Just as dawn’s early rays were creeping up over the lush treetops of the Lyyn Forest, Shadox passed across a wood-planked bridge below and entered the kingdom of the Forest Elves. Across the shadow and sun-streaked trail he strolled, appearing as a shadow taken form. Tall and lean, his body was draped in his wet-ash colored cloak. The hood was drawn over his head, allowing only a fraction of his face to be seen within the darkness of the deep cowl.
He had been walking the better part of two weeks now, though his body showed no sign of fatigue, and his long stride maintained. He was traveling from the Shard Peaks, far west of the Spira, where he was exploring the deep catacombs beneath the mountains in search of ancient knowledge. He had been there for nearly a year, searching and researching lost civilizations, before a young Tracker found him and relayed an urgent message from Terill Estrial. The Tracker informed him of the on goings between the two Races, from the disappearance of Pal Rae up to the peace talks. Lord Estrial wanted him present for the meeting, hoping he could shed some light on the situation, or at least sway his old friend from waging war. Being an ally to both Races, Shadox was inclined to agree with Terill and left his studies immediately.
He moved through the forest with certainty. Where others might be oblivious, Shadox knew where the Forest Elves existed. Carefully concealed within the folds of the foliage, construed with the bindings of magic and woven with the forest elements, the Elven cities went unnoticed to the untrained eye. But Shadox knew the Ailia as well as any elf. He would never get lost in the Lyyn’s tangle while en route to one of his favorite places. He had spent a great deal of time with Lord Estrial, learning everything he could, offering what assistance he could when asked—always welcomed.
As he moved past houses crafted with bark and limbs, Shadox’s thoughts stayed on his old friend Turyn Andelline. The King’s son was missing and presumed dead. He could only imagine how hard Turyn was taking it. And though he was a good king, his temper when stoked had no equal. With his son missing, Shadox knew Turyn would go to no end to diminish his anger. Estrial was right to want him at this meeting.
It had been a few years since the sorcerer had seen his old friend, and thought it was sad that it was on such poor circumstances that they would meet again. The King would be upset, he knew, but after long he would come to see things differently and they would talk again of days better spent. He would help Turyn find his son and this matter would be finished.
His thoughts turned then to his own young protégé, Dren. The young man had been left in the hands of the Elves for the past months as Shadox went exploring the deep caves, learning how to master the sorcerer’s skills. Shadox smiled, thinking of his pupil. He was anxious to see what Dren had learned in his absence, and decided that when he left the Ailia again, Dren would be going with him.
After passing several long houses, the woods thinned and Shadox entered the Ailia Court—home to the Forest Elves. The village was massive to say the least, with large homes intricately designed in ancient Elven fashion, surrounding the lucid waters of the Ailia Springs. Homes resembled the scenery enclosing them, making them almost invisible.
Shadox moved off the trail, choosing a course of his own, walking between two shops, heading for the extensive buildings just beyond. The well-guarded living quarters of Terill Estrial covered a vast area around the Ailia Court, seemingly from one end of the village to the other. Fenced, and now guarded due to the threats and the attacks made at the outer regions, the residence was unapproachable to someone who did not belong.
Crossing the green lawn and passing several patrolling guards, Shadox found no interference.
In the center of his bed chamber, Terill Estrial stood speaking with a short elf who was dressed in forest-colored garb. Terill was tall and broad for an elf. His chest was thick and his arms were strong, both evident beneath the silver and green robe he wore. His blonde hair was shiny, kept several inches past his shoulders. His face was long and narrow, and his cobalt eyes were fierce as he spoke vividly, gesturing his hands as if doing so would help explain what he was saying to the young elf.
In mid-sentence, Terill stopped speaking. The side door to his chamber opened and a figure entered. Immediately he dismissed the elf, who in turn left the room, closing the door behind. Terill waited a moment longer to see if there would be any further interruptions, before greeting the intruder.
“Your timing is impeccable.” There was an edge to his voice. His narrow brown eyebrows lifted as his face seemed to relax. “Come now, it’s been too long.”
“For both of us,” Shadox replied, walking into the room.
“I was beginning to think you had better things to do, Shadox.”
With a broad smile, the sorcerer replied, “I’m not yet into the habit of turning away old friends.”
Hands firmly clasped upon meeting, following through to a brief hug and warm smiles. Shadox stood a foot taller, if not more, and the width of his frame seemed to dwarf the other. Shadox removed his hood, his shoulder-length hair the color of his cloak and just as dingy. Terill motioned for them to sit.
“Water? Ale perhaps, for such an occasion?”
“Perhaps.”
“Still searching for a lost life?”
Shadox grinned. “Way of life. And yes.”
Terill led the way to a small wooden table next to the wall covered in bookshelves, away from the door and windows. They seated themselves facing each other. Terill poured two glasses of red ale.
“Much has changed since your departure.”
Shadox nodded. “That is the way of things.”
Shadox stared at Lord Estrial for a moment with his black eyes unwavering. Terill had not changed since he had seen him last, nearly five years ago. His skin was nearly flawless, as if it defied age, while his own skin was already beginning to wrinkle. It wasn’t a fair comparison, he thought. Elves could live for hundreds of years.
With his great hands clasped in front of him, Shadox waited for the other to begin. Drinking idly, Terill Estrial finished his glass and poured another before speaking into the dark eyes waiting.
“What do you know so far?”
Shadox shrugged. “Only what your messenger was supposed to tell me.”
Terill laughed. “How I have missed you.” He finished his glass and set it off to the side, rubbing his chin as though a chunk of hair existed. “I have some unfavorable news, old friend. Several weeks ago I was informed that Prince Pal Rae, son of King Andelline of Cillitran, was missing. Your friend, the king, presumes me to have taken him.”
Terill leaned across the table. His eyes focused sharply, his eyebrows slanting angrily. “I have no such prisoner. Nor would I have reason to. I have sent word to King Andelline time and again, but none of my messengers have returned. Each night Men attack our outer posts. Threats have been issued: bring the Prince back or die.”
Shadox sat motionless. His expression blank. “I know Turyn Andelline. He would not attack if he did not have reason to. Why he seeks the Elves, I do not know. But I will speak to him. Perhaps I can gather some information.”
Terill sat back in his seat. “Do what you must, for your friend’s sake. If the Elves are attacked…” he slowly shook his head.
Shadox studied the other for a moment, his black eyes penetrating the elf’s thoughts. A minute later he looked down to his hands and unfolded them, rubbing his fingers slightly. When he looked up again, his stare was razor sharp and Terill was forced to look away.
“I have come a long way, Elf Lord.” He watched Terill’s expression sag. “It is not just Turyn Andelline that is troubling you. What did you really call me here for?”
After taking a deep breath, Estrial began. “Dren joined two Dark Elves and has left the Ailia. I cannot find them.”
Shadox was in shock. His mouth sagged slightly open and his eyes opened wide. “When did this happen?”
“Several weeks ago.” Terill watched the other sit back in his chair, his eyes drifting into thought. “They have taken our
most powerful talismans.”
“Dren.” Shadox gasped in disbelief.
Terill’s voice became cold as he spoke slowly, his eyes filling with anger. “A Mrenx Ku has been formed.”
“You are certain?” Shadox jumped out of his chair at once. “Quickly! We must find them!”
Shadox moved to the center of the room. Drawing his hood over his head, he warned, “If it is true, I will be able to detect their power. I should be able to locate them.” Without waiting, he closed his eyes and lowered his head, muttering something beneath his breath.
Shadox could feel the heat of his magic racing up and down the length of his body, searing through his fingers. He was testing the air, casting out his magic in search for Dren’s presence. He kept an image of his young friend in his mind and sent his magic to track him down. He found nothing at the Ailia Court, nor the Lyyn Forest. From there his magic branched out for miles in all directions.
Several minutes had gone by and the sorcerer had not moved. Drops of sweat trickled off Shadox’s face as he tried harder, dipping deeper inside his magic to cast further. At the brink of exhaustion, the sorcerer withdrew his magic and fell to his knees.
Terill rushed over quickly and helped Shadox onto the bed, feeling his body shaking under the heavy cloak. “Are you alright, sorcerer?”
“A moment,” he replied raggedly.
Terill stood watching. What did he do? Keeping his look of disbelief, the Elf Lord stayed at his bedside. They had been close allies for as long as he could remember. He couldn’t think of a better friend to have at the moment.
The world was changing, Terill thought. The Elves knew better than to keep with its ways, but things were working into their midst that they could not ignore. Rumors had spread to the Ailia Court from the far south, where the use of magic was being banned. Seers were disappearing. So were others either practicing magic, or born with it. Terill shook his head at the thought. Men were foolish. They were treating an ability to use magic as if it were poison, instead of the gift it was. They were scared of it. As they tried to remove it from their existence, the Forest Elves welcomed it, harnessed it. Elves understood its nature far more than any other race. They develop it, study it, and commonly practice it. Moderation was the key with its usage. If a person were to indulge in it, there would be a large price to pay.
How hypocritical am I, when of course Dark Elves are the very definition of that price.
Terill frowned. Men had reason to be afraid of the power of magic, he thought. Elves had just unleashed a power so great that no man could hope to withstand it.
For several long minutes Shadox remained motionless. Terill grew concerned. Then abruptly Shadox was at his feet, appearing as if nothing had happened. His face and eyes had regained their life, and he was back to looking invincible.
Terill glanced at him uneasily. “What did you find?”
Shadox walked past him and over to the table, pouring a glass of the red ale. After drinking a full glass, he replied, “Not the answers I was ready for.”
The Elven Lord joined him at the table and pressed the issue with caution. “What answers, Shadox?”
“Two things. I scanned the regions for Prince Pal Rae and found his body at the south end of the Caltar Mountains, just beyond the Cillitran palace. He is dead. I will take King Andelline there personally. Of Dren, I discovered nothing. I searched for miles and could not find a trace of him. So I increased my effort. I discovered something then: far in the north swamp lands something terrible exists. A power so strong it cannot be contained. I believe it to be the Mrenx Ku.”
“Then Dren, too, is dead. The magic has destroyed him.”
“Yes, and no. I fear as you do. Our dear friend may very well be alive and dead at the same time. I believe that what they created was far more powerful than they could handle, and now it lives through them. Their physical lives would be destroyed, but their souls could still be lost inside of the core of its magic.”
They paused for a moment, each taking in what it meant. Terill noticed a sadness creeping into the other’s eyes. “He was close to completing his training. He had grown strong since you left, powerful. He was awaiting your return to show you as much.”
Shadox sighed deeply. His tan face was lined with anger and confusion. “How could this have happened?”
“Persuasion by the Dark Elves can be overpowering to anyone. Dren was young and ambitious. He wanted to know more before he was able. I feel he kept a lot of anger still from his youth. The Dark Elves would have used that as a tool to persuade him. Dren wouldn’t have even known he was in danger.”
Lord Estrial stared blankly for a second, his eyes distant. “They began experimenting with crystals and potions, trying to create stronger magic. And once they found out how, there was no turning back.”
Shadox firmly placed one hand upon the other’s shoulder. “It is not you to blame, Terill. He was my charge.”
Terill didn’t necessarily agree, but he understood the other’s guilt. Dren was a young orphan when Shadox found him and began teaching and training him. Dren took to it almost naturally. For months at a time the two would exercise the craft, and when Shadox departed for weeks at a time, Dren stayed behind with the Elves, learning from those who understood the magic far better than anyone else, until he was old enough to test his skill and knowledge on his own.
Shadox treated him as he would a son, giving advice and sharing wisdom outside of magic and talismans. The two held a strong bond that the elder did not ever see breaking. The young boy reminded Shadox of himself at an early age, noticing several traits and characteristics they held in common. And now Dren’s magic was nearly as powerful as his own. Stronger perhaps, he thought, if Dren had been subverted into the Mrenx Ku.
“I’m sorry, Terill. I was gone for too long.” Shadox embraced his friend.
Terill hugged him tight, then let go. “Find him. Save him, if you can.”
Commotion filled the hallway just beyond Estrial’s door, shouts and a flooding of footsteps erupted, growing louder. The sorcerer and the Elven Lord looked to the door just as a heavy thudding beat at it continuously.
“Lord Estrial! Lord Estrial!” A voice summoned from the hall. “Please, I must speak to you!”
It was Bim, a scout on the fringes of the Lyyn, loyal and dependable. Terill looked at the sorcerer in question, hearing the desperate pleas continue, noticing the panic in the halls escalating.
“Enter!” he called out.
Instantly the door swung in, a mass of rushing bodies seen in the hallway before the elf closed the door and hurried to relay his message. Nodding quickly in homage, and not waiting to be recognized, the elf began speaking eagerly, his words spilling out on top of each other.
“My Lord, forgive my intrusion. I have just received a message from Cillitran. It is reliable and cannot be taken for anything but the urgent truth.”
Terill cut in quickly, seeing the panic in Bim’s eyes. “What is it, Bim?”
The elf looked scared, glancing up to the sorcerer. Terill waved off any questions, “You’re fine. Speak.”
Bim did so quickly. Wearing his hunting attire, the elf nervously rubbed his hat with his narrow fingers. “My Lord, the news is not good. King Andelline was assassinated just this morning.” He watched their faces turn instantly. Bim paused for a second before adding, “It was an Elven blade, my Lord. There will be no peace talks.”
The young messenger stood his ground for a moment, watching the shock move in waves across their faces, watching the disbelief settle with confusion. Bim swallowed hard. “That is all, my Lord.” He nodded fully, and then left the room to join the turmoil in the hall.
Terill’s eyes were wide, his mouth sagged open. “This cannot be. We would not have…” His voice trailed off as he wandered over to sit at the table, the blood appearing to have been drained from his face.
Shadox followed. He stood at Terill’s side and rested one great hand on the elf’s shoulder, turn
ing him, pulling him close so that their eyes were inches apart. The sadness swept from his dark eyes, turning hard. “Prepare your men for war, Lord Estrial.” He turned for the door leading outside, drawing his hood over his head.
“You’re leaving now?”
As Shadox reached the door, he wheeled back, seemingly angered. “I go first to restore order to the house of Andelline, then mass an army to fight the Mrenx Ku. If we are lucky, I can reason with them before they attack. Spare their lives however, we will need them. Create whatever magic you can to aid us. Be ready, Estrial, for the darkest battle comes to your door.”
“Men are no threat.” Terill dismissed Shadox’s concern annoyingly.
Shadox paused, his eyes narrowed coldly. “Elven Lord, an army of demons created by the Mrenx Ku marches south. Its numbers I could not count. Find talismans, my Lord. Find them soon.”
Terill Estrial swallowed hard. He felt his strength waiver. “We will be ready, sorcerer. But what would you do for the house of Andelline? The King and Prince are dead!”
“Cillitran needs a king!” Shadox slipped quickly through the entrance, disappearing into the garden.
Mulling it over in his head, Terill Estrial walked to the window and looked out to the courtyard seeing no trace of the sorcerer.
Deep below the surface of stagnant water and soil, beyond the burning midmorning sunlight, hidden in the lost ruins of an underground citadel, moans and wails of constant pain echoed. In the darkness, dozens of Seers stood chained hand and foot to the wall circling a massive ball of pitch blackness. Their bodies were arched forward, chest out, arms and legs stretched back, iron chains taut, as if something was pushing them away from the dirt wall, or sucking them from their prison. Their mouths held open, giving them a ghostly appearance.
But they were not dead. Not entirely.
At their feet, lay the empty husks of Seers whose purposes had been carried out and their flesh was no longer needed. Their stricken faces were singed around the blackened, empty sockets, while some still had a thin sheet of smoke rising into the pungent, unbreatheable air.
Suddenly bolts of black snaked their way onto the lifeless corpses, slithering from the dark ball of energy. The magic consumed its victims’ bodies, coating their flesh, sinking into it, nesting a home. Minutes later the bodies convulsed, heaving and throbbing as if something terribly wrong was taking place within them. Wails of unbridled pain exploded from their mouths as the black energy brought them to life. Rising slowly, new Takers stood before their master and awaited a command.
In their midst, blacker than the gloom surrounding it, the Mrenx Ku pulsated with life. It was strong enough to poison the land around it, to pollute the air and water. It would extend its range south and corrupt all life there as well. Everything would be destroyed. A piece of itself was already working on destroying those who could prevent its overtaking. That spirit, that small piece of itself, would find the powerful talisman and return it before the world even knew it existed. Then it would take shape and leave the lair. Then darkness would fall and the rebirth would begin.
Until then, Takers would do its bidding.
CHAPTER FOUR