The Heir of Jeragoth

Something wasn’t right. They should have had more opposition by now. When they entered the temple, they encountered only one Priest and the five Warriors guarding him. Iliard Candril cast out his senses to search for more enemy, but found none. The flickering torchlight gleamed dully off the obsidian floor and gray stone walls of the sanctuary, leaving impenetrable shadows in every corner. The temple was clearly active—the bloodstained altar was evidence of that. The Novadi warrior’s lip curled up in disgust. The blood basin at the foot of the altar was full and its obsidian slab was still wet. So where were the Priests?

He sensed the unease of the Priest and Priestess of Asaeria who were with him. The Priestess, a tiny woman with blazing red hair, shifted restlessly. “I don’t understand,” she said quietly, “There should be at least two more Priests here.”

The Priest, a slender man with snow white hair, nodded in agreement. “You’re right Zaira. Priests of Arnitath do not flee their temples not even, no offense Master Iliard, for Novadi such as yourself.”

The warrior nodded. “No offense taken Egan.”

“This feels like a trap,” Zaira said.

Iliard silently agreed, but he couldn’t fathom what he was missing. His psychic senses told him that no one was in the building. His instincts clamored that this was not possible. Even if the Priests had fled, along with all of the acolytes and the Warriors who guarded the temple, it was unlikely that they took all the prisoners with them. Victims for Arnitath’s altar were distressingly easy to come by. How could the temple be completely devoid of other minds? “Minds,” he said aloud. He stopped walking and drew his two long swords. “You were right Zaira,” he said quietly. “There’s a Mendari here shielding their minds. It’s a trap.”

Before Iliard could move to teleport his companions to safety, the first blow to his psychic protections came. Black-armored Warriors of Arnitath poured out of doors on either side of the sanctuary. Two Priests emerged from a door behind the altar, one in black robes with white trim, the other in gold robes with red trim. A Director and a Deliverant—both powerful Priests. They were followed by a man in all black robes—the Mendari. The Novadi warrior strengthened his mental defenses and the pressure eased, but his heart sank. Battling against the Mendari meant he would not be able to draw upon the life energy around him to fight the minions of the demon god.

Behind him, Egan roared an imprecation and bright white fire blazed up in the midst of the oncoming fighters. Zaira called up a wind that swirled within the fire, spreading it across the breadth of the sanctuary. Screams erupted from the Warriors caught in the heart of the inferno. Iliard heard one of the Arnitath Priests begin a prayer as several of the Warriors broke through the line of flames and converged on him.

Iliard clenched his jaw and readied his swords. He may not be able to use his Novadi abilities to their fullest, but he had been a warrior for nearly one hundred years and his blades were sharp. His task was to keep Egan and Zaira safe. He would not fail. His companions began a protection prayer. He felt the shield of his goddess envelop him. He hoped it was enough.

Sparks flew when the blades of the first two Warriors met Iliard’s. He kicked one of them and sent him stumbling back while he drove his right hand sword into the chest of the other. The Warrior’s knees buckled and he went down. Iliard ducked a strike from the first Warrior that was aimed at his neck, did a quick half-turn and severed the man’s sword arm at the shoulder with one sword, then completed the turn and took off his head with the other. He barely had time to take a breath before four more Warriors charged him.

Iliard’s blades flashed and danced in the torchlight and before long, the four Warriors were down. They had pushed him back in a slow retreat, but there was nowhere to go. The doors behind had slammed shut at a word from the Director. The fire barrier was weakening. The Mendari had resumed his attack on Iliard’s psychic defenses, which slowed his reactions. It was getting harder for him fight off the constant pressure on his mental protections.

Zaira shouted a word that sent the Deliverant staggering to his knees. The Director snarled a curse and a column of red-orange fire engulfed the Priestess. Her screams of pain echoed in the sanctuary. Egan quickly countered the curse and the fire went out, but Zaira was now on the floor writhing in pain. More Warriors we coming. Egan set up a barrier of tiny, whirling blades between them and the minions of Arnitath, but it would only slow them down, it wouldn’t stop them.

Iliard backed up until he was beside Egan. “I’m going to call on Master Philip.”

The Priest’s eyes went wide with dismay. “You can’t do that. You’ll have to drop your defenses. You’ll die.”

The Novadi took a deep breath. “If I don’t, we’ll all die.” He began to walk towards the oncoming Warriors. “I can’t let that happen.” With a swiftness that startled the Mendari, Iliard dropped his psychic defenses and sent out a single word to his master, “Mendari!” He felt the first hook of the Mendari’s mind link take hold. His limbs felt like lead and his swords dipped. The Warriors swarmed in for the kill. A sword pierced his side, another cut across his left arm, a third open a deep gash in his right thigh. Pain ripped through him and he went down to his knees. The second hook of the mind link sank in. His head bowed as if someone were pushing down on it. His swords slipped out of his numbed fingers. He saw movement and the flash of a sword out of the corner of his eye. He prepared himself for death and hoped his master arrived in time to save Egan and Zaira.

An unattached arm, still grasping a sword, fell into his field of vision. A battle cry rang out echoed by two more. Excruciating pain exploded in Iliard’s head. He cried out in agony, and fell to the floor. An instant later the pain and the psychic pressure were gone. He lifted his head carefully and pushed himself up to a sitting position. Through blurred vision, Iliard saw Grandmaster Philip, master of all Novadi on Ranwar, and his two lieutenants, Rhianna and Kyle, cut down the remaining warriors of Arnitath as if they were unarmed and unarmored. The body of the Mendari lay behind the altar, with his head several feet away.

Iliard looked down and saw that his hand rested in a pool of his own blood. Consciousness was slipping away from him. With an effort, he fought the darkness and began to pull energy into his body. He needed to heal himself before he bled to death. He directed healing energy to the wound in his side, but the effort cost him and he sank back down to the floor. He heard the voice of Egan boom an imprecation that shook the whole sanctuary. A moment later a piercing shriek of agony echoed throughout the temple. When the screaming kept going on and on, Iliard pushed himself up halfway and croaked out, “Egan.” The Priest, however, did not hear him.

A hand fell gently on his shoulder. “Be still.” Philip raised his voice, “Egan, enough. End it.”

The elder Priest glared over at Philip, then nodded curtly. The flames which surrounded the Director flared to a blinding white and the screams cut off. When the flames died, all that was left was a charred corpse. Egan then hurried over to kneel beside the now still form of Zaira and began a healing prayer.

Philip knelt beside Iliard and said, “You should lie down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Iliard didn’t have the strength to argue with him. Philip laid one hand on Iliard’s head, another on his chest and closed his eyes. Healing energy began to flow into the wounded man and the pain lessened a bit.

“You should really leave that to the experts.” The pair looked up at Egan, who supported Zaira. Her white robes were scorched and in places gone completely.

Iliard let out a weak snort. “If I’d waited for you, I would have bled to death.”

Zaira looked blearily down at him and said, “You look like hell.”

The Novadi squinted up at her, his dark eyes dim with pain, “Thanks.”

“Any time,” she replied with a weary smile.

“Thank Asaeria you got here so quickly Philip,” Egan said as he knelt beside Iliard. “I thought we were going to lose him.”

The Novadi Grandmaster shook his head. “Not while I can do anything about it.”

Egan put both hands on Iliard’s chest and softly intoned a prayer. Iliard felt his pain recede and a small amount of his depleted energy return. The Priest stood up and shook his head, “The wound in your side was serious. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” His brow creased in a deep frown. “Your nose was bleeding. How deep did the Mendari go?”

Iliard sat up and wiped under his nose. “I think he was trying for a death strike but he lost his head.”

Zaira let out a snort of laughter. Egan’s lips twitched. Philip didn’t laugh. He gave Iliard a hand to help him up. “I’ll call on Grandmaster Jared to have him make sure there’s been no permanent damage.”

“I’m not sure anyone would notice,” Zaira said.

Iliard gave her a flat look. “Funny. Do you take that show on the road?”

The Priestess quirked a brow at him. “I tried but Egan told me it was unbecoming of a Priestess of Asaeria.”

The Novadi chuckled. “I’d pay to see it.”

Zaira’s retort was cut off by the return of Rhianna carrying a scroll. Like Philip, she was liberally splattered with blood. She bowed her head slightly. “We checked the rest of temple, Grandmaster. We found no more Warriors, but there are at least a dozen prisoners in the dungeons below. Kyle is releasing them.”

Philip nodded in approval then pointed at the scroll. “What have you there?”

Rhianna handed the scroll to him. “I found this in a small alcove behind the altar.”

Egan snatched the scroll from her before Philip could touch it. “It could be cursed. You should never touch anything like this without having a Priest check it.” He closed his eyes a muttered a soft prayer. “It is not cursed,” he said as he unrolled it.

“I knew that,” Rhianna murmured. Philip raised his eyebrows slightly and shook his head. His steel gray eyes twinkled with amusement.

Egan spent a long time reading the scroll. Finally he looked up and said, “This appears to be a prophecy of some kind. I have never seen it before.”

Philip held out his hand, “May I?”

“Of course,” Egan replied.

Philip took one look at the scroll and his dark eyebrows shot up. He carefully read the prophecy, then handed it to Iliard and said, “You need to see this.”

Puzzled, Iliard took the scroll from Philip. As he unrolled the bottom half, he saw the symbol etched beneath the elegant script of the prophecy. “Blessed Asaeria,” he murmured. He turned a stricken look to Philip. “They’re after my brother.”

“Perhaps,” Philip replied thoughtfully. “This could have broader implications.”

“The High Baron Candril is an ambitious target,” Egan said.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Zaira said. “You would think they would want to remain well hidden then. Why would they try to build a temple in the heart of the Candril barony when they had to know the Novadi would be sent to stop them?”

“I think this was intended to draw Novadi,” Philip said. “The Mendari was here to trap a Novadi warrior. If Iliard hadn’t taken the risk to mindspeak to me, this battle would have been lost.”

Egan frowned. “I agree. If Iliard hadn’t deduced that we were walking into a trap, we would have been right next to the altar when they sprang it. There would have been no time to call on you or anyone else.” His gaze traveled over to the bodies of the Priests and the Mendari. “They had a Director here. That means they wanted this temple very badly. That Mendari was meant to send a message to the Novadi.”

Philip’s eyes hardened with steely resolve. “And the destruction of this temple will be my message to them.”

Zaira shuddered. “They would have taken Egan and me alive.”

Egan put his hand on her shoulder. “I would have killed you myself before I let that happen.” Both Kyle and Rhianna stared at the Priest in shock. He met their gaze, his expression grim. “There really are worse things than death.”

Iliard’s eyes grew distant. “Yes. Yes there are.” He fought back the lassitude that his blood loss caused. “Master Philip,” he said quietly, “What about this scroll? The temple of Arnitath has marked my brother for death.”

“Patience, Iliard,” Philip said. “This temple will soon be destroyed. We will take this scroll to Terin Novar.” He took the scroll from Iliard, rolled it up and slipped it inside his tunic. “But before that we need to tend to you.”

#

No one knew for certain how long ago the original Novadi order had been founded. There were legends that the order began some twelve thousand years ago during the first Great Forest war. Novadi warriors used the power of the life energy around them to enhance their speed in battle, so much so that they could see a short time into the future and anticipate their attacker’s movements. Novadi were so in tune with the world around them that they could also use the energy to teleport and to heal some wounds, as well as mindspeak and protect themselves from psychic invasion.

When the Dragons Lords came, some thousand years ago, the Novadi confronted them and came close to defeating the alien warriors. Thus challenged, the Dragon Lords threatened to destroy the entire continent of Ranwar if the Novadi did not cease their war against them. Rather than risk the deaths of hundreds of billions of souls, the Novadi dispersed and were diminished. Five hundred years later, a warrior from another continent came to Ranwar and, through much trial and pain, became the first Novadi of the New Order.

Terin Novar Arianna was master of all Novadi on Gorthus and had been since she revived the order more than five hundred years before. As with most powerful adventurers, her age showed little. Her long brown hair had only a few streaks of silver and a few small lines and one long, faint scar were visible on her face. Her eyes, although brown most of the time, changed color with her mood and seemed at times to shine with their own light. She was tall for a woman, almost as tall as Iliard, and moved with a grace born of centuries as a warrior. She looked at the man who sat across from her and smiled. Iliard Candril was one of the best Novadi warriors she had seen in a very long time, possibly since she had trained his mother so long ago. “From what Philip has told me,” she began, “the battle was well fought.”

Iliard flushed slightly, “Thank you, Terin Novar.” He cleared his throat and asked, “What about this prophecy, Terin Novar?”

She put down the prophecy scroll, leaned back in her chair, and said, “What do you make of it, Iliard?”

Iliard sat forward in his chair. “I think the temple of Arnitath has marked my brother for death.”

Arianna nodded. “Philip, what do you think?”

Philip steepled his fingers and answered thoughtfully, “I believe this may not involve Baron Candril directly, but perhaps the Candril family.”

“An interesting observation, Philip, given that Baron Candril’s mistress has just given birth to his child.”

Iliard shifted restlessly. “What has that got to do with anything?”

Arianna raised one thin brow and replied, “That child bears the mark of Jeragoth.”

Iliard blinked as an image of himself standing next to a young woman in the middle of a great battlefield, flashed into his mind. There were tens of thousands of battle weary warriors as far as the eye could see spread out before them. The smoke of distant fires filled the sky to his right and left where cities burned and lay in ruins. As he tried to clear his mind, more images crowded into it; he saw himself carrying a small child, a hint of his brother’s likeness shining through her features. Then he was riding alongside a young girl, already tough and wiry like an adventurer, and lastly, holding a young woman in full battle gear as she wept. He shook his head and frowned deeply. “How ironic that his bastard child should bear the mark.”

Arianna leveled a steady gaze at Iliard. “Bastard or not, the child will need to be protected.”

Iliard’s eyes went wide and he sprang out of his seat. “Oh no, I am no nursemaid. This has nothing to do with me.”

“This has everything to do with you,” Arianna replied calmly. “Your life is inexorably entwined with that of this child.”

Iliard took a few steps back. “Terin Novar, I cannot…I did not become a Novadi warrior so I could raise my brother’s daughter.”

“I would not be so sure about that,” Arianna said. “How did you know his child was a girl?”

“I…damn it!” He gripped the back of the chair. “You don’t understand. His mistress is a slave. He bought her from a brothel and he didn’t set her free. How can I be part of this when it goes against everything I believe, everything I’ve been fighting against for the past thirty years?”

“You are not going along with anything, Iliard. Your task is to protect your brother’s daughter, not condone his union with a slave.”

“But it’s the same thing,” Iliard protested. “I haven’t spoken to him in over a year. If I do this, he’ll think I approve of what he has done.”

“Your brother is a good man,” Arianna began.

“Good men do not own slaves and get them with child,” Iliard interrupted.

Arianna’s steely glare pierced him. “Master Iliard, your self-righteousness has no place in this stronghold. How many times did your brother save you from your father’s lash and even more so from your own folly? And in the seventy years you adventured together, did he once pass judgment on you?”

Iliard stood rooted to the spot, held by Arianna’s gaze and the memories her questions evoked. He looked down at his hands and murmured, “No he never did, it’s just that…”

“Just that what?” Arianna countered. “Am I mistaken in thinking you were upset at the idea that the temple of Arnitath has marked your brother for death?”

“No, of course not,” Iliard replied. “Just because I’m angry with him doesn’t mean I want him eviscerated on Arnitath’s altar.”

“And yet you would leave his daughter to suffer the same fate?”

“No!” Iliard threw his hands up. “By the gods!” He turned away from her, clenched his fists at his sides, and took a deep breath to calm himself. After a moment he turned back and said, “I apologize for my outburst, Terin Novar. But, please, I’m not the right man for this task. I am not…a family man.”

“Iliard, this task is yours whether I will it or not, we both know that. The visions you had were no coincidence. Although your brother is a good man, he will have a difficulty being a father to his daughter. You must be the one to protect and guide her. She will learn much from you if you open your heart to her.”

Iliard felt a pain in his soul that he thought had long since died. He sat back down, absently rubbing his left wrist. “Terin Novar, I don’t think I can do this.”

Arianna’s gaze softened. “I know this will be difficult for you, but I believe your reward will be beyond anything you can now imagine.”

Iliard closed his eyes to try to pull his thoughts together. Instantly he saw a little girl, her long brown hair flying behind her, run up to him and throw her arms around his neck. What he felt in that moment couldn’t be described in words. When he opened his eyes, Arianna was smiling at him. With a sigh, he sent up a silent prayer to his goddess. “I’ll do my best, Terin Novar, although I don’t know what that will be.” Philip smiled, then his smile faded and his eyes widened slightly. He looked quickly over at Arianna, who gave just the slightest shake of her head.

“Your best is all I can ask,” she replied to Iliard. She leaned forward in her chair and said, “Now for the hard part. The child and her mother live in a small house in Candril City. You will need to go there and live with them.”

Iliard’s eyes widened in dismay. “Live with them?”

Arianna raised an eyebrow. “How did you think you were going to protect the child?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Iliard replied. “But I don’t see how this is going to work. Under the best of circumstances my brother is very suspicious. If I suddenly appear after a year and ask to live in the house with his mistress, I have no idea what he’ll do.”

“Well, then you’ll have to convince him your intentions are honorable.”

“I don’t see how.”

Arianna made a sound of exasperation. “In all the years you were together, did you ever betray him?”

“No,” he answered.

“Then you have history on your side,” she said.

“I suppose,” he said skeptically. “But what of my work with the anti-slave underground?”

“That will have to wait,” Arianna replied. “This is your primary task now.” She smiled grimly, “Never fear, Iliard, there will still be plenty of slaves when you return.”

He hesitated, opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. When Arianna continued to stare at him expectantly, he finally said, “I have never been one for domestic bliss. I fear restlessness might get the best of me.”

Arianna chuckled. “I understand. Philip expressed a similar concern to me when I told him of your task.” She reached inside her tunic and pulled out a small wooden box that was completely smooth and had no visible hinges or clasp. She spoke softly and a line appeared around the box that deepened to a grove and finally a small gap between the two halves. She opened the box and removed a small emerald amulet on a gold chain. The emerald was about the size of a silver piece set in a frame of gold filigree.

Iliard frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand. Am I to wear this?”

Arianna shook her head. “Not you. This is a messenger—or it will be once we are finished with it.” She held up the amulet by the chain and said, “Take the pendant in your hand and focus your thought energy, as if you are trying to mindspeak into it.”

Iliard did as Arianna instructed, still unsure of his purpose. He took the pendant and directed his mind energy into the stone. After a few moments, he felt the emerald grow warm in his hand. He watched in fascination as minute pinpoints of light appeared in the depths of the dark green gem. First they vibrated and danced, but then they began to shoot like stars back and forth inside the stone. In his mind he heard what sounded like a song with complex interweaving harmonies. He looked over at her and asked, “What is this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked with a smile. She reached inside her tunic and pulled out an amulet that was an exact replica of the one he held, only twice the size. “This one was given to me over five hundred years ago. I asked the maker to fashion a similar one for you. Yours is not as powerful, but it will suit your needs.”

“But what does it do?” Iliard asked.

“As I said,” Arianna answered, “The amulet is a messenger. The person wearing the amulet can contact the person whose mind energy is imprinted on the amulet. That is why I did not touch the stone. This amulet will work only for you and the person you give it to.”

Comprehension finally dawned. “So, I am to give this to the child’s mother and she can contact me any time she needs me?”

“Yes,” Arianna answered with a nod, “All she has to do is hold the pendant in her hand and speak your name in her mind. You will hear her call and you can respond as necessary. But,” she added, “That doesn’t mean that you can go off for days on end. It’s not completely foolproof. Sometimes an assassin’s blade is faster even than thought. You must use your best judgment. I wouldn’t suggest that you be away overnight.”

“I understand Terin Novar. Thank you.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder how my brother will take me giving his mistress such a thing. As I said before, he’s very suspicious.”

“You already know my answer to that,” Arianna replied.

Iliard smiled slightly. “Yes, I know.” Iliard was silent for a moment then he asked, “Terin Novar, may I ask how the Novadi order became involved in the Prophecy of Jeragoth?”

“Many years ago, your mother asked for my advice regarding the prophecy. Since then, I have spoken with several different people about it and we decided that it would wise for the Novadi to be involved.”

Iliard looked surprised. “She never told me.”

“It was not her place to tell you,” Arianna replied. Ignoring his look of surprise, she went on, “Now go to your brother. He is about to see his daughter for the first time. He will need you.”

Iliard gave her a dubious glance and then nodded his head in acquiescence, “I will protect the child with everything I have.”

“I know you will,” Arianna said seriously. She stood up and held out her hand, “We will meet again soon.”

Iliard took her hand, bowed slightly and replied, “Until then Terin Novar.” He turned to Philip and said, “Master Philip, thank you for your help today.”

“You are most welcome, Iliard. Good luck in your new task.”

Iliard smiled wryly. “I think I’m going to need it.” Then he teleported away.

Philip leaned back in his chair, his brow creased in a deep frown, and waited for Arianna to speak.

“Iliard is a good man,” she said softly. She sat down in the chair that Iliard had vacated. “Kate was right about him. So were you. He will make a fine Wielder.”

Philip did not smile. “This charge will lead to his death.”

“That may be,” Arianna replied. “Only the gods know for sure.”

#

“Master, another has been born.”

The Mage looked up at the brown robed figure and asked, “Another what?”

The dark half-elf swallowed hard. “Another…like yourself.”

He frowned deeply. “There are no others like me, Crusas, you have told me so yourself.”

Crusas took a step back. “There have been no others in all the years since I found you…until tonight. I can sense his energy.”

The Mage shot out of his chair and wrapped his hand around his servant’s throat. “How can that be?! I am supposed to be the only one! It is my destiny to rule over all on Ranwar!”

Crusas clawed at the hand that was choking him. “Master, please,” he gasped, “I…I do not know. I know there are many prophecies, but I only have access to the one the Tagoni hold.”

A sneer of contempt marred the man’s handsome face as he shoved Crusas away from him. “You Tagoni,” he spat, “with your antiquated rituals and weak magic.” He stood for a moment with his fists clenched. Finally he said, “Fine, let us go to your High Priestess and see what she has to say about this.” Crusas’ eyes widened with terror at the thought of seeing the High Priestess if Igea, the goddess of pain and suffering. The Mage chuckled at the half-elf’s fear. “I will ask that your torment be short this time.”