Mystic Pursuit, page 2
Lakos then hastened his approach, coming to within five strides of the frightened sentry. “But all of that is quite irrelevant, I’m afraid,” he snarled, “As if you dare alert the Ohlinn to our plans, you had better pray that they protect you from me.”
Hajassin could now see several soldiers exiting their tents, roused by the commotion.
“Get back!” screamed Hajassin, unsheathing his sword and waving it at Lakos, struggling to maintain control over its considerable heft. “Don’t come any closer, I’m warning you!”
Lakos drew nearer, his face cast in cold stone. “I’m afraid we have moved beyond warnings, young soldier. For my men must know that dissent will not be tolerated. I am truly sorry, but you must be made an example of.”
With Lakos almost within arm’s reach, Hajassin stepped back, coming up against the now-liberated horse. Startled, he dropped his sword and glanced behind him. Forced into full commitment of his attempted escape, he turned to his horse and, in one fluid motion, mounted it and took off as quickly as he could toward the ominous forest ahead.
“Stop him!” shouted Lakos, waving the other soldiers to mount their horses and take off in pursuit.
Riding low on his horse as he urged it forward, Hajassin could hear the sound of the other soldiers gaining ground. He also began to feel the first drops of rain spotting against his face as the roars of thunder continued to amplify. Then, as the towering border of trees grew nearer, a bright flash of lightning lit up the terrain ahead. In it, he could see a stationary form directly in front of him, blocking his path to the forest.
Following the lightning strike, the path in front of him once again grew dim, save for a faint glow of blue. Hajassin’s desperation for escape was quickly obscured by confusion over exactly what lay ahead. A second flash of lightning brought instant clarity to the scene. There was a small wagon, led by a strange animal, the silhouette of which he could not decipher, and a lone figure. The being stood tall but crooked and disturbingly thin, with a sphere of blue light swirling in the air above its cupped hands. The blue was also reflected in the eyes of the being, as it stood calmly in his path.
Hajassin was transfixed by the light. He could not look away. Within moments, the sound of his pursuers drowned out into a murmur of white noise. He had also grown oblivious to the faint mist of rain now descending upon the grassy plain. His focus was completely, inescapably, bound to the soft, blue glow and the slender form projecting it.
His ambition to retreat into the Valla Forest slipped from his consciousness. Hajassin slowed his horse, stopping mere strides from the strange figure.
The group of soldiers racing toward him also stopped to observe from a distance what was unfolding, while Lakos continued ahead.
The mysterious figure glanced up to see Lakos draw near, the swirling blue orb above his hands promptly vanishing into nothingness.
“This does not concern you, stranger,” shouted Lakos. “Just continue on your way and leave our business to us.”
“I’m afraid it does concern me,” replied the figure cryptically.
The weathered old soul stood in front of an equally worn rock leopard, so named for its broad, angular gray-black shoulders. Strung across the animal’s shoulders was a round object, roughly the size of a wine barrel, concealed by a tarp and tied tight around the rock leopard’s chest.
The figure’s sapphire eyes burned brightly, framed by a sallow and mottled complexion. His long, fine gray hair bore the faintest suggestion of contrast against the distinctive light streaks that ran across each temple. The faded, frayed cotton garments identified with his kind hung loosely over his depleted frame, billowing in the cool night breeze.
“You are an Ohlinn!” snarled Lakos, unsheathing his sword while still astride his horse.
“Indeed, I am,” replied the figure. “Or at least, was once, long ago.”
Lakos’s eyes burned as he looked down upon the sorry figure. “In that case, I’m afraid I must agree with you. This does concern you, as it does the rest of your kind. For I have been tasked with ridding the world of every living mystic, Ohlinn or otherwise, and it appears that I will be starting with you. After, of course, we dispatch our mutinous young soldier here.”
“Might I suggest an alternate strategy,” replied the figure, slowly reaching into his pocket and revealing a small dagger. He tossed it to the ground by Hajassin’s feet.
Still seemingly lost in a haze, Hajassin slowly knelt down and picked up the dagger.
“You old fool,” laughed Lakos. “The blade will do the boy no good. You do not know who you are dealing with,” he remarked, holding his sword high as he brought his horse toward Hajassin.
The strange old Ohlinn merely grinned as he looked down at the young human, his sapphire eyes seeming to glow brighter still.
Hajassin rose, dagger in hand, and looked up at Lakos with eyes wide and forlorn. Before Lakos could strike the boy down, he watched in disbelief as Hajassin plunged the dagger deep into his own chest, falling to the rain-soaked ground.
Lakos looked to the Ohlinn, speechless.
“I know quite well who you are, Lord Lakos,” said the old mystic. “And I come to tell you that there are more ways to defeat an enemy than simple force.” The frail spirit-mystic knelt down by the boy and retrieved his dagger, wiping it clean against the grass and sliding it into his pocket.
“Who are you, and how do you know who I am?” asked Lakos. “And why are you helping us when we seek to destroy your kind?”
The old Ohlinn’s craggy smile grew wider still. “All answers in due time, my lord. But first, I humbly request entry into your camp. I have traveled across many lands to reach you and my weary bones are in desperate need of warmth. Besides, the longer we stay at the threshold of the Valla Forest, the greater the chance an Ohlinn sentry will grow aware of your presence.”
But Lakos sat firm atop his horse. “I will do no such thing. You know of our presence here and our mission. And I know the devious ways of your kind—you could have already warned the rest of your order using Ohlinn telepathy. I should have already killed you.”
The old Ohlinn laughed, his voice weak and dry. “Lakos, you are all that I expected. However, you have much to learn of Ohlinn ways. But more importantly, I should impress upon you that I am no longer part of the Ohlinn order, and I have not been for quite some time. I spent my life serving another, until his actions thirty years ago left us all in disarray.”
Lakos was dumbfounded. “Gris Hallis,” he finally muttered, still in disbelief. “The fallen Ohlinn.”
For several tense moments Lakos glared down at the old mystic, scrutinizing him while Gris Hallis stood his ground, awaiting a response.
Seeming to fight against his intuition, Lakos finally conceded, waving the old spirit-mystic forward as he turned and led his men back to the settlement.
CHAPTER TWO
Lakos watched as the old Ohlinn leaned over the settlement’s rekindled fire, rubbing the circulation back into his bony shoulders. By this time, the misting rain had dissipated enough to bathe the camp in soft moonlight, as dozens of now-alert soldiers whispered amongst themselves to assess the situation.
“Tell me, old mystic,” asked Lakos, gazing into the fire, “how did you stop that soldier? He took his own life, but somehow, you were controlling him.”
“There is a depth to mystic ability far beyond that your kind have knowledge of,” replied Gris Hallis with a gentle grin. “However, I am here to educate you.”
Lakos was perplexed. “Why did you come to me?”
Gris Hallis’s eyes slowly shut, savoring the warmth. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.” He grinned. “For Noryssin’s prophecy to come to light.” He suddenly turned from the fire, his eyes now affixed to Lakos, alight with their own sapphire blaze. “Following the siege of Merrin Ells, I watched the world both recover and fall to pieces yet again. With the sacred tower, my home, in ruin, I was forced into lands I had seen only in visions. I saw a world without direction, hope or guidance. I saw bonds between beings forged through the ages suddenly dissolve, and it broke my heart.”
“Your senility paints a touching picture,” sneered Lakos, growing tense. “But the world under Noryssin was far from idyllic. We were prisoners, all of us. Trapped under his ultimate authority. Even you, his… apprentice.” The word bitterly left his lips.
“We were instruments in a grand orchestration,” retorted Gris Hallis. “Noryssin’s role was simply that of the conductor, without whom, our own gifts would be lost in a din of chaos.”
“Chaos is a small price to pay for free will!” shouted Lakos.
Unaffected by the outburst, the old spirit-mystic continued. “Following Noryssin’s betrayals, through this supposed free will, as you call it, the sacred bond between humans and mystics was fractured. The three mystic orders retreated back to their lands of origin—the Masdazii to their maze of cliff side tunnels, the Lii-jit to the Sani-jai rainforest, and the Ohlinn to the safety of the Valla Forest. I saw it all unfolding right before my eyes.”
“And the world was a better place because of it,” spat Lakos.
“On the contrary,” said Gris Hallis. “Without the Gray Mystic’s unifying force, universal balance was lost. Surely you witnessed this happening, the same as I? Lands, long protected by subtly guiding forces, suddenly devastated by an endless string of natural disasters. Dry, desert plains sieged by torrential downpours. Lush, thick forests assaulted by scalding heat waves and battering winds. The world that I so dearly loved had become a disjointed and dangerous place, growing all the more dangerous with each passing day. Of course, I could not expect you, or any other human, to realize that such phenomena were in fact the consequence of a world in chaos. But I assure you, there is no other explanation.”
“That still does not explain why you now stand before the very human destined to destroy your kind.” Lakos moved directly in front of Gris Hallis, staring into his eyes with barely a stride between them. “I shall ask you one final time. Why did you come here?”
“Following the end of the Voduss Grei lineage, I knew it was only a matter of time before the one prophesized by Noryssin would emerge to restore it. Utilizing one of the few remnants of Ohlinn life I still retained, I would meditate for days on end, desperate for a glimpse of the world’s next great leader. And it did not take long for my wish to come true. I saw you, venturing across the realms, absorbing whatever knowledge anyone was willing to pass down to you. You were patient, methodical in your quest, forcing me to do likewise. Over the years, I could see you growing stronger, mastering military strategy, and assimilating volumes of techniques and tricks gleaned from the furthest reaches of the known world. Never before had I seen a human with such conviction, such singularity of purpose. I knew you were the one. And, not surprisingly, so did others. I saw your own following begin, swiftly growing into the impassioned army I now see before me.”
“A romanticized vision if ever there was one,” replied Lakos, “but your flattery falls on deaf ears.” He slowly withdrew his sword and circled the broken-down old mystic. “And so, you’ve been watching me, studying me. Which means that you know who I am, and exactly what I’m capable of. And yet you, whose former master thrust me to this fate, come to me of your own accord. Surely your great insights have intuited that this encounter will not end well for you.”
“It is the actions of my former master that brought me here,” replied Gris Hallis. “When Noryssin betrayed the humans of Merrin Ells, he betrayed us all. He took from me the only life I had ever known. But following that night, when he told me that he had no choice but to destroy the sacred tower as well, I could see the fear in his eyes. He knew that despite his savagery, he had failed to kill the one in his vision. The human who would one day assume his throne. And where he saw despair, I saw hope.”
“How very astute,” said Lakos. “But the fact remains, you were closer to Noryssin than any being. And I am to believe that you are now my ally? I am the chosen one!” he shouted. “I am your master’s nightmare!”
Gris Hallis was not fazed. “I do not deny my origin. I was born Ohlinn and left the security of the Valla Forest as a youth to serve Noryssin, the last of the sacred Voduss Grei, from within the sacred tower,” he declared, solemnly gazing into the flames. “Nor do I deny my dedication to his rule, or my level of involvement in all actions preceding that fateful night. When Noryssin took me from my life with the Ohlinn, it was with the ambition of cultivating a successor. You see, he had ruled the five realms for longer than any Gray Mystic before him. He knew that despite his great power, his time in this world was finite. And so great was his love for the world and all life upon it that he wished to ensure its continued prosperity. I, and I alone, was granted access into the sacred tower, and the great many secrets within it. Groomed as his successor, until he determined that I was unworthy to receive this greatest and ultimate responsibility. By that time, Noryssin looked upon me as a son, trusting me completely to serve as his proxy for all affairs taking place beyond the boundaries of the Inner Realm. But, for reasons never revealed to me, I was eventually deemed unsuitable to succeed him as the next Voduss Grei. At first, I was enraged, of course. Convinced that he had grown senile in his old age, crazed and unwilling to relinquish his power. Surely, I was more than fitting to take his place, to do what he had done. To lead, to create, to rule.” Gris Hallis turned from the fire to face Lakos, his sapphire eyes glistening in the moonlight. “Or so I thought.”
Lakos merely stood and watched the old mystic tell his tale, as the sea of soldiers surrounding him did likewise.
“It took many years and much suffering to realize and accept my place in the universe,” continued Gris Hallis. “Noryssin was right. My dear Lakos, I am no more a leader than you are a humble fisherman. But that does not mean that I am without great power. You seek to govern all that you see, all that exists in this world. The ground beneath us, the birds, fish, mountains, the breeze, the rain, the men. The mystics. My dear Lakos, I come to tell you that the breadth of your future kingdom far exceeds that which you can merely see with your eyes. And I come to tell you that in order to see your fate realized, you must first take this fractured world and once again make it whole. Not to blindly destroy those for whom your hatred burns, but to rebuild what has been destroyed. Is the momentary satisfaction of taking the lives of your enemies not inferior to the undying pleasures of ruling over them? There is a great empire at your fingertips, a world of servants laid out before you. It is true that one must know his enemy in order to defeat him. And the powers of the mystic orders cannot be obtained solely through violence.”
“Neither I nor my men require any assistance from an old wizard,” replied Lakos. “My entire life has been in preparation for the battle we shall soon be engaging in. My men have trained, bled, and sacrificed in anticipation of this moment. If you think that I will cast those years aside to be influenced by you, of all beings, then you severely underestimate both my intelligence and my convictions. My army shall strike the Ohlinn at first light—the dawn of a new age that you shall regrettably not be part of.”
“I came to you on this night to stop you from your attack,” protested Gris Hallis.
Lakos laughed heartily. “You contradictory old fool. First you profess to aid my quest, and now you have the gall to speak of impeding me. However, if nothing else, you have succeeded in justifying the extermination of your kind. All the same, the boldness of your attempt to sway me did not go unnoticed. And so I will show you this one kindness. I suggest that you return to whatever dark shadow you emerged from, Gris Hallis, and allow me to fulfill my destiny. This world has no further use for you.”
“Are you or are you not the subject of Noryssin’s great and ominous vision?” asked Gris Hallis bluntly, taking a step back from the fire. “For the last of the Gray Mystics did not envision the mere destruction of the mystic orders, or even their enslavement. He foresaw the rise of a new ruler—a human ruler—taking his place atop the throne of the Voduss Grei. The king of all known worlds. A god. And if that is the fate that you envision for yourself, then there is but one path to take.” He paused for a moment, the faintest smirk upon his face. “And only I possess the knowledge to take you there.”
Lakos shook his head. “I must admit, old wizard, you paint an intriguing picture. But you make promises that cannot be fulfilled. As appealing as it would be to force the mystics into subservience, I know their kind well enough to know that they would sooner perish than live under human rule. A mortal human cannot assume the throne of the Voduss Grei. It has never been done.”
“It can be done,” said Gris Hallis, “I have a way.”
Lakos paused for a moment, unable to stifle his mounting curiosity. “You have until sunrise to convince me. And if you don’t, then this war—and this world—shall move on without you.”
At that moment, the object concealed on the back of the rock leopard emitted a groan.
Regaining a spryness in his step, Gris Hallis smiled widely as he loped back to his pack animal, grabbed a corner of the tarp, and pulled it to the side.
Lying atop the leopard’s back was a small, muscular figure on its side, curled tightly with its knees to its chest and tightly bound with loop upon loop of rope. It wore dark, well-tailored leather garments stained with blood and a headband of brown and red beads wrapped around messy waves of brown hair that framed a bruised, tan-colored face.
“I must admit, violence does have its place. From time-to-time,” said Gris Hallis, pride thick in his voice.
Lakos cautiously approached the figure, which was barely conscious and obviously in pain.
