Land of the Giants, page 25
With the door shut behind his son, Thiazi gazed across the room at the paintings of his ancestors. Finally he could reclaim everything his fool of a grandfather had lost for their bloodline. From the day Thiazi had murdered the old goat, he knew today would come. His life’s journey had been to get their family back under the graces of Emperor Cronus. It had taken one murder after the next until he rose through the ranks of power in Belikar to claim the title of Duke.
Grunting, he pondered why such a great man as himself had been stuck with a weakling like his son, Tryn. Perhaps it was the god’s way of punishing him for sacrificing the boy’s mother that night? Shaking his head, he brushed away the notion. With Tryn overseeing the slaves, he would be out of the way during the archduke’s imminent visit. Thiazi almost felt bad for the lad, knowing that his days would be numbered once the duke was invited back to the capitol. The nobles here would make short work of him, no doubt. As he possessed neither physical prowess nor sharp wits, it would not take much effort before Tryn was the one lying on the floor with a Bloat leech in his throat.
Though, the child had brought up a good point. In all the hullabaloo of preparing for Archduke Marius’s visit, Thiazi had never once thought to consult his oracle, Siribel. He brushed aside the idea that the boy would think of something before himself and slipped into the adjoining room, motioning for the guard inside to leave and close the door behind him.
Thiazi stood in front of the towering golden birdcage and eyed his little treasure. Siribel was a spoil of war. He had claimed her as his own personal pet decades past, during a raid on Alfenheim to regain the Orathi Stones for the empire. Thiazi commanded only one of many battalions, but his had the good fortune to stumble upon Siribel’s home in the Sylvani Highlands. He had enjoyed slitting her brother’s throat while the elf witch was forced to watch. The thought of it brought a warm feeling across his groin even now. How she had begged for her life when they burned the rest of the warlocks and witches of her homeland alive!
The little elf woman stopped singing when he entered the room, hopelessly staring out an open window nearby carved into the stonework in the shape of a diamond. Themis’ afternoon light framed her delicate features, her long golden hair covering her entire back and draped across the floor around her bare feet. Siribel’s eyes were the color of polished amethysts, sparkling in the light that reflected off her fair skin.
“You were right again, my nightingale,” Thiazi cooed softly, grinning at the elf like a Cheshire cat ready to play.
“When has it ever been otherwise?” Siribel asked, her voice sounding like musical notes playing sadly against the breeze.
“Aw, why the frown today, little witch?” the duke asked, feigning interest as he ran his thick fingers across the bars. Siribel shifted among the lush pillows that lined the floor of her prison, her ivory robes rustling, so she could face him.
“It is the day of my birth,” she explained, unable to wipe the pout from her full lips and rubbing her small nose to hold back a sniffle.
“And why should your birthday bother you? Surely you are not worried about losing your looks in your old age?” Thiazi taunted.
Siribel was unable to lie to her master. He had a powerful curse cast on her long ago by his wife, only days before the elf prophesied that Tryn’s mother would lead to her husband’s death. Ah, Alendria, that was one murder he took little pleasure in performing. So, though Siribel knew what would come of it, she replied honestly and with little choice otherwise. “My age is not the problem. I was just thinking over all the decades you have kept me here in captivity, and it sickened me.”
Thiazi growled, his face a mask of hatred. “So my accommodations are not good enough for the elven she-devil?”
Siribel shimmied to the far edge of the cage, bracing her back against the gold bars and shivering.
The duke’s face melted into one of calm reserve, and he forced a smile. “Ah, don’t get worked up sweet Siribel. I’ve only come for another telling,
my dear. Tell me what I need to know about our unexpected visitor.”
The elf bowed her head in acceptance, crawling to the center of the cage and sitting cross-legged. She leaned her head back to stare up at the ceiling. Sharply her head jerked backward even farther as her eyes became pools of black with the very stars reflected deep beyond their cores. The future opened before her as she rocked back and forth. The oracle recited the many paths of destiny through her vessel, her dual voice ghostly and ethereal.
“The dark stranger will give you everything you deserve.
Forever will the Empire be altered.
Belikar will soon become of great interest to Emperor Cronus,
And the Olvaldi name will be whispered in fear.”
The vision passed. Siribel slumped forward, rubbing her cloudy eyes to clear her vision, and found the duke standing over her, inside the cage, with a bullwhip in hand.
Leering, he praised her. “That’s a good little pet. You see, witch? Soon enough House Olvaldi will rise to power once more.”
Siribel shook her head and whimpered, scurrying backward away from the duke.
“Ah, but first to celebrate your birthday,” he cruelly promised, pulling the whip taut with both hands and stalking toward the oracle.
Corbin watched his brother’s small group as they worked their way across the desolate expanse, back toward the jungle, with a sense of melancholy. Their separation was abrupt and unexpected. He had been shocked to hear how readily Logan accepted Isaac’s plan. It was not an easy decision to split up, and he had been surprised when Logan spoke with the voice of reason.
“What’s there to think about?” Logan had asked. “It’s not like we have much choice. We need the mage to help us in New Fal. Besides, how could we ever turn our back on those people down there?”
Corbin shook his head. “I don’t dispute any of that, but splitting up feels wrong. After all we have been through…I’d rather we stuck together.” He had only just begun having a real relationship with his older brother, who until recently had alienated him his whole life. It took an enraged battle with each other for Corbin to finally understand the source of his brother’s angst, his feeling of responsibility for their mother’s death when he was a child.
“You just want to go on an adventure,” Corbin said lightly.
“Perhaps there is more truth to that than either of us realize,” Logan admitted. “But there’s something else tugging at me. It’s as if all these years I have been asleep, daydreaming as life drifts past me. Now, at this time, in this place, I can make a difference…and for the first time, I want that. I want to feel like my life matters, like people actually care whether I live or die.”
Corbin had stared at him in awe. Who was this person standing before him, speaking with his brother’s voice?
Logan shrugged and cuffed him on the shoulder. “Aw, don’t go getting all teary eyed on me, now.”
They shared a nervous laugh, and then Logan rummaged in his pack. He pulled out a pendant on a brass chain. Corbin’s eyes locked on it, and then they did get teary. It was Elder Morgana’s pendant, the one she always wore during Sunday ritual. Logan placed it in his brother’s hands.
“Take this. I carry it to always have a piece of her with me. Hold onto it, and you will know that I am close behind and will always return—after my dazzling victories, of course.”
Corbin had chuckled and locked hands with his brother to bid him farewell.
Now that they were parted, a dark cloud hung over his heart. Though he trusted Logan to hold his own, Corbin could not help the nagging feeling that splitting up on the dangerous surface world was somehow a mistake.
The rains were finally dying down, leaving only occasional gusts of wind, and the three moons above began to shine through the fleeing clusters of storm clouds. As much as he would not miss the swelter of rain, there was a certain nostalgia in being beneath a closed roof again, even if it was just a blanket of clouds. Now that the moons were poking through, their light cast long shadows across the ridge and the desolate plains that lay between them and the city walls. With his brother and Bipp gone, Corbin suddenly felt very naked and alone in a vast world with no end to the heavens.
“We must be off now, lad,” Isaac said, placing a comforting hand on the young hunter’s shoulder. “You will see your brother again by this time next week.”
Corbin gave a nod, pursing his lips, and followed the wizard back to the top of the ridge. Isaac squinted down the shaft of his staff, which was pointed at Belikar.
“Okay, Isaac, how do you propose we make it across this stretch of desert wasteland unseen?” Kyra asked the mage, surveying the cracked landscape for an idea herself. “There’s not exactly a lot of cover down there.”
Corbin could see that though she had agreed to help on this task, Kyra was none too happy about it. The marshal was clearly someone who was used to getting her way, regardless of the implications, and even though she knew in her heart that helping the human captives was the right thing to do, she was still having a hard time coping with not having her choice in the matter.
Isaac looked back at Kyra, Stur, and Corbin, blinking and licking his lips like some mad hermit. Corbin fleetingly worried that the mage had forgotten who they were, based on the blank look in his eyes. “Yes, of course. We can’t use my cloaking spell—too much risk of having one of you trip outside the circle. And besides, we will want to move faster than that.”
“If we can’t use your shield, then what are we going to do?” Corbin asked, confused as to what alternatives they had.
“Ah, hold still and stop asking so many questions, the lot of you,” Isaac ordered, slowly circling his staff over each of their heads in turn. As his staff moved back from Corbin’s forehead, he could see a thin, wispy strand of glowing blue energy flowing from his face to the tip of the ivory wood.
“What is that stuff?” he gasped.
“So, you can see it, can you?” Isaac asked with mounting interest, without turning away from waving the staff over Stur. “What you see is a reflection of your person. I imagine you can see the energy flows since you are tuned to the psychic aether.” As he finished with himself, Isaac aimed the staff straight up to the clouds, where a globe of the blue light emerged and descended over each of them, tightening toward the crowns of their heads. Corbin was beside himself, looking to see if his comrades shared in the spectacle, but neither seemed to notice. They were more intent on watching Isaac and oblivious to the glowing bubbles of energy forming around their heads like halos.
“And…there,” Isaac said, standing back to admire his handiwork, “we are all set. Ready when you are!”
The companions looked at each other for some clue as to what the mage was talking about. As far as Corbin could tell, nothing had changed, with the exception of the luminescence clinging to their crowns.
“Is this some sort of silly prank, mage? Where are our disguises?” Kyra asked, folding her arms across her chest and cocking one eyebrow skeptically.
“At this level we look the same, but from above, the world sees a vastly different visage, I assure you.” Isaac pointed across the plains toward the walls of Belikar. “Any guards looking down on us will see nothing more than four mangy, wild coyotes running across the desert wasteland.”
“Running?” Stur groaned. The warrior could move fast as the wind when in battle, but never did he desire to run.
Isaac nodded. “Yes, we must aid in the illusion the guards will see. Not many coyote found walking at a steady human pace around here.” He tapped his staff on Corbin’s chest. “Now I’ll need for you to add to this enchantment. Alone I can create all manner of illusions great and small, but they are limited to sight only and will not change our voices, which may carry on these cursed winds.”
“But, what about that musical instrument—a piano, I believe they are called—the one you summoned for our dinner party at your home?” Corbin asked, his curiosity piqued. “That illusion played music and everything.”
“A very observant one, you are. I can see why you were chosen to receive the gift of psionics. The piano I like to summon during meals is made from nothing. It’s easy to alter nothing into any illusion imaginable, but that’s not what we are doing here. I’ll explain more on the way, but be prepared to do exactly as I say to keep our true identities hidden.”
Corbin agreed, and the mage beckoned for them to follow, using a spell to propel his body along at a good jogging gait, hovering just a few inches above the cracked desert soil, with the group in tow.
Corbin joined them, staying quick on his toes as they raced down the stone ridge toward the watchtower they had used only hours earlier. His arms tingled with goose bumps, thinking about how terrified he felt climbing back down the iron ladder, and he vowed no more tall buildings for him anytime soon. He felt the wave of nausea wash away as they left the creaking tower in their wake, heading for the looming walled city beyond.
“You see, when nothing exists, it is much easier to let your viewer believe…well, anything they can imagine. However, when something as complex as a human already occupies space and time, there is that much more to hide, lest your illusion be frail indeed,” Isaac explained, gliding a couple inches above the ground beside Corbin.
Corbin could think of another time when a robed man floated beside him as he traveled across an expanse, giving him a sense of deja vu. He shook off the feeling, hopping over a large jagged stone in his path. Isaac was nothing like the devious entity known as Baetylus, that evil crystal which had fooled his people into believing it was a god while it fed off their life source, like a parasite leeching off its unsuspecting host.
“So if I understand you,” Corbin huffed, trying to keep his breathing steady while he ran, “it would be easier to make a rock look and sound like a coyote than a human?”
Isaac’s eyes widened. He had not expected the boy to comprehend his meaning so easily. “Why yes, that is correct. But can you tell me why?”
Corbin found it amusing when the mage acted like a school teacher with him, but he answered anyhow. “Well, a rock has no breathing, no movement, and no sound of its own. It is dull and inanimate, therefore it has less to mask. Whereas a living being would have a certain way of moving and would make all sorts of different noises that you would have to mask.”
Isaac was even more impressed at the young man’s ease in grasping the fundamental principles of illusory magic. “Well, well, lad, most impressive. We may even be able to begin training you in some of the Illusory arts soon enough. Oh, watch your step!”
Corbin was beaming proudly at the mage and only narrowly missed stumbling over a dried husk of a snail shell the size of a small dog, its owner long since decayed back into the dust of Acadia.
Kyra giggled at his clumsy mistake. “Watch your toes, Merlin,” she teased, playfully winking at him before increasing her pace to leave them in her dust. Even after the heavy downpour, there were no puddles left on the craggy terrain, all of the water having seeped into the neverending network of jagged cracks that covered the stripped soil. Isaac seemed to think the marshal’s joke funny indeed, speeding up to join her.
“What’s a merlin?” Corbin asked Stur. Instead of replying, the weapon master shook his head, boisterously laughing at his ignorance. When they hit their first mile of running, Corbin could see the large warrior was sweating profusely around his forehead and neck. He had even taken off his battle helmet and set it inside his pack, hoping to get some cool air on his face.
Isaac fell back to Corbin’s side, warning Kyra to stay close by. “Here they come again, lad,” he said, pointing along the far end of the wall where the two guards appeared once more, working their monotonous circuit around the city. “As we get closer, there is the off chance those thugs will hear our talking or maybe even Stur’s grunting.” Isaac pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the red-faced, panting weapon master. Corbin noted that despite his struggle, the warrior’s pace did not slow in the slightest. “I want you to use your telepathic powers to tap into their minds—”
“You want me to read their thoughts from two miles away?” Corbin asked, exasperated at the crazy request.
Isaac scrunched his face, wrinkling the tight skin on his forehead. “No, nothing of the sort…unless you can manage it while doing this…but nothing so mundane. No. First and foremost, I want you to enter their minds and plant the tiniest, faintest hint of a suggestion that we are coyotes. So if they should happen to glance our way, they will not hear humans or see coyotes running at an odd pace, but instead let their subconscious mind fill in the blanks.” Isaac set the task before him. Corbin could not help feeling nervous at the mage’s request, which was asked as if it were some simple rudimentary task for a psionicist.
“Umm…okay,” he conceded, halting to press fingertips to his temples and fall inside his own mind.
“Oh no, you mustn’t stop moving, boy!” Isaac snapped, making Corbin jump out of his skin in fright.
“Okay, you don’t need to yell. Good grief.” Corbin scowled back at him, resuming his steady gait. The mage made no move to apologize, waiting expectantly for him to work his magic.
Corbin let his arms shake, wiggling them behind his back as he ran, trying to loosen up the tension growing in his shoulders. Pressing fingers against his temples, he let the psychic aether enter his body. It was not an easy task while moving, the cord of psychic energy fluttering about like a butterfly before he was able to catch hold of it in a steady stream. Once he had a firm hold of the chain, he aimed it across the desert plain, toward the top of the wall, forming a psychic bridge that he could cross to the minds of the wall patrol.
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