Third of Harbinger

The view would have been beautiful, had there been anyone around to appreciate it. Rolling hills stretched for miles covered by bright green grass and the occasional copse of vibrantly coloured trees. A fast-flowing river ran through the middle of the valley, the sun sparkling off its pure water, fed from the north by a thundering waterfall. In the tempest frolicked a gathering of katrili, their bare humanoid torsos glistening as the sun shone on their flawless skin. Below the surface their fish-like tails sparkled in an array of vibrant colours. Seemingly peaceful and playful creatures, they were lethal hunters in the continent of Zarmi’s many rivers.

Along the plains, deer were hunted by lirese, with the body of a horse and the torso of a dwarf. They were powerful, highly intelligent creatures. In the sky above floated strange bulbous creatures, prey to the raptors that managed to avoid their claw-ridden tentacles.

Amongst the Arcane Zarmi was known as Elkur’s playground. To the lone robed figure standing at the top of the waterfall looking down on the plains, it was an object of curiosity. Of the many species found on this continent, only a handful existed elsewhere. Most were native, unique, and wonders to behold. The glaring example lay off to the east, where even from this distance he could see the sun sparkling off the golden towers of the strange Ilmari nation and its massive capital. They were a strange species, humanoid but with four arms and snake-like tentacles instead of hair, and they dominated this continent, at least above the surface. Below the shielding of the dirt, however, lay darker creatures under Falkar’s dominion. He knew that this was why Delorax had preserved his life after his failure to control the renegade Arcane named Ashelath. The ‘Father of Serpents’, he had once been called, the deceiver who had attempted to seize control of the semi-divine beings collectively known as the Arcane. For his betrayal, he had been exiled and put under the charge of Falkar and two others. Yulen and Belamin were dead, their lives cut short by two of Falkar’s servants who had been summoned by Delorax, an Arcane who was a self-professed lord of justice. Falkar had wondered why his own life had been spared, but that picture was starting to unfold. What truly puzzled him was Delorax’s constant insistence on meeting on solid, physical ground. The Arcane were primarily spiritual beings, though many of them had physical forms, such as Falkar’s current appearance as a robed man. It was a curious fact about the Arcane that although they lived above the physical realm, so many of them had an instinctive desire to obtain some level of physicality, even going so far as to create material homes in their own planes of existence. For all his supposed disdain for lower levels of existence, Delorax seemed to share this ‘weakness’. Perhaps it was an unspoken craving for the approval of Elkur, the only truly divine being who had given life to both the Arcane and the physical realm, but who seemed to give his attention to the latter. Falkar was no personality expert.

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He stiffened as he felt the presence of a fellow Arcane. He turned to face Delorax, who appeared almost elven as he stood in brown robes, a jewelled sword hilt visible amongst the folds. He stood beside Falkar at the edge of the waterfall and looked down at the frolicking katrili.

“Strange beasts,” he said in a deep, bass voice. “It makes you wonder what Elkur was thinking.”

Falkar followed his gaze and watched the creatures for a few moments before he said bluntly, “You didn’t summon me here to look at nature.”

“But you enjoy it,” Delorax noted. “Of all the Arcane, you are the one who most enjoys walking this plane and watching the Created.”

“There is a beauty amongst mortality,” Falkar admitted. “It is fleeting, but it is present.”

“Perhaps.” Delorax shrugged. “But you are right. That is not why we are here.”

Falkar turned his gaze to the distant city. He chose his next words carefully, not wishing to aggravate the much more powerful Arcane. “The Council grows restless. Lumina knows our plans. She is gathering support to render judgement on us. We are running out of time.”

“The Council can argue as much as it wants,” Delorax said dismissively. “Once Narandir is in our hands, they will submit to our leadership.”

Was this not Ashelath’s path, Falkar wondered. He died for this. For all of Delorax’s wisdom, was he being blinded by his own ambition, just as the Exile had once been? Have I done the same?

“We ignore Lumina at our own risk,” Falkar warned. “Even on this plane, her Spellcasters are a force to be reckoned with.”

“There are many forces on this earth that one should beware,” Delorax pointed out. “Including those under our own control. The plan remains unchanged.”

“Everything is proceeding as expected,” Falkar informed him. “In three weeks the siege of Narandir will begin. But we face more urgent matters. My agents have confirmed that the Brilhardem called the Council of Mages. We believe that they will attempt to unite the Orders behind Belkai.”

Delorax’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have a location?”

“Of course.”

“Then leave the mages to me,” Delorax said. “Focus on preparing my armies. There will be no support for Narandir, no allies left to support the Defiler. You say that the siege will begin in three weeks? Then in three weeks we will have the powers that have eluded the Arcane for millennia. And all of this will come to an end. We will have justice for the Arcane blood that has been spilled. And what has been denied to us for too long shall be reclaimed.”

They were dangerous words, Falkar knew. Did Delorax understand that? If they failed, the consequences would be unthinkable. If the Arcane’s Creator intervened, there would be no survival. They had walked a delicate balance thus far. It couldn’t last much longer.

One way or another, what was coming would define the future of the Arcane.