Standing on the rocky cliff that stood atop of the mountain
fortress known as Khalidin's Keep, Sidria stared out towards
the town that bordered her forest, her eyes piercing through
the shadows of midnight as the dim lights of burning lanterns
emitted soft glows under the pale illumination of the dual
moons, Deloniuos and Tera. Despite the late hour, the Red
Gryphon Inn still bustled with activity as drunken patrons
stumbled in and out through its large double-doors. With
each opening of the Inn's massive oak doors, the quiet night
air was filled with the sounds of celebration and jubilee
that ran rampant within the Inn's stone walls. Sidria could
have sworn she heard a verse from the Mantra of the Elven
Maiden, but as the doors swung close, the joyful tune was
extinguished, leaving its incomplete melody to echo off
into the night, fading away as Sidria completed the verse
in her mind:
…her silvery hair shone through
the night
As rain drops glistened on the petals of Spring,
The Elven Queen gave to all new sight,
Of the glorious future she would bring.
The medley reminded Sidria of her home, of her childhood
teachings and the innocence she had long lost. She had since
then shed the naivety of youth. There was no Elven queen
and no new hope. There were only those who held power and
those who wanted it, and Sidria knew where she stood on
that spectrum. With her long dark hair caught in the brisk
winds of the autumn night, Sidria's silk robes danced all
around her, twisting in the blustery currents that swept
up and over the steep face of the mountain. The one-piece
leather garment that she wore did little to shelter her
exposed legs, arms and upper chest to the chilling effects
of he breeze, sending a tingle up her arms and causing her
to pull her robes tightly around her body. Listening closely
to the sounds of the night, she could hear the soft distant
splashing of the cascading waterfall that ran along the
north face of the towering mountain side as her eyes scanned
the semi-asleep city, taking in every detail. The sleeping
guards at the western gate. The fading torches in the marketplace.
Even the slow moving caravan that approached at the Northern
Pass. Her eyes burned with intensity as they focused on
every passing face with hope of spotting the returning Valdor.
Turning away in frustration, Sidria directed her visions
towards the sky, her eyes surveying the dark heavens above
as her thoughts focused mightily on the quickly approaching
event that would place her upon the pedestal of power she
had long desired. The Black Shard would soon be in her possession,
and with it, the power to challenge any wizard and the might
to conquer any kingdom. "Kings will kneel before me,"
she said aloud, "and my enemies …shall tremble…
with… fear," she continued, her tone soft and
melodic. As she thought of the upcoming events, the old
familiar Elven tune crept back into her thoughts:
At Summer's dawn her light was bright
Gleaming with warmth and care and love,
For in Winter's eve, when the soul turned cold,
T'was her beauty shown from above.
Irritated that she could not clear her thoughts of the
adolescent melody, Sidria angrily spat, "That silly
little limerick!" Turning away, she continued, "I
can control the fate of men and wield a magic that is beyond
this world, but I cannot clear my mind of a foolish children's
song!" She quickly reached into the hidden pouch within
her robe and thought to herself, Focus on the Shard.
Nothing else matters. Releasing her hold on the robes
caused the soft flowing garment to flutter about uncontrollably.
Extending her arms, Sidria opened her lithe hands, revealing
a small round green stone in each palm. Closing her eyes,
Sidria cleared her mind and focused on the small stones,
her mind's eye piercing through the crystalline orbs, finding
their magical center and unleashing the power within them.
Millium Velarte' Contortum she said, the magical
words causing the stones to shimmer with life as they rose
from her still hands.
Hovering just beyond the reach of her outstretched hands,
the light from the stones grew brighter and brighter as
small darts of emerald green light shot back and forth between
them. Illuminated by the display of light that was taking
place before her, Sidria smiled, her features made sinister
by the green glow of the crystals. A bright flash from between
the two magical spheres revealed a large falcon perched
along the edge of the cliff, its reddish brown feathers
a stark contrast to the eerie glow from the green stones
that served as its eyes. Spreading its wings wide away from
its body, the fierce looking bird let out a piercing shriek
causing Sidria to extend an arm towards the magical creature,
her thin hands softly gliding over the bird's smooth feathered
head. "I need you once again my pet," she said
as she stroked the falcon's strong wings. A quick flutter
of its large wings sent to bird hopping up onto Sidria's
arm, its razor sharp talons drawing small red lines across
the exposed flesh along her arm.
The slight stinging sensation brought a sense of excitement
to Sidria, as the dull pain erased all other thoughts from
her troubled mind. For a short couple of seconds, all she
could think of was the piercing talons embedding themselves
into her fragile skin. She had grown to appreciate pain,
as throughout her life, it had customarily been accompanied
with great success and victory. Recalling the annals of
her young lifetime, blood and pain had been like brother
and sister to the sorceress, always with her, through good
and bad, never leaving her side and ever present in her
journey through life. They were as much a part of her as
the Sun was to Odessa; without one, the other would surely
die.
The sharp squawking of the bird brought her attention back
to the creature, much to her dismay. Staring into the bejeweled
eyes of the bird, Sidria spoke, "You're as impatient
as always, young Obia," to which the excited falcon
cawed again. Obia, whose name translated to "Emerald
Fire" amongst the eldest of the wizard-kind, had been
a gift to Sidria by her late mentor, Ulagarthio Rosin. A
spectacular creature by all accounts, the bird was bound
to the bearer of her life stones. When called upon by her
master, Obia would manifest from the stones, her life crystals
taking form in place of her eyes and granting her master
the ability to see what she saw. With Obia firmly perched
on her right arm, Sidria flicked her left wrist, producing
a rather large Quail Worm, which she tossed into the enchanted
falcon's wide open beak. "You must find my champions
in the Highland Valley and show me what my eyes cannot see."
Raising her right arm forcefully toward the night sky was
Obia's cue to take flight. Pushing off from Sidria's arm,
the falcon extended her feathered wings and flapped hard
towards the heavens, all the while screeching into the empty
winds.
Sidria watched the bird as it trailed off into the darkness,
losing sight of the creature but still able to hear its
piercing cries echoing in the vast openness of the sky.
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Obia's dual life crystals,
reaching out to them with her magical thoughts as they soared
high above the ground.
Through mystical eyes of magical might,
Grant this sorceress the power of sight,
Green eyes of stone, shine long and bright
And grant me vision throughout the night.
As the words passed through her mind, visions of the moon-lit
landscape flashed behind her closed eyelids followed by
instances of darkness. It had been quite some time since
Sidria had called upon her magical bird, having forgotten
the disorientating effects of the "second-sight"
granted through the magic of Obia's crystal orbs. Unsettled
by the images within her head, Sidria steadied herself,
inadvertently opening her eyes and causing a fusion between
her own vision and that of Obia's. Sidria fought off the
nausea that quickly ensued and struggled to stay on her
feet while maintaining the mental link with Obia amid the
swarming dizziness that had begun to stab at her mind. Behind
her closed eye-lids came the hazy images of Volante's exquisite
countryside, peaks and valleys lit up by the luminously
pale glow of the moons, grassy plains alive with movement
caused by stiff winds of the approaching winter and finally
the rocky crags of the Eastern Ridge, the safest path out
of the region and into the Highlands Valley, and hopefully,
the path that Valdor and Hadrian would take on their return.
Shifting her focus away from Obia broke the mental link
from master to servant and brought Sidria back to her senses.
Opening her eyes, she welcomed the calm serenity of her
own vision and quickly shook off the effects of the visions,
promising to herself to be more careful to the debilitating
magic the next time around. Thinking back to the last images
of the Eastern Ridge reminded Sidria of the dangers that
awaited beyond its passage. It was widely known to all that
the Highlands Valley was friend to neither man nor beast,
but to creatures of the underworld, demons from beyond the
planes. Sidria knew well of the tasks that the former assassin
and his jovial companion would face, in not only rescuing
the woman from his visions, but retrieving the shard and
returning safely through the most derelict and dangerous
lands in all of Volante. Sidria felt confident in Valdor's
ability to not only persevere, but to see his task to fruition.
The questions in her mind revolved around the perpetually
distracted Hadrian and his inability to appreciate the levity
of the situations around him. To be oblivious to the
sullied ways of the world, she thought.
Thinking of Hadrian brought a look of concern to Sidria's
normally stoic features. She had been surprised by her initial
impression of the buoyant Bard and had found his presence
to be most comforting, a feeling she had not experienced
in quite some time. Turning away form the darkness and leaning
towards the portal that lead into the comfort of her quarters,
Sidria wished the small bard a safe and uneventful return.
She found herself longing for the soft melody of his meshgorne
and the rhythmic swaying of Hadrian's tuneful voice. Sidria
was surprised at the soft spot that the Bard had left in
her normally cold and isolated heart and found humor in
it all. After all, not even the ever-loyal Rasa, whose years
of service to Sidria had placed him at her very side, had
ever managed to have such an overwhelming impact on the
sorceress. She had indeed become fond of the Halfling and
looked forward to his return. The same held true for Valdor
as well. Sidria undoubtedly knew that with the successful
return of the companions, the black shard would once and
for all be in her possession. But that was only the beginning.
The thought of the power within the treasured shard brought
a smile to Sidria's face. She had first heard of the shard
and its namesake, Odan, from one of Windspear's historians,
a short balding man named Solac Zelanog. Hoping to gain
favor from the powerful Sidria, Solac told the sorceress
of Odan's murder at the hands of Moultrance and the crystallization
that transformed Odan's skull into the coveted black shards.
From Solac's accounts Sidria learned that shards had been
scattered across the lands, quite possibly even passing
into other dimensions and planes, and that each and every
shard possessed absolute power. However, Solac was very
careful to point out that no two shards shared the same
power and only in possessing a shard could one determine
the abilities manifested within the crystal. The whole exchange
had been a godsend to Sidria. In his attempts to gain the
sorceress' good graces, Solac had provided the one thing
that had eluded the sorceress for so long: the location
of a Black Shard of Odan. Sidria knew that despite whatever
power lay embedded within the shard, its mere possession
would be enough to multiply her own magical acumen tenfold.
According to the Windspear historian, with the shard in
her possession, Sidria would possess the ability to darken
the skies and scorch the land, but more importantly, bring
about the demise of her enemies. The sorceress almost wished
she hadn't sent Rasa to dispose of the unfortunate Solac,
but she could not run the risk of allowing others to uncover
her plans. Not when she stood so close to achieving her
goal. "Ah, Rasa", she said out loud, "No
where in the land could a more resourceful creature be found!"
Sidria truly admired Rasa's ability to exceed her expectations.
Whether it be the illusions of the banshees that protected
the surrounding forest from unwanted visitors or tying up
loose ends whenever the sorceress demanded it, Rasa had
proven his worth time and time again, and through it all,
remained eternally loyal to the sorceress.
***
Through the sweet smelling smoke of the Yango leaf that
burned in his pipe, Rasa held the penetrating gaze of the
creature that sat quietly before him. Despite the scantily
clad bar-maidens that bustled back and forth carrying frothy
mugs of the finest ale the Inn had to offer and the rambunctious
cheer and jeers that engulfed the Red Gryphon Inn, the two
individuals remained silent and oblivious to the celebration
all around them. Seated in a dark corner of the Inn, Rasa
and his mysterious companion remain transfixed on the each
other. Almost as if the two were engaged in a game of King's
Castle, they stared silently at one another, examining every
detail and trying to anticipate the other's next move. Despite
the dark, low hood that the mysterious creature wore, Rasa
could still see the thin yellow slits of his eyes, although
not much else. Drawing a heavy pull on his pipe, Rasa watched
as the creature's thin pink tongue would lash out from under
the hood, its forked end licking away at the air and quickly
disappearing back into the darkness of the hood. Rasa had
no doubts of his associate's origins and knew fair and well
what the sly creature was capable of. He was also well aware
of the fact that the creature would not dare expose himself
to throngs of the Red Gryphon Inn and would refrain from
revealing himself at all costs. Tempted by what he felt
was a distinct advantage over his associate, Rasa decided
to break the ice and spoke. "Your patience is commendable
my reptilian friend. However, if you wish to just sit here
and stare, then I am afraid I have wasted your time and
mine." Rasa followed his comments by spewing forth
a steady stream of the white cloudy Yango smoke towards
his companion's concealed face. "You must be Sithera,
last of the House of Zhith' Uan."
From beneath the shroud of darkness that masked the creature's
appearance came the unmistakable slithery voice of a Darconite.
"Do not test me Illusionist." Adjusting in his
seat, Sithera leaned forward and continued, "It would
be both foolish and unwise to think that I would not strike
you down where you sit." As he spoke, the Darconite
slowly dragged his left arm across his burlap cloak, pushing
aside the garment and revealing the red-tinted sword commonly
characteristic of his people, his right hand firmly grasping
its gold-laden handle. The Darconite continued, "You
know very well who I am and where I come from. I am here
at your request but not at your mercy."
Placing his left hand on the table between them, Rasa bent
forward, closing the gap between himself and the Darconite,
while unnoticeably sliding his right arm under his cloak,
his short fingers wrapping themselves around the crooked
staff hidden beneath his garments. He was hardly intimidated
by Sithera's threats and most certainly welcomed any challenge
the repulsive creature would be willing to offer. "Your
threats fall on deaf ears Darconite." Pulling on his
pipe, Rasa contemplated pushing the reptilian creature into
confrontation, as he was most curious how the Darconite
would fair in a bar full of drunken patrons who considered
the creature a mortal enemy. He quickly pushed the thought
from head as he realized that their meeting was with purpose,
but before continuing, he made a mental note to make the
creature pay for his threats. As with all things that involved
Rasa, business came first. "You and I have been placed
in a unique situation. You seek a crystal from your kind,
and I know where that crystal is."
Before he could continue, Sithera interrupted, "Do
not play games with me Gnome. What is that you seek in return?"
Speaking slow and direct, the Darconite licked his thin
wiry lips, his pink forked tongue lashing out quickly and
disappearing again.
Smiling back at the yellow-tinted slits that blinked before
him, Rasa leaned closer to the Darconite, narrowing his
eyes as his gaze pierced the shadows of the Sithera's dark
hood. "Simply do what you do best. Eliminate the assassin
and bring me the bard's tongue. Should you find a dark crystal
among their remains, bring it to me as well and I shall
make it worth your while."
***
Send your comments on this story to the author:
