Dark Legacy Series: Vol I: The Bearer of Secrets

Nestled behind the treacherous crags and crevices, high up in the Vikal Mountains, lay Outpost Dire. Snow drifted heavily in the winter, torrents of ice and snow flurries. The summers were pleasant, light rains in the spring, and cool breezes throughout.

Few dared to venture close to Outpost Dire; even fewer came willingly. The mysteries surrounding this place were as sharp as the jagged spires of encompassing rock. One thing all the rumors had in common was its nickname: the Hive.

Staell crested the last rise, his eyes falling upon the Hive and House Eti, the latter a school for the inhabitants. The school itself was raised four stories high, each floor added as the need arose, and built against the mountain to discourage an attack from behind. The giant, circular building held a diameter of fifty meters. House Eti lacked beauty and was built for one purpose: to house and train warriors for war. Every aspect was meticulously efficient, nothing used for vanity’s sake. The building, if necessary, could be used as a last line of defense. A small town, the actual outpost, encroached the keep.

Steep, narrow stairs led up ten meters to the front doors. The optimal width served two purposes, the people of the Hive and choking an invading army. If an enemy managed to take the stairs, the width whittled the enemy’s numbers down. A mock battleground doubled as a free-for-all for archers. The ground was called the ‘killing field,’ and all knew it well. The grounds were as wide as the school and twice as long. The mock battleground supplied numerous obstacles. Uneven ground, trenches, steps, chokepoints, and multidimensional platforms for fighting enemy above or below. Swords, hammers, axes, and pikes rang out every day come rain, sleet, snow, ice, or sunshine.

The clanging died abruptly when Staell came into view. The warriors gawked at the unicorn. Most had never seen one. Gawking was a natural reaction. One man came forward and dropped to a knee.

“Welcome to Outpost Dire, may you rest easy among your friends in the Hive. What’s your bidding, master?”

Oblus Eti, Staell greeted him. The shock in the soldier’s eyes was unmistakable.

“Oblus Eti.”

I’ve come to speak with the Heir of Valin.

“And so you shall. Please, follow me.”

The warrior led Staell through the heart of the ‘killing field’ and up the steps to the massive iron doors of the keep. Inside, in the center of the room, was a training ring referred to as ‘The Pit.’ Onlookers and fighters lined the ring while they watched fighters in the slight depression in the floor.

Alcoves lined the outer walls, most used for housing weapons and armor, others used for small study areas. Two massive stair cases lined and curved with the walls and led to the second floor and beyond; their purpose only served the visitors. Many smaller staircases spiraled along the walls in strategic intervals. Doors leading away from the center of the room were used by adolescents carrying laundry baskets, food, armor, and cleaning products. A waft of fire-charred meat, boiled vegetables, and a tinge of something sweet like citrus fruit drifted through the chamber every time a novice used the doors.

Heads turned toward Staell as the guide took him to the second floor. He ushered the unicorn into an office that overlooked the pit below.

Again the guide knelt.

“Is there anything I can get for my master, food or water? The journey must have been long and difficult.”

I don’t require anything, Staell replied. He moved to the balcony to watch the fighters below.

“Then, I shall leave you and let the heir know you have called.” The guide left.

Ralloc boasted three divisions of battlemages, the Aegis caste for defense, the Barrage caste for offense, and the Pharmacon caste for healing. The battlemages of the Hive were of a different breed altogether. While Ralloc had specific wizards for each caste, the Hive’s battlemages did all three simultaneously. None were masters of specific crafts, but they formed meticulous pupils and formidable foes for magical enemies and common soldiers.

But even the Hive’s battlemages would give pause before taking on one of the Krey, the blood lusting berserkers. Their trance protected them against pain and fatal wounds within reason. The armor enhanced their defenses against magical attacks. The Hive held all outcasts of society because of their unique abilities. The Krey were here because of their battle trance or bloodlust malady and to learn the finer points of slaughtering their enemies. The battlemages or A’uri were here to gain control over the voices in their head and to meld with other minds.

Staell watched the Krey below, besting each other in single combat. His gaze shifted up, as if peering through the floors of House Eti, and curiosity laced him. What were the A’uri doing? Did they train as well? The enigmatic Outpost Dire was a gem, both in terms of unique culture and the cultivation of the world’s greatest fighting force, but even Staell had to admit that his knowledge of the A’uri was limited. He’dnever seen them in action but heard the stories, especially when their powers took over.

The unique ability of the A’uri made it impossible to keep other people’s voices out of their head. When the power manifests, the first sign displayed was the victims crying out and acting possessed. An A’uri was called to block the voices for them and abscond the victim to the Hive. The other side of the unique ability is the aptitude for entering other people’s minds and controlling them. For this reason, they’re kept away from the public and used in cohesion with the Krey. They’re taught to hone and harness the power to reach beyond their own mind and meld multiple minds into a fighting unit, thus giving them an uncanny hive-like mind. Using this power took years of practice and control that surpassed all in the realm.

The Hive was a small, self-sustaining town. Krey and A’uri worked every day honing their fighting skills and preserving their town. Their numbers were split into divisions to rotate through the school, while the rest took up their secondary skills as craftsmen, blacksmiths, farmers, rune masters, teachers, and many other functions. To help augment their work force, the spouses and children of the Krey and A’uri worked beside them.

From dawn till dusk, the sharp clanging of swords, axes, and war hammers could be heard through the small town. Due to the close proximity to their neighbors, other activities were easily overheard, especially at night when sounds carried the greatest. All single Krey and A’uri lived in House Eti. The exception were the Ko-dons, the Heir, and the most senior squads, if they chose.

Outpost Dire was an extension of the Grand Royal Army, and the Krey served the realm. While they were allowed to take side jobs like mercenaries to help augment their income and imports, their loyalty remained with Ralloc. Their entire town consisted of five thousand personnel, families and warriors, but it didn’t include visitors or honored teachers from Ralloc. Though the A’uri were unlike any other mage that walked the earth, they still had to learn from the Grand Masters of each caste. Ralloc chose to send the masters rather than have the ‘mind-benders’ loose in the Capitol.

Staell tore his attention away from the fighting to the graying heir entering his office. He was a round, meaty man with a pointy mustache and a matching wispy patch on his chin.

Oblus ina’ti Sepan Eti, Staell communed.

“Oi! A formal greeting! Not many people know our words. It appears not everyone is ignorant of our ways, after all. Oblus ina’ti Sepan Eti,” he returned. Oblus ina’ti Sepan Eti meant: ‘Live and die by the sword.’ As way of greeting, everyone normally just said ‘Oblus Eti’ or plain ‘Eti.’ The keep and original training ground in Hive was referred to Eti or House Eti, which meant ‘House of the Sword.’

The heir strolled behind his desk and reached for the cupboard. Grabbing a goblet and a flagon of wine, he filled his cup and raised it to Staell.

“Today’s my birthday; here’s to another year.” He gulped it down and refilled his cup. “Here’s to all that commotion down in the Pit and the headache it’s going to give me.” He slammed the cup back and went to refill his glass again. Once filled, he raised it again to Staell. “Here’s to seeing a unicorn, a rare sight in these parts!” He drank in the same manner and refilled his cup and settled himself behind his desk.

“What brings you to my humble outpost?” The heir had to nearly shout to be heard over the fighting below.

War’s coming, good Heir.

“I’ve heard that before.” A loud clanging of swords drowned out the heir as he rolled his eyes at the Pit below. The second floor was reserved for offices and sleeping quarters of the heir, his family, and the ko-dons. The third floor was for training the A’uri in the meld, and the fourth floor was sleeping quarters for all singles and senior squads of Krey and A’uri. The heir walked to the balcony of his office which overlooked the first floor.

“STOP THAT RACKET!” he bellowed. “I have a guest, and I can’t hear him talk!”

Technically, I don’t talk…

The heir whirled around to face Staell. “Don’t start!” He returned to his desk. “As I’ve said, I’ve heard that before. There’s no war to be had. It ended with the death of Xilor.”

But he’s returning, good Heir.

“Ha! Not likely, though I’d almost wish for it, just to grease the cogs.”

We have foreseen it.

“We who? Don’t tell me you’re talking about that cracked warlock, are you? Granted, he killed plenty in his day and is a warrior at heart, but the man has lost it.”

Yes, he has foreseen it. But the ‘we’ I’m referring to is the Maghai of unicorns, myself included. I’ve already done my duty to the council as emissary for my people.

The color drained from the heir’s face, and he reached for the bottle, bypassing the cup entirely, and gulped generously.

“Of gods and demons.”

The maghai were a council of five. The first maghai were the unicorns who only answered to the grand maghai. Over time, wizardkind adopted the formal title as one of their own and used an abbreviated version of the name: mage. All professions dealing with magic fell under the rule of the maghai, the council of five grand master wizards. Staell referred to the former.

“When was this? How long ago did you have your premonition?”

Ten days past, and the cracked warlock you referred to also feels the stirrings of the old enemy. His power is growing. The premonitions are quite clear. Death is coming, war, famine; Xilor will march again and soon.

“And what did the Kothlere Council say to your message?”

It was ignored.

“So, they’ll do nothing?” To this, Staell remained mute. The heir reached for the goblet on his desk and gulped down the red wine. He swiveled in his chair to the liquor table, refilled it to overflowing and began to chug the drink. He came up for breath and looked at Staell. “Why tell me this?”

Because Ralloc will need your help, and so will Warlock Lakayre. If you don’t aid them now, Ralloc will burn, Judas will die, Xilor will merge the two worlds, and the fallen angel will join him.

“The fallen who?”

That part does not concern you, but that’s the full disclosure of the premonition. Just know that if you don’t act now, all will be lost. Even you and the Hive will not be safe up here.

“What you’re asking…”

I’ve asked you to do nothing.

“But you just said…”

That Judas and Ralloc will need your help.

“What you are proposing could be considered treason.”

I’ve proposed nothing. However, I think your men have grown tired of the walls of Eti and could benefit from some training outside the Hive, don’t you agree?

“Training exercise?” The heir looked at Staell before he took a few more mouthfuls of the bitter, red wine. Suddenly, a mischievous glint glimmered in his eyes. “I like the sound of that. Show our presence, our strength again, lest the realm forget!” He slammed his fist down on the desk and stood abruptly, excited by the idea. “The Black Tide will march once more!”

Calm yourself greatly, Heir. You’re exceedingly happy about this. Your movements must be strategic. There must be some meaning as to why you have mobilized without orders, lest Ralloc turn its might against you.

“What would you have me do?”

I’d have you do nothing.

“What would you … muse about at this conjecture of current and future paths and fates?”

You should just keep to plain talk; you’re terrible at being subtle.

“The Black Tide was never about being subtle!”

Touché. I’d muse that you’d need to convene with the jyneruls of the War Council. Talk war games, what-if scenarios, whatever it is that jyneruls talk about. You’ll get a feel for where you are needed most. In the meantime, I think the defenses of Cape Gythmel are in sore need of attention; perhaps you could send a small party there to provide a better assessment?

“Shades of the Underworld! That maggot hole isn’t worth two shits of a prostitute! Cape Gythmel held no strategic value to the Grand Royal Army, and they abandoned that cesspit of a settlement. What the hell am I going to do with that miniscule settlement of farmers?”

Because, good Heir, when Xilor comes through the Corridor of Cruelty, and he will, that’s where we need to choke him and cut him off from the rest of the domain. There’s no stopping him south of it. There are no strategic points where we could slow his war machine once it starts. He could, if he wanted to, just bypass every town where we set up defenses. But the Corridor, that’s the natural choke point, much like your stairs. Should a small party be there assessing the defenses, they could theoretically hit him hard. Your most veteran squad, perhaps? Conducting war scenarios?

“Aye, I can do that. Not many Krey left from the last war that are still in fighting condition. Most are ko-dons. But the youngest recruits from the Wizards’ War, they can still fight. I’ll send Void-Walkers squad to Cape Gythmel to see to the defenses.”

They must do all they can before Judas reaches there. Once he arrives, the war will be imminent.

“Not much twelve can do against a lack of defense fortifications,” the heir conceded.

I’ve heard the same said of battle.

“Touché.” The heir smiled. Standing from his desk, he walked back over to the railing of his office and gazed down into the Pit. It had all but cleared out, and now the floors were being scrubbed by neophytes.

“Oi! Wash boy,” he called. He was so loud that he caused another boy across the room to drop the handful of swords and maces he was carrying. Once the clattering died, the heir sent him a withering glance. He turned his attention back to the wash boy.

“Heir!” he acknowledged, leaping to his feet and standing at attention.

“Bring me the ko-dons and the do-don of Void-Walker squad. And make it snappy!” the heir slurred, the wine finally starting to take effect. “I ain’t got all day, scrub!”

And this is where I leave you, good Heir.

“What? Not staying for the battle plans?”

What battle plans?

“You know, for Cape Gythmel … for my little visit to Ralloc?”

Honestly, good Heir, I have no idea what you are talking about.

The heir chuckled a hearty, soon-to-be-drunk laugh. “I like you, horsey.”

You’re not bad yourself, for a dwaven.

“Hey! I’m not dwaven!”

Fine! I like you, too, little fat man.

The heir’s chuckles echoed through the floors and walls all the way up to the fourth floor in the House of Eti.