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Casca didn’t sleep well that night. When he finally drifted off, he found himself in a brightly lit cavernous hall. The walls were lined with shelves, containing rows and stacks of books, scrolls and bound parchments. Walking down the hall, he gazed at the shelves and their contents in wonder. Craning his neck, it was impossible to tell how high the shelves reached.
Moving closer, he recognized some of the works, but most were unknown to him. He longed to sit on one of the ornately-carved chairs spread about the room and lose himself in these fascinating looking tomes. He gasped in frustration when he found he couldn’t grasp any of them – his hand simply passing through them, though they looked solid enough.
Shaking his head, he walked on for what seemed like an eternity. What is this place? He wondered. As the thought flitted through his mind, he saw a figure sitting before a desk in the distance.
Casca glanced around, and seeing no one else in the hall, started walking toward the figure. As he did so, the distance between them appeared to shorten rapidly.
Approaching the desk, he studied the figure. The man had long white hair hanging past his shoulders, his white beard brushing his chest. His eyes were a piercing blue that seemed to look right through him. Casca’s brow furrowed, for he looked familiar.
“Who are you? Where am I?” he asked, trying to meet that piercing gaze.
The stranger didn’t answer at first, as he continued studying Casca. He radiated immense power and authority. He had a square-jawed faintly ascetic face, and his piercing cerulean eyes shone with a fierce intelligence, and spoke of one who had done and seen things beyond the scope of ordinary mortals. Casca felt the light in those eyes could level mountains.
Finally, the man spoke in a deep sonorous voice that echoed through the hall.
“I shall start with your first question, kinsman. I am Castillan.”
Casca’s eyes widened at the man’s revelation. “You are my ancestor, the magicker who vanquished the… Gualich,” he ventured.
“Don’t act so surprised, kinsman,” the older man responded, a smile flickering on his lips. “I think you suspected who I was. But I hate the term magicker. A magicker does cheap tricks for baubles and the amusement of crowds at fairs and such. And the terms sorcerer or necromancer suggest something dark and unwholesome. I prefer to be called a mage. Now, that has a certain… nobility about it.” The smile flickered again, but his eyes remained humourless.
“As to where you are,” Castillan continued, “that is of no matter. I conjured this place as I thought you might feel more at ease in these surroundings. I summoned your spirit here as you slept.”
Casca blanched. “You mean this is no dream?”
“It certainly isn’t,” Castillan said. “You are here as surely as when you are in that delightful tavern of yours with your friend Pagan.”
Casca’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know about that?”
“Of course, I do,” Castillan snapped, an edge of irritation in his voice. “What kind of …magicker would I be if I didn’t? You are my descendant. We share a strong connection.”
“So why did you…summon my…spirit here?”
Flames seemed to flicker in Castillan’s eyes, making Casca take an involuntary step back as he felt the power of that intimidating deep-blue gaze. “That question is unworthy of you Casca. Do you think I asked you here for a cosy fireside discourse on the merits of some of these chroniclers?” He waved a hand at the rows of shelves. “You know damn well why you are here. The Gualich are returning.”
Noting the alarm in Casca’s eyes, Castillan paused and motioned him to sit. “Forgive me kinsman,” he said in a more measured tone. “I have always been somewhat irritable, and was never known for my patience.” He smiled wryly. “It appears the passing of the ages haven’t changed me.”
A chair materialized opposite Castillan, and Casca sat.
The irritable mage continued. “As it is, you haven’t the means to defeat these abominations. Mine was a time of heroes. Three stood with me. Belash the Axeman, Kyung-Su of the Storm Blades, and a formidable though extremely irritating woman who didn’t know her place. Mighty as we were, we still needed the aid of the Elementals of the land, sea and air. But these great beings are gone from your world. You and the surviving descendants will not prevail without my help.”
“But how can you help?” Casca asked. “You are dead. You died almost a thousand years ago!” He shook his head in disbelief at the sheer absurdity of it all. Here he was, holding a conversation with a dead man who had lived in an age clouded in myth and legend. “And how do I find these surviving descendants? They could be anywhere in the world.” He shook his head again in despair. “And if I do find them, how do I convince them they are destined to help rid the world of shape-shifting demons? Even I find the whole thing hard to believe. My father use to tell me stories about the Gualich, but I thought they were merely wicked jests.”
“Your father, Carallion was a good man, though he drank a bit too much. But hardly surprising, carrying the burden of the portal possibly failing in his time.” Castillan said.
Casca nodded, a smile creasing his face at the memory of his father. “Yes, he loved imbibing, and the pipe, but he was a strong man who didn’t let his vices control him. But tell me, how do I find the descendants and what kind of help can you give?”
Castillan locked gazes with Casca, a low rumble of appreciation in his throat. “I do like you, boy. You have no magicks, nor are you a warrior, but you have focus and are not easily distracted. It’s good to know my line remains strong. Your boy Aeneas, is also made of strong stuff. You named him well, though you departed from the usual tradition of male names in our line.”
“What do you mean?” Casca asked.
“Well, my grandfather was called Calinos, my father Cestophan, named me Castillan, and I named my son Celeos. Your father was called Carallion, and you, Casca. I am sure you see the pattern.”
Casca pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “What do you mean I named Aeneas well?”
“Aeneas was the name of a hero from a land called Troy.”
Casca’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Troy? Never heard of it. Must be far away.”
“Aye, kinsman. It is far away. Far, far away than you could imagine. Troy is a land in another world.”
Casca frowned again, doubt etched on his face.
Castillan smiled, shaking his head in amusement. “Come...come… Casca, you know the Gualich are from another world, so you shouldn’t be surprised there are also other worlds of men out there. These worlds can sometimes be reached by those who have the ability and means, through gateways located in areas of great power where what some call ley lines converge. One such gateway or portal lies in Tor-Arnath, which means torn in half in the old language.”
Despite his misgivings, Casca listened intently, for he had always been fascinated by esoteric matters.
“Yes, it is fascinating is it not, kinsman?” Castillan said, noting his descendant’s rapt interest. “Sometimes, those with power or latent abilities, are able to sense or feel the echoes of great events in these other worlds of men. This gift runs in our line. Your father named you Casca, after a brave man who helped slay a great leader in another far-off land called Rome. He did this to save the land from the unjust rule of a tyrant.”
Casca shook his head, forcibly dismissing matters of mysterious lands called Troy and Rome from his mind. “This is indeed fascinating as you say, but you brought me here to talk about the Gualich.”
“You are right, Casca,” Castillan said, getting to his feet. Casca was surprised to see how tall and imposing his forebear was. “Walk with me kinsman.” Casca rose, his head barely reaching his ancestor’s shoulders. Castillan looked down at him and grinned as both men walked down the row of bookshelves.
“Your friend Pagan told you help usually comes from unexpected sources,” Castillan said. “He is right. He has rare knowl
edge and depth for a barbarian. The Gualich haven’t fed for aeons, and have been surviving in a semi-transient state. Their hunger is colossal, and should they return, present a threat not just to Petralis, but to lands many hundreds of miles distant, and perhaps the world itself.”
Castillan paused to gather his thoughts, then continued. “For some time now, those gifted with the sight have been directing the descendants of Belash and Kyung-Su onto a path that would eventually lead to Petralis. Some acted on feeling a vague unease about a looming evil, while others had a clearer understanding of its nature. So, have no fear kinsman, your fellow descendants will make themselves known very soon. The wanderer, Pagan, has been residing with you for some years now. His path to Petralis was long and arduous, and it’s likely he will play a pivotal role in what is to come.”
Casca remained silent, taking in his ancestor’s words as both men walked slowly down the line of high shelves. Glancing up, he saw a title he recognized; a rare treatise on the six hells ruled by the Nordir dark god, Sutr.
“Pay heed to my words, kinsman,” Castillan warned. “As the force holding the Gualich behind the portal begins to fail, the first through will be Herald. He will feed, take on solid form, and send some of the stolen life-force back through the portal to his brother Suanggi. These soul-drinkers… the harvesters, are evil creatures; men that succumbed to the Gualich’s promises of power and eternal life. The Suanggi and their masters are linked. When one feeds, they all partake of the questionable repast. Once all the Suanggi come through the portal with their Bahktak…these are gigantic hounds also linked to the Gualich, chaos and blood will envelop the countryside. Stolen life essence sent back through the portal will increase many-fold. Beleth, the eldest and most powerful of the Gualich will cross the portal and return to Tor-Arnath.”
Castillan stopped and looked at Casca. “You must destroy as many of the Suanggi and Bahktak as you can. Prevent them from feeding, and get the people away to safety. Once Beleth arrives, your task will be much harder. If Beleth feeds enough, and succeeds in summoning his six brothers, then all is lost. The power of all seven together, is beyond imagining. In my time, strong though we were, with powerful allies, we couldn’t destroy them. The best we could do was banish them to their desolate home-world. You must prevent all seven from returning and rebuilding their towers in Tor-Arnath. Petralis is doomed if they do, and the whole world should beware.”
Casca looked up at Castillan. “That is comforting news…and what help should we expect from you, ancient grandfather?”
Castillan laughed – a sound of deep merriment echoing through the vast chamber. “I do like you Casca, you are indeed worthy of being my kin. Ancient grandfather! Now, that title does find favour with me! The Gualich and their servants cannot be harmed by any blade or weapon forged from earthly materials. You will need the Storm Blades and Ausak Demon Bane.”
“Where do I find the Storm Blades, and... this… Ausak Demon Bane?” Casca asked. His brow wrinkled in thought. “Ausak...I have come across that name before...”
“Ausak Demon Bane was Belash's axe,” Castillan said. “The Storm Blades and the axe are birthrights passed down the line by Kyung-Su and Belash to their descendants. As I said earlier kinsman, they will make themselves known to you. The life-force of the Gualich is powerful, making them virtually impossible to kill. But you may be able to inflict enough damage on Beleth, weakening him, and forcing him to seek surcease by fleeing back through the gateway. Once he does, call on me and working through you, I will reseal the portal.”
“Wouldn't it be better if you closed the portal for good, or better still, destroy it?” Casca protested. “Sealing it as before, simply means the Gualich will threaten the world again sometime in the future when the energies sealing it begin to fail.”
“There is no way to close or destroy the portal,” Castillan said.
Casca’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t convinced. Surely there had to be a way, but he had to concede he was no expert in the subject of gateways between worlds. He dismissed the matter from his mind.
“This is the burden the line of Castillan is destined to bear,” his ancestor said. “It is what sets us apart from ordinary men scurrying about trying to eke out an existence. We are guardians, protectors, men of strength and knowledge. We alone stand between the world and the evil of the Gualich!”
Casca, surprised at the fervour of Castillan’s words paused, then spoke. “How do I call upon you?”.
“Simply picture my face as you see me here, and call my name twice, and I will harness my powers through you.”
Casca wasn’t enamoured at the prospect. “You mean you will possess me?”
“No” Castillan said. Two souls cannot reside in a single body at the same time. That way lies madness. You will simply act as a conduit for my powers. Our affinity as kin, together with your innate strength and high intelligence make this possible.”
Casca nodded, though still uncertain. “I suppose I have no choice.”
“You always have a choice, but this remains your only chance of success. But remember, you must do this before Beleth is strong enough to summon his brothers.”
Casca was silent, his mind in some turmoil. The thought of this powerful sorcerer, although he was his ancestor, using him as a conduit wasn’t a comforting one.
Castillan studied his descendant. “I know what you are thinking Casca. The magnitude of what you are about to face is frightening, but have faith and be strong my boy, for the blood of Castillan, the most powerful mage of his time runs in your veins. We will succeed. Now it is time for you to return to your world.”
“Wait,” Casca said, raising a hand to interrupt his long dead forebear. Something he had said earlier was still bothering him. “If there are other worlds of men that can be reached through these… gateways, why haven’t the Gualich found them? Why wait a thousand years to return to our world?”
“Who knows what goes on in the mind of a demon?” Castillan replied. “Mayhap they simply couldn’t find these portals, or perhaps they are warded against their like and other unwanted visitors.”
“A wise precaution,” Casca said. “But that begs the question why whoever built the gateway at Tor-Arnath didn’t ward it.”
“I don’t know,” Castillan responded. “But it matters not. You…we, have to deal with the situation as we find it. Now you really must return.” He traced a pattern in the air and whispered an incantation under his breath.
Casca opened his eyes. He was lying on his bed in his room at the Folly. Groaning, he swung his legs to the floor and walked to the window. It was still night time, and dawn was some time away.