STOIC I STAND

Garn found it hard to curb his excitement. After months guarding the Alchemist during his rise to great lord of the Dark Citadel, they had finally left the bloody confining fortress under the plateau behind. The forest they had gated into in the late evening had come as a welcome relief even though there was an armed force, the hooded man’s army, working hard at destroying it. Right away, he’d wanted to do something to stop it. Too many ancient trees were burning, some toppling in flames, and good people were dying.

He was one man and powerless to stop it. He hated the Alchemist, the hooded man, for it. Just another reason in a long line of reasons for him to destroy the man. If only he could find his daughters. Garn would not hesitate to kill the great lord then.

The camp was set up a short distance from the base of a magnificent waterfall that added humidity and mud to the sodden, formerly grassy area the army had trampled when claiming it as a command base.

Garn kept watch as the three of them strode around the inside perimeter of the camp without challenge. The hooded man and even Kara Laurel were well recognized. As for himself, he noted several lingering glances fell upon him, though no one, not even the couple of generals the Alchemist had accosted with his demands for the whereabouts of the high commander, dared ask for an explanation of his presence. The men in this camp were all seasoned and knew him for the bodyguard he was, though they would not know how much the role scathed him.

The Alchemist found the person he sought at the western side, the side the fighting waged the strongest, though the small table they halted at was set a few rows back from the men doing the killing or dying.

“There you are, General Liam,” the Alchemist said softly, yet his voice carried through the din of battle. His words jerked the horned helm of a big man around to face them. The fact that the hooded man had emphasized the man’s title had not been lost to Garn. The man must fancy himself above his station by referring to himself as high commander.

“Great Lord, it is not safe for you here at present. The enemy has rallied for a last, desperate magical assault. Please, withdraw with me behind my iron wall. The Vale people’s arrows or magic cannot penetrate the Flow-resistant barrier I have the black robes maintaining, nor can their arrows harm the iron.” The raspy voice behind the helm bespoke a man leaving behind his middle seasons.

Garn eyed the battle, trying to look at everything, not just the huge magical creations, larger than any other dark creations—as most soldiers referred to the things—he had yet to lay eyes on. As he watched, a red robe sent a ball of flame flying into the chest of one. Most creations owed existence to the most adept Users for menial chores in the kitchen, stables, or sewers for the necessary chores no one else wanted. He supposed having one’s head and torso lit with fire and then directed to go hug a tree would constitute a task none wanted.

The rest of the battle was mainly small pockets of resistance from behind the bigger tree trunks. Magic Users flew flaming birds and shot arrows from bows amidst those within range as they marched into a main force on the left flank pushing them slowly back. Even as daylight waned, General Liam had the battle won. The opposing side had a few hours, at most.

The Alchemist gestured for the man to lead the way to the sphere, not once taking his golden hourglass eyes off the man. Garn joined them, catching sight of poorly concealed glares from soldiers and messengers as they strode or trotted past, going about the many endless tasks of warfare. The hooded man had garnered far-reaching hatred outside his own, for reasons Garn could only guess.

They strode behind several sheets of black iron forming a wall and partial roof supported with metal that glowed with a radiant blackness, the certain sign of a magical barrier of protection. Torches had already been lit, but no glimmer had been uncovered, such light was saved for a dark night and likely wouldn’t be used this night. A full moon was on the rise. Logs hewn into crude chairs surrounded benches, and a large stump of a tree used as a map table claimed most of the space behind the iron wall and half roof.

General Liam removed his helmet and gauntlets, setting them on a bench, and indicated everyone to sit where they would. His black hair was matted and moist with sweat, and his eyes—as dark and hard as agates—did not look like he was among allies.

Garn chose a place between the high commander and his charge to sit. Kara Laurel sat close beside him in silence. She’d been quiet since the hooded man had retrieved her from her rooms. Something must have passed between them, but she had not taken him into her confidence, a normal aspect of her personality.

His eyes dull, General Liam spoke without preamble. “I expected you would arrive today, half the main force is finishing off the plant people.” The ingratiating tone of voice he’d used at the battlefield had vanished.

The Alchemist stiffened. “What? Where are the rest of them? And the reserves, what have you done with them?”

General Liam’s jaw rose, and his lips twitched once, quelling what Garn suspected was a normal mannerism for the man, a sneer of disdain. “I sent them to the south. Their leaders are exposed, and the outlander is with them. I shall finish them all to the last one.”

“The prophecy vessel? Call them back at once, you fool!” the hooded man said, his voice a snarl.

Kara Laurel spoke right after him. “Crystalyn is here? What have you done? She will kill them all, you blasted imbecile!”

Garn was stunned. My daughter? How would she destroy a regiment of soldiers?

General Liam’s blank eyes grew duller. If he was upset, he mastered it well. “That is a dangerous word to use in reference to one such as I. They cannot possibly win. They are a defeated, ragtag force of a mere five hundred or so. I have five thousand soldiers and over three hundred Users nearly to them, they will fall.”

Kara Laurel stood, tall and imperious. “You are a great fool! They have their greatest Light Users, Interrupters, and the outlander! Call them back before it’s too late!”

The Alchemist rose. Though shorter than anyone present, his soft voice and muscular stature exuded command. “Do as I decreed. Do it now, or I will order you executed.”

Garn was on his feet before the hooded man had spoken his second word.

His movements stiff and jerky, General Liam also rose. His broad head swung back and forth between Kara and the Alchemist several times. He turned away, calling for a messenger.

Garn gazed at the two he had accompanied here. The Alchemist’s golden hourglass eyes followed the dark-armored general’s route; Kara Laurel looked ready to burst into an indignant flame. What do they know? he wondered.

General Liam hobbled back before long. Garn wondered if he had taken a recent wound, though he hadn’t noticed the limp before now. “I have sent my three fastest. They should intercept the regiment in time.”

Kara Laurel tossed her head of red hair back, rolling her eyes as if seeking divine help. Her hands became fists as she glared at the general. “You should have sent all you have with the promise of silver to whoever gets there first.” Surprisingly, the Alchemist spoke no word to silence her.

Though his eyes remained dull, General Liam’s chin rose slightly. “That is not for you to decide. You are nothing but a lackey User, and a Light User at that. No one has understood why the great lord would have need of such filth,” he said, advancing toward her a step, his hand on the hilt of the curved scimitar sheathed at his side.

Garn stepped in front of her, drawing the great broadsword from the sheath on his back in one motion. If any fighting would happen, it would involve him. A strong push on his shoulder moved him unexpectedly to the side before he could plant his feet.

“I do not require protection,” Kara Laurel hissed. “Not from this one, nor any of his kind. They have a mistaken assumption I shall tolerate their harsh words and glares. Such a supposition may prove fatal.”

General Liam stopped, his expression as solid as stone. Turning, he advanced toward the Alchemist. Startled at the move, Garn’s leap was a second longer than it should have been. Kara Laurel was faster. A bolt of white shot past Garn, striking the general between the shoulder blades, rippling outward along his shoulders and arms. General Liam stumbled but kept going as white flames burned along his neck and shoulders.

The Alchemist pulled a potion from his bag, a sneer of disdain on his mouth, the only part of his face visible. Then his lips drew slack. Suddenly he scrambled backward out from behind the wall.

A crowd of soldiers had gathered outside of it. “Do not let him touch me! Do not make contact with him!” he shouted.

The general shambled toward the Alchemist, his pace steady.

Garn could not wait any longer. Leaping, he lopped off the general’s right arm at the elbow, even though the man hadn’t drawn his weapon.

The general paused, glancing over his shoulder at him, pushed past a soldier, and continued his advance. The soldier stiffened and then moved out of the way, leaving the crowd behind. General Liam’s pace slowed.

The Alchemist’s hands blurred with a flash of movement.

Two starred blades bloomed in the throat of General Liam. He straightened abruptly. Blood streaming down his neck, he toppled slowly face forward to the ground. Several men rushed toward him.

“No one touches him!” The Alchemist’s shouted command was too late. One of the soldiers rolled General Liam onto his back. Eyes glazed, the once imposing man stared back dull and lifeless.

The Alchemist’s long finger pointed at the soldier kneeling beside the general. “No one touch that man. Destroy him now!”

The soldier looked wildly around and then sidled backward when no one made a move for him.

Unfortunately, he stepped closer to Garn. Garn thought about letting the man vanish in the crowd, and then recognized the unmistakable similarities to Lord Braddert’s soldiers. No signs of pain and single-minded pursuit. Garn dispatched the man with a quick, almost bloodless swing to the neck. “No one touches the body, either part.” Garn said. “Kara, burn them both, every piece.”

Kara Laurel looked at him, the frown on her beautiful face revealing her puzzlement, and then her eyes widened. Perhaps she’d recalled the strange attack at the Obsidian Table.

Kara Laurel’s white fireballs caused the circle of armor ringing the dead men to widen as the flames rose higher on the two men lightening the darkening area around them.

A large man wearing the red hammer insignia of captain on the chest of his dark armor backed only as far as he had to from the two growing pyres. “What is this? My man only checked if the blasted general lived. Why did you kill him?”

The Alchemist ignored the question, looking to Garn and Kara Laurel. “Did either of them have contact with anyone? Did I miss something?”

Garn opened his mouth to mention the jerky movements of the soldier, but Kara Laurel beat him to it.

“There was one,” she said.

“Where?” the Alchemist asked. The tone of his voice was urgent and annoyed at the same time. “Why did you not destroy it?”

Kara Laurel pointed to the Alchemist’s right. “He left to the north, going through the crowd. We would have ended him had we known.”

The Alchemist did not appear to hear her. The crowd’s anger had grown. Many voices grumbled an ominous “There are only three of them,” and “They killed General Liam!”

Flowing into Stoic I Stand, his best defensive stance, Garn prepared for battle, a battle he would not have willingly entered had he a second choice. Seasoned warriors outnumbered them so heavily he did not bother to count the odds. On his left, Kara Laurel’s delicate right hand burst into white radiance.

Suddenly the Alchemist stood at his right, his golden eyes blazing with an inner, amber light enhanced by the dark hood. He swept the crowd with his odd, feline orbs. “Your general, my General Liam, was doing what I commanded for this army in service to me! The general attacked your leader without provocation.” The Alchemist’s voice though low, reverberated throughout the crowd and the muttering quieted. “I do not believe this was something he would have done on his own. There is something here, something in our midst, something sly and powerful, wishing to control those with authority. Whatever it is, it is now hiding among you, lurking inside one of you. Who has noticed a difference in the normal way their friend or companion-in-arms is acting?”

The hooded man’s words had a profound effect on the crowd. Their proximity to each other widened. They parted, glaring with suspicion at one another. The captain ignored his men, his dark eyes fierce. “How do we know what you claim is true? This sounds as false as a night woman’s lies!” he bellowed.

The crowd’s silence was thunderous.

Without warning, a vial shattered on the man’s armored chest, splashing upon his neck and chin. “What is this?” he asked, wiping at his chin. Then he screamed. Wisps of oily steam billowed from the man’s chin, neck, chest, and now his hand.

Garn would have turned his back on the scene—he’d seen the effects of the flask’s contents—if not for the crowd and an insidious creature to watch for.

Groping at his throat and chin, the captain’s screams soon became gurgles. He spun, reaching with one hand toward his men. The men backed away. He fell to his knees and toppled face forward to the ground, his hand still outstretched. The Alchemist strode beside him, his eyes fixed on the crowd. “Stand aside and point the way toward anyone who has left your ranks recently or meet the same fate as our dear captain.”

Though there were many glares, the line parted, opening a wide swath in the center.

Behind the hooded man, Garn strode through with Kara at his side. Though daylight receded quickly, the moon’s rise was enough light for him to keep a vigilant watch on those on his right side, trusting his Light User companion would do the same for the left. No one made a move toward them, though the crowd turned as one, following their every move.

The Alchemist halted in a small meadow, the grass beaten to humid soil by the tread of many booted feet. Three multi-roomed tents—command pavilions—were set in a half-moon formation. Smaller, one- or two-man tents of the soldiers ringed the entire area.

His biceps bulging under the silver bands, the Alchemist pointed at a soldier steadying another soldier who had mounted a black horse. “No one leaves, stop that man!”

Letting go of the mounted man, the standing soldier gave a jerky swat to the horse’s rear flank and then turned to face them. His blue eyes dull, he groped at his side and wrenched a hammer axe from a sheath. He started toward them.

“Don’t let anyone leave!” the Alchemist shouted again.

Kara Laurel strode to one side lining up a view of the horse and rider galloping toward the main force besieging the Vale. The soldier turned with her. Kara Laurel raised her hand. A glowing bolt of white streaked away from it. Awkwardly, the soldier shuffled into the bolt’s path, and a barrier the shape of his body dispersed it. The soldier continued toward her, eerily silent.

Kara Laurel moved to one side again, but it was taking too long. Garn slipped a dagger from the sheath at the small of his back and threw it, sinking it to its tiny hilt in the man’s right eye. The soldier crumpled.

The way clear, Kara Laurel fired two glowing bolts of white that streaked toward the fleeing rider, but the horse and rider had reached a regiment of men pushing a catapult. Thundering into the group of men and pushing at a sharp angle, the great warhorse trampled men as Kara’s bolts slammed into the hapless soldiers now ringing the rider. Pushing through, the warhorse broke out of them and vanished behind the catapult.

The Alchemist’s golden eyes shone bright within his dark cowl, his hands balled into fists. “You failed, Kara, go after it. Kill it before it wears someone else.”

Kara gaped. Then scowling at Garn, she turned and ran for the nearest horse. Her long bare legs carrying her across the meadow quickly, she paused beside a support soldier and pointed to a horse. As the man untied the big horse, she grabbed the reins and vaulted upon its back. With her yellow kell skirt showing much of her legs, she urged the horse into a gallop.

The Alchemist stared until she vanished from sight amidst the army marching sluggishly toward the great burning trees in the growing moonlight. “Come, we shall find what has happened to my campaign here with that… aberration in command.” He set off toward the three command tents.

Garn stayed at his side. He had questions. Perhaps the hooded man would relinquish some of his knowledge if he were careful how he phrased his inquiries as they walked. “This aberration, it’s the same as whatever attacked us at the Obsidian Table, is it not?”

“Such is my belief.”

“Do you know what it really is, where it came from?

The hooded man hesitated, stopping at a fire pit beyond hearing of a group of soldiers heating a meal.

The setting sun left a surreal red tint upon a half-circle row of tents they faced. A guard stationed beside the largest stuck his head inside and then turned toward them. A young woman pushed the flap aside and obediently followed the guard.

Coming to a decision, the Alchemist continued. “Many years ago, in the arrogance of my youth, I thought to best a known evil. I believed it possible to steal the power of the Stair of Despair and make it my own. In my great conceit, I was… overcome.”

Garn wasn’t certain he’d heard right. “You were beaten unconscious?” he asked.

The Alchemist’s soft voice grew softer. “Nay, I was enslaved. The entity—I know not what it was—gorged on my mind, as a carnivore would feed on an infant. Only a stroke of luck allowed me to break free before becoming a permanent part of its great mind, a single tiny speck in the vastness of immense superiority. Enough talk for now. Come, we shall eat.”

Garn barely heard the Alchemist’s words. The guard had moved closer, giving him a good view of the person he escorted. The young woman trailing the big man was his daughter Jade.