... rushing through your mind in but a few moments.”

Taken aback by her outburst, he felt his anger dissolve. “That must be very–”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Now imagine the memories of a dozen lifetimes, all cramming into your head at once! A thousand years of images, pounding through your skull like an unstoppable flood! I never trained for this!” She resumed her seat by the fire, her voice quavering in anguish. “You’re asking me to condense an ocean of knowledge into a few easy-to-digest facts. Forgive me if I’m not as concise as you wish me to be.”

Elzor cursed inwardly. She did have a point. The fact that she was receiving visions that directly helped them in their quest, something they hadn’t had until recently, was a gift. Not for the first time, he wondered if she—blag, all of them—were being guided by some powerful, unseen force. It certainly made sense. She had to be getting these images from somewhere. Having to deal with his sister’s mercurial temperament, however annoying, was a cross he had no choice but to bear. He had to have faith in this force, and in her.

He almost laughed at the thought. The horrors of his youth had exterminated all traces of his faith in Arantha. The idea that someone more powerful than he was guiding him ... it was a daunting thought, one he didn’t particularly like.

Swallowing both his anger and his pride, he knelt down beside her, placing his arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Elzaria. The burden of my command, my purpose, often blinds me to all else.”

“Hrm,” she grunted in response, her eyes fixed on the fire again.

“Please,” he said, the unfamiliar word sounding foreign coming from his mouth. “Tell me what you have seen.”

She shrugged his arm off with a huff and stood up, Morix’s lush cloak falling to the dusty ground. “I am weary,” she mumbled. “I need rest.” Without looking back, she returned to her tent, slipped inside and closed the flap.