part0030

Raithym moved silently through the corridors, periodically glancing over his shoulders. Both his parents and the Zaxson had forbade him from going to the cells. Despite their warnings, Raithym couldn’t just meekly comply with those instructions.

From what he’d been told, their prisoner had wreaked havoc across Faélondul, and made several attempts to murder members of his family. Now, he’d begun making threats toward Raithym, too.

With that, he lowered a hand to the hilt of his sword, but immediately released it. Molag was imprisoned in the citadel, no longer capable of threatening or harming anyone.

Raithym checked the corridors again, quickening his pace. He’d already devised a response if anyone discovered him in the lower levels, but no one had stopped him thus far. The Jasiri weren’t positioned near his selected route, and that eased some of his trepidation. The K’ohshulian warriors didn’t stray from their orders, and even the Nakshij’s son heeded their instructions.

Raithym inclined his head, acknowledging the guards he passed as he continued to the buttery. When he turned the old knob, he was apprehensive, hoping none of the attendants were inside. To his relief, the room sat empty.

Walking to the north-east corner of the buttery, he ducked behind the large casks stacked nearly to the ceiling. The cabinet behind the casks is where Ayrmeis and he had discovered the hidden passageway. Standing before it now brought those memories back to him, and he smiled. Raithym was much older than when his cousin and he had last investigated the passage. After removing the false backing, it appeared more a narrow crawlspace.

Pulling a torch from his pack, Raithym checked the room again, and then squeezed through the small opening. Once he’d replaced the backing, he adjusted his pack, beginning the long crawl.

Raithym was no longer that adventurous little boy exploring with his cousin. He was a man grown, and had decided to act the same, regardless of his instructions to the contrary. He refused to allow some disgruntled rogue to incite such fear in his mother while threatening his life. Zeta was barely able to leave her suite of late, and her babe was overdue. She could only think about Molag’s presence in the citadel and what schemes he’d set in motion before his capture. Raithym planned to end her suffering, and help her become herself again.

As he heard the scratches and squeaks around him, he reminded himself that this wasn’t the first time that he’d ventured into the depths. Many times past, he’d taken the tunnel to the temple and explored the caverns underneath the great structure. But Raithym missed having his cousin with him. He and Ayrmeis had enjoyed discovering the citadel’s secrets together. Another smile graced his face at the memory.

His and Ayrmeis’ features were so alike, many thought they looked like brothers. In truth, he felt the same. Ayrmeis favored Raithym more than either Tardison or Eytan. Even their size and build were nearly identical. They’d always been close, and Raithym wished that he was with him now.

Nonetheless, he could never ask Ayrmeis to accompany him for something such as this. His cousin wouldn’t ever disobey a command from his father or Symeon, and Raithym wouldn’t put him in a position where he’d have to consider doing so.

He took a deep and steadying breath, pausing as he reached another door. Placing his ear against the rotting wood, he listened for any sounds coming from behind. For many long moments, he sat motionless, considering his plan. He’d struggled with the same for several suns before deciding upon this course. Raithym didn’t want to defy his parents, but he couldn’t sit idle, either. This, he had to do.

Removing the wood panel, he lowered himself to the ladder, counting each step just as he’d done the first time they’d discovered the passage. When he reached the bottom, he turned east, continuing to the wall at the corridor’s end. It appeared as stone, but he’d found the lever to rotate the false wall and allow his passage.

He breathed a relieved sigh when he stepped into the former bath chamber. Setting his torch aside, he removed his soiled clothing, and changed into something more appropriate for his meeting.

Once he’d replaced his boots, he glanced around the room, recalling its significance. Many things had changed in Nazil since his uncle became Zaxson, and there were more challenges ahead of them.

Raithym walked over to the door, peering through the bars at its top. He didn’t need to stand on his tiptoes now. Not like before. He was a man grown, and he’d face his enemy to end his mother’s anguish while protecting the whole of Faélondul.

From this vantage, he could see down the cell-lined corridor. It was empty, just as the room in which he stood. Empty.

Taking another sobering breath, Raithym doused his torch before stepping through the door. By the Zaxson’s order, no guards were stationed near the cells. He wasn’t certain of the reasoning behind it, but Raithym felt blessed that it was so.

As he walked along the line of cells, he halted, feeling a presence beyond anything that he understood. When he turned, only his shadow lingered behind him.

“I’m allowing my mother’s warnings to make me trepidatious.”

“She warns of me,” a strange voice responded, drawing Raithym to the locked cell.

The stench greeted him before he saw the bound man, sitting naked on a stool. The bucket for his fluids overflowed, and the rancid smell nearly caused Raithym to retch. He took a step back, covering his nose, and leering at the filthy man with disgust.

Molag’s beard had grown long and bedraggled. Though once portly, his belly lay flat and loose. When he grinned, Raithym noticed oddly shaped teeth, however, he couldn’t discern much through the unkempt hair overhanging Molag’s lips.

“You don’t look like much of a threat to me, Molag Bomgaard,” Raithym said, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I don’t fear you.”

Molag smiled again, gazing down with flashing eyes. “You haven’t anything to fear from me. Never would I harm one so important to these lands.”

Raithym squinted toward the man, unsure. “You’ve mistaken me for my cousin, Tardison. He’s the one of importance.”

Molag cackled, causing the hairs on Raithym’s neck to stand on end.

“Tardison’s so-called importance is nugatory. It’s you, descendant of Oisin, and rightful ruler of Faélondul.”

Raithym’s expression was bemused, considering the manipulator’s words. “I don’t know any Oisin. I’m a Benoist, and my father’s the Nakshij of Nazil.”

Molag cackled again, taunting him without uttering a word. “Their lies are ever mounting. Pentanimir always wanted to be greater than his brother. He’d even raise his son above the true line of Nazilian rulers.

“Oisin, Satanicus, Naughton, Nikolaj, Draizeyn, Daracus…and you.” He smirked. “All men of honor—all came from the first.”

“My uncle is the true ruler. Your perfidies might inspire lesser men to treachery, but I’m a Benoist,” Raithym said, unsheathing his sword. “Hold your tongue or see it removed from your lying mouth!”

Molag lowered his head as a broad smile creased his cracked lips. He suddenly shot up toward the bars of his cell, causing the manacles around his wrist and ankles to rattle as they held him in place.

Raithym jerked back, nearly dropping his sword.

Molag rattled his chains, laughing louder. “You’re a fierce warrior, indeed,” he mocked, taking his seat.

Raithym was disgusted with himself. Had Ayrmeis stood in his place, he wouldn’t have flinched. His cousin would’ve pierced Molag’s heart with movements so swift that no one could’ve registered them. With that thought, he glared at Molag, feeling suddenly vulnerable before the filthy man.

“I know your thoughts,” Molag teased. “Your jealousy is plain, son of Oisin.”

“I’m the son of Danimore!” Raithym shouted, extending his sword.

“You are the son of Danimore, but in your veins courses the blood of Oisin: the first and founder of Nazil. Leader of Faélondul and beyond. His greatness is within you.”

“Oisin? You know not what you speak, old man. I wasted my time coming here. My mother might fear you, but I don’t. You’re pathetic, and the headsman will soon have his day,” Raithym sneered, sheathing his sword, and turning away.

“They didn’t tell you about your true father? You weren’t trusted with the truth of your birth or the integrity of your sire.”

When Raithym faced the cell again, Molag met his eyes.

“Your mother was pregnant with you when she and Danimore met. He didn’t care that she carried a bastard or that she’d bedded every guard in the citadel. That virgin fool loved the human whore and accepted you as his own. Just as Pentanimir isn’t Ayrmeis’ sire, nor is Danimore yours.”

“You know not what you speak,” Raithym said, fearing some of his words might hold truth. “My mother is no whore!”

“Ask your honorable parents and see if they’ll tell you the truth. They know your true father, and Ayrmeis’ as well. If you doubt my words, look at the mark of your birth. Is it not the same as Ayrmeis’?”

That question set Raithym back on his heels. He and Ayrmeis had commented about the similarities in their birthmarks, but their parents dismissed it. They’d believed it was common with the Benoist line, but neither their fathers, Ihnat or his cousins shared the same. Only he and Ayrmeis bore the mark. With those truths in mind, Raithym scrutinized Molag more closely.

“You lie,” he said, his voice cracking with the words.

Molag’s smile grew, knowing that he’d drawn him in. “No. They are the ones who’ve lied.”

“Watch what you speak about my blood.”

“Your blood? Your blood doesn’t flow in the veins of the usurpers occupying the citadel. Your blood is of Oisin, and your mark of birth attests to the same.” He stood. “Oisin was the first and the greatest of all in his line. Through him, Nazil was created.”

“You’re insane.”

“No, young Raithym, I’m the only one telling you the truth. Because of this, I’m shackled like an animal,” he said, rattling his chains. “You’re a descendant of Nazil’s creator: Oisin Vereux. You should be ruling over all of Faélondul.” He smirked, stepping closer to the bars. “After all, the pythonesses in the cursed wood murdered your father, and Jahno murdered his son.”

Raithym’s eyes nearly jumped from their sockets, knowing that the Guardians had killed Draizeyn Vereux, and Jahno was responsible for Daracus’ death.

“No! No! You lie! I’m no son of Draizeyn! You take back your words or I’ll cut the lying tongue from your mouth!”

He cackled, tilting his head back, and then wriggled his tongue. “If you think you’re man enough to take it,” Molag said, opening his mouth wide and extending his tongue again.

Raithym roared, slashing forward and through the bars with his sword. Molag’s eyes whited over, his jaws contorting obscenely like the maws of some unspeakably monstrous thing. Raithym tried to retract his sword, but his moment of hesitation betrayed him.

Releasing an otherworldly shriek, Molag spewed forth a milky substance, splattering Raithym. He stumbled back, thrashing and slapping at the burning, viscid material, leaving febrile welts on his skin. Smoke wafted from Molag’s open mouth, snaking toward Raithym, and encompassing him in a gelid fog.

As he opened his mouth to scream, the fog swirled, funneling down his throat as the wraith’s essence suffused him.

Raithym plummeted to the ground, releasing an agonized shriek, writhing on the floor as Mah’saahc took full possession of him.

His screams resonated down the barren corridor, causing the guards to rush down the stairs. Neither of the men noticed Molag motionless in his cell, as they sheathed their swords, reaching down to Raithym.

“Lord Benoist! Lord Benoist! By the gods, are you all right?” the first guard said, gently lifting his head. When Raithym began to snigger, the guards exchanged a perplexed glance, leaning further away.

“Lord Benoist?” the second guard said, moving to stand. Before he could fully rise, Raithym clutched their throats, lifting them as he stood.

“I’m afraid your young lord is no more.” Raithym flashed a jagged grin, sending the guards careening into the wall. Their heads hit with a sickening thud, as their bodies slumped to the floor.

Raithym licked his lips, gliding his hands down his toned body. He grinned with satisfaction, taking a step forward, but when Molag moaned, he pivoted back around, walking to his cell.

Wrenching the door from its hinges, Raithym grabbed a fistful of Molag’s hair, jerking his head back. When he met Raithym’s eyes, all color drained from Molag’s face. He brought his hands up, struggling against Raithym’s grasp.

“No. No.” Molag wheezed. “Please, I’m—” His pleas ended in a gag as Raithym bit through his throat, crushing his windpipe. Escaping air and gurgles echoed in the cell while Raithym fed, syphoning the life from the man.

Once he’d had his fill, Raithym glanced down at Molag’s seizing body, whispering arcane words before stabbing his hand into Molag’s chest.

The helding’s eyes widened, taking several steps back. He glanced over at the guard, and then back to the hooded man.

“Are you mad?” the guard said.

The man stalked closer, checking the corridors, and ensuring they were alone. “Now is the time,” he whispered. “Molag is being held in the cells and Ladir is ready for transport. With everyone’s attention on Molag Bomgaard, this is our best opportunity,” he said, looking from the guard to the helding.

“What about the Jasiri?” the guard asked. “I’m not going to risk my life for you.”

He grabbed the guard’s collar, not breaking his gaze. “You’ll do everything that you agreed to,” he sneered. “I don’t care if the Jasiri cut you to shreds. This you will do.”

“You’re mad.” The guard’s mouth gaped. “How are we supposed to remove him without being discovered? You devised this plan before the Jasiri joined the Chosen’s ranks. They miss nothing, and their aim is true.”

“This, they won’t see. We’ve been charged to transport Ladir to Rhoyden for the remainder of his sentence. The Jasiri won’t consider our movements suspicious. They’ll ensure the proper escort is in place to ferry the prisoner, nothing more.

“No one cares about the well-being of that treacherous piece of filth other than the usual security procedures already in place. You can easily conceal the other one beneath the tarp with our equipment and supplies. No one will know or care. Their attention is solely on Molag.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re risking nothing,” the helding accused in a loud whisper. “Both the High Priest and Zaxson have been suspicious since we asked to join the temple. Guards remain stationed in the dortor’s corridors and common areas. They suspect me. I know it.”

The man’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing. “Silence, you mewling wandought! Why do you think that you were ordered to join the temple of these…these pythonesses ? Everything was meticulously arranged for this very time: the ambush on the Zaxson, your allegiance to that abomination who calls himself a priest, and your assignment here.” His eyes flared, taking a step forward. “Crafting this plan has been arduous, and you’ll complete the tasks you agreed to.”

“When I agreed, the Jasiri weren’t in Nazil. They’ve already killed Ingemar. You remain protected while we’re the ones they’ll see and apprehend. This is madness. I don’t care about who you claim to serve. I won’t risk myself for this. It’s sacrilege.”

The man’s hand shot forward in a blur, grasping the helding’s throat.

“You were placed here for this task alone,” he said through gnashed teeth. “My allies won’t tolerate cowardice or sedition. If you’d rather be released from your obligations, I’ll gladly grant that request.”

The guard gasped, taking a shaky step back as the man’s other arm came up around the helding’s neck. He watched in horrified disbelief as the helding flailed helplessly for air while the man increased the pressure on his throat, twisting his neck around.

His face darkened with bulging eyes, as his body seized, jerking spasmodically before finally going limp. The man released his hold, and the helding’s lifeless body thudded to the floor.

“How are we supposed to explain this? You’ve killed him. He’s a Cha, and you killed him.” The guard’s voice trembled.

“Don’t be a fool. Had I not, he might’ve reported our plans to his superiors. We would’ve been apprehended before we reached the city’s gates. I don’t plan to share a cell with Molag Bomgaard.”

“Wh—what are we to do now? We can’t hide his body here, and we don’t have enough supplies to warrant a second cot.”

“We’ll move him to the crypts.” He smirked. “It’s fortuitous for us, is it not? Make haste. The High Priest will return soon from the citadel, and I need to retake my post.”

“What if I’m seen leaving the city?”

“Do exactly what you’ve been instructed to do. I’ll rendezvous with you near the Nazil Bridge and relieve you of him there. After he’s secured, I’ll rejoin you before you arrive in Rhoyden. You mustn’t delay, or the herbs Ladir ingested will have run their course. He needs to remain unconscious for the entire trip.”

“And if I come upon a patrol?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “So be it. We’re on orders to transport Ladir to Rhoyden. Firstly, we’ll move him to the crypts.” He kicked the corpse at his feet. “Then, you’ll fetch the other guard.” The man moved forward threateningly. “My allies don’t accept failure,” he said, glancing down at the helding’s lifeless body. “Nor do I.”

Ahvixx vaulted up, hearing Odahg and Tika howl. His eyes glimmered, sensing the shift, and receiving the extrasensory communication.

“Raithym. No,” Ahvixx said, rushing from the room. After retrieving his staff, he went to the nursery, kneeling beside his wife.

“Ahvixx, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”

“It’s time. She’s taken Raithym, and Ayrmeis and I must follow.”

“She?” Sahma’s mouth gaped, looking at him wide-eyed. “The—the wraith? You’re going to Sanctium?”

“Don’t fear. The Guardians are with us, all of us,” he said, kissing the crown of Naomi’s head, before finding Sahma’s lips. “Odahg and Tika will remain here with you and Naomi.”

She wiped away her tears, hugging Ahvixx close. “Come home to us, husband. Please.”

“Nothing will keep me from it.” He kissed her again, and then hurried to the stable, retrieving his mount.

Before he’d passed beneath the portcullis, the Desu Beast’s screeches sounded overhead as Arinak and Xandi descended on the roof.

“Mah’saahc,” Ahvixx said, rushing through the doors of the audience hall.

Ayrmeis nodded, standing at Symeon’s side. He appeared both the opposite and the mirror-image of the K’ohshulian warrior. Ayrmeis donned the Guardian Armor, yet beneath he wore the black leather breast covering and trews of the Jasiri.

“He couldn’t be stopped,” Tardison said. “The wraith speeds his way. Mah’saahc means to destroy the seal and release the Zon’Tuls.”

Ahvixx’s eyes glimmered, peering at the audience hall’s double doors. “The Protectors are here,” he said, turning to Ayrmeis. “It is time.”

Pentanimir went to Ayrmeis’ side, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been prepared for this, just as the Guardians prepared me. They’re with you always. Trust in them and do not be deceived.”

Ayrmeis nodded, accepting Pentanimir’s offered hand. When Brahanu stepped forward, she enfolded him in her arms.

“I love you,” she said.

“And I, you, Mother. Do not fear, I’ll return to you,” he promised, kissing her cheek.

Symeon watched the exchange, feeling the tug of his own emotion. He reached for the acacia chest, extending it out to Ayrmeis.

Ayrmeis said nothing. He merely bowed, and released the chest’s clasp. The scepter would appear plain to those unaware of its purpose. Only the key housed within gave any hint to the intricacies of the divine weapon. When he lifted the key from its case, both the rod and key glowed, pulsing in synchrony with the beat of Ayrmeis’ heart.

Ayrmeis’ eyes shifted, first transitioning to completely black, then violet, and then returned to their usual pale appearance. With one fluid movement, he thrust the rod into the key of souls, forming the Scepter of the Divine. The weapon’s sudden illumination was blinding, causing everyone in the room to shield their eyes as the rod emitted a torrent of energy, suffusing his entire being.

His body shuddered from the divine energies, as his eye-coloring flickered, and he sucked in a sharp breath, receiving a more powerful connection than he’d ever experienced.

Ayrmeis stumbled back, catching his breath. Once the scepter bedimmed, he straightened his stance, facing Symeon. Resting his right palm over his heart, Ayrmeis said, “Blood of my blood.”

Symeon inclined his head, repeating the same. He admired the young warrior, doing his best to exude placidity. Ayrmeis was like a son to him, and Symeon dreaded what he’d soon face. Ayrmeis had chosen this, yet Symeon would’ve willingly acted in his stead had he possessed the power to wield the scepter. He recalled the images of this battle, and Ayrmeis’ suffering. Symeon was overwhelmed, and this coming confrontation plagued both his heart and mind.

“Loss is death,” Ayrmeis said, pulling him from the troubling thoughts. Symeon leaned down, nearly touching his forehead to Ayrmeis’.

“Jasiriaah,” they said in tandem.

With a nod, Symeon stood, meeting Ayrmeis’ eyes.

Ayrmeis didn’t move. He continued to stare, with his expression displaying both longing and apprehension. He needed something more, needed to say what was in his heart, but he didn’t want to appear weak or trepidatious. Ayrmeis’ lips quivered, struggling to form the words.

When nothing issued forth, Symeon drew him into a tight hug. No other words were required as he offered precisely what Ayrmeis needed at that moment. His eyes closed, drawing comfort and strength from that embrace.

“You’re more than a warrior to me, Ayrmeis,” Symeon whispered. “You are a son.”

Ayrmeis’ taut stance weakened.

“And you’re a father,” he said, allowing a hint of emotion to take him for the first time. He tightened his grasp on Symeon, and then released his hold, stepping away.

Tardison approached his brother then, raising his right palm. When their guardian marks met, the tingle of the connection was stronger than ever it had been. Ayrmeis would need his brother’s strength: a shared energy to pierce the darkness.

The brothers closed their eyes, becoming a part of the other. As the light encasing them dimmed, they released a heavy breath.

“We are connected, Brother,” Tardison breathed. “I’ve combined my strength with yours, merging us as one. I’ll feel that which you feel. Your thoughts and experiences will be my own. We’ll pierce this darkness together.”

“Together,” he said, embracing Tardison.

“It is time,” Ahvixx said, as his eyes began to glow. “Raithym is nearing the clearing.”

“You won’t harm him?” Zeta pleaded, clutching Danimore. “Promise me that you won’t harm my son.”

Ahvixx paused, glancing over his shoulder. “We seek only the wraith, Lady Benoist, not your son.

The audience hall fell silent after the heavy doors clanged shut behind Ahvixx and Ayrmeis. The room seemed vacant with only the siblings, their spouses and a few Jasiri within.

Tardison couldn’t remain still, continuously pacing with his boots clicking with every step. That sound seemed to resonate unendingly from the stone walls.

Temian walked to Tardison’s side, gently clasping his arm. “Ayrmeis has been prepared, and your connection will strengthen him. He will return to us.”

At that, Tardison nodded, forcing a smile. He wanted to believe what Temian said, but Raithym was on the isle. He was his eldest cousin and Tardison loved him. Although Mah’saahc had possession of him, it was still Raithym, and Tardison’s concern extended to him as well. This was a battle without a true victor, or at least it seemed that way to him. He prayed for both his brother and his cousin.

But only one could be victorious.

As Ayrmeis climbed the stairs leading to the roof, Ahvixx turned, feeling his apprehension. “Allay your fears, Ayrmeis, you’re a paladin of light. You’ve chosen this path as have I, and together we’ll pierce this darkness. Do not allow fear or dubiety a place in your heart. No matter what you must soon face, the power is within you to conquer it. Together with Tardison, we’ll protect the lands and restore the seal.”

Ahvixx reached forward, lifting Ayrmeis’ hand to expose his Guardian Mark. “The Guardians’ essence suffuses us.”

Offering a nod of readiness, Ayrmeis advanced to where the Protectors waited.

Baldon helped Ayrmeis mount Náelon as Arinak provided escort for Ahvixx. The Protectors lowered their helms, initiating the merge.

“Baatheer , Xandi, Baatheer !” [109] Arinak called out. The massive Desu Beast’s claws raked the ground while releasing a loud screech. One by one, the beasts raced across the rooftop to the citadel’s edge. Extending her wings, Xandi soared through the air, with the crowned eagle at her side.

The Ohor’s crimson eye pulsed, as the cascading falls glistered, revealing the Threshold of the Xatari Mountains. As she stepped through the distortion, she bowed, seeing Malachi awaiting her arrival.

“Greetings, Drah’kuu,” she said, respectfully resting a hand over his heart. Malachi returned the gesture, scrutinizing the peculiar woman.

“You are the Cyiir of Ohor?” He asked. “There was another who held the honor when last we met.”

Cyiir raised a hand to her heart, inclining her head. “He is yet with me, Drah’kuu, as all Cyiirs are.”

“Why have you come?”

“Is this not known to you?”

“Much is known to me; yet more is not. I’d hear your words rather than speculate what might lie in your many hearts.”

She grinned. “It was time,” was all she said, reaching into the pocket of her robe. Bringing forth five dark and shiny stones, she handed them to Malachi.

“A gift for you, Drah’kuu, and those of Syahndru.”

He gazed at the like stones dangling from the Ohor’s braids, and then back to the ones he held. A palliative warmth exuded from the smooth black stones, and each had a small indention in their center. He held them up, allowing the rays cascading into the cavern to bedight the stones, casting shimmering waves and shifting patterns across the corrugated surfaces. The images and patterns continued to morph, producing luminescent scenes that spanned epochs and realms. Many Malachi could recall. Others had not yet come to pass.

“It has been long since I’ve looked upon Miir stones. The last delivered to K’ohshul were cast into the Black Water. That time has long past.”

“The Ohor understood why the Drah’kuu elected to forswear not only the stones, but us as well. But such severance would be detrimental to us now. With the stones of Miir, the link can be established. Those of K’ohshul, Syahndru, Shadow Frost, and the Fire-Lands can call upon us.” She paused, staring into the aged Drah’kuu’s milky eyes. “And call to each other.”

Malachi motioned her forward.

“These Miir stones will be a blessing, not like the stones of old,” he said.

“Those were different times and with a different Cyiir. We must again align, as the realms must. The darkness comes, Drah’kuu, and there can be no separation of peoples.”

“This is why we’ve been preparing,” he said, halting on the suspended earthen bridge.

“As do we. In this, all will be needed, including the brothers Xaahn and the Tresahnege.” She handed him a phial, studying his expressions.

A look of recognition found his face, observing the thick orange and red liquid clinging to the phial’s side, releasing a swirling black mist.

“The Firewalkers?” Malachi breathed.

“Yes. This, too, will be needed. I’ve visited the Fire Lands and retrieved the magma,” she said. “He who leads the T’reGuhn will have need of this as well. Unlike those of the darker realms, his puissance and thew will be unequaled. You shall prepare his body as the Guardians prepare his mind.”

“Ahgelon? I communed with him after his son departed. He spoke nothing of the magma.”

“Ahgelon was aware of my coming, but not the reason as to why. The magma is from him, and he awaits, as do his people. Once Déshì Tân is prepared, he and Weisheng will join you here.”

“Why do you aid in this? The Ohor rejected the mortals and crossed into the Otherlands. Your past Cyiir spoke of the evils here, and mortals infecting that which was once pure.”

“The humans are no threat to what we are, or what we’ve always been. These darker beings are the true threat. With Mah’saahc’s manipulations, others have awakened. The Ohor will stand as we once did, assisting in the defeat of these otherworldly creatures.”

“The Guardians are aware, and continue to prepare those able to withstand and defeat the maleficence.”

“This is true, Drah’kuu. Yet the Guardian’s power is diminishing. They will never be whole while they remain here. They must return to the spirit realm.”

“Their power is absolute,” Malachi countered. “If not for that power, your passage through the thresholds would’ve been unfettered. The thresholds were shielded from your intrusion and can be so again.”

The Ohor bowed with that truth. “The Guardians are the Gods of these lands, and many others. Albeit, the forms they inhabit limit their abilities.”

“This is an accepted corollary for the protection of Faélondul,” he said, continuing to a fountain playing melodiously in the courtyard of the levitating knoll.

“I’ve been traversing the thresholds of the many lands,” Cyiir said. “Faélondul is where this darkness is focused. The blood of Oisin has caused Z’brachieyn and others to stir. They await Mah’saahc’s victory. Once the wraith is free, she’ll release the Zon’Tuls into the lands.”

Malachi met her eyes, saying nothing. He’d been there the last time the Ohor aided in the protection of the realms. Now, he was to face this ancient enemy as the Drah’kuu before him had. Malachi wasn’t certain of his abilities to protect the thresholds as his predecessor had done. This was the beginning, but he’d grown weary.

The eidolon’s essence would incessantly seek to be freed, and those of the lands would continue to unwittingly aid in that pursuit. With the awakening, the darkness permeated the hearts and minds of many. If that could be so for one of the Guardians protected, it could be so for all.

He shook those truths away, facing her again. “Mah’saahc hasn’t gained victory. Ayrmeis pursues her now as we sit here contemplating what has yet to come.”

“The Ohor prays he will be victorious, but Ayrmeis has much to overcome before it can be so. He’s but a child, though he knows not. Once they arrive on Sanctium, he’ll learn the truth of what he must face, and what he alone must do.”

“Ayrmeis will overcome. He is the Guardians’ paladin.”

“As his father was before him.”

Malachi shook his head. “Symeon Yego is Ayrmeis’ father. He’s the son of the Uzon of Nazil.”

“And he has prepared him well. The Protectors have taken their place in Nazil beside the Ke’ohnzi.”

“Is this why you’ve come? For the battle?” He stated more than asked.

“‘Tis but one reason, Drah’kuu. Kuhani will need the molten blood of the Fire Lands when he returns. It must be combined with the essence and infused with his own blood.”

Malachi nodded as he stood. “We are honored, Ohor.” He bowed. “The Guardians knew of your coming, and this is why I welcomed you.”

“They granted me passage as well. The threshold in Afferea will remain open to me.”

Ohor’s eye pulsed, sending prickles down her spine. “It is time.”

Malachi motioned toward the cavern, reaching in the deep pockets of his robes. Bringing forth a handful of sparkling dust, he tossed it into the trickling falls. The waters movement began to slow as the last of the melodic tones resonated through the air.

The surface of the still water wavered until an image of Sanctium appeared. The Ohor stepped forward, moving to his side.