The Divided Knight - Chapter Four

They traveled east, Aylander guiding Thaddeus along old Eltaran paths that hadn't been used in more than a thousand years. Along these paths, roughly one day apart from each other, were small stone shelters that, while overgrown, had weathered the years of not being used quite well, and it was in these shelters that they made camp. Inside one of these shelters, after three days of travel, Thaddeus had come upon a chest full of Eltaran gold, gold which proved useful the day after when they came to a village and Thaddeus was made acutely aware that he had been wearing the same change of clothes for more than a month. Luckily the village was one that he had never visited before – he had actually visited very few areas outside the High Fortress and the royal palace over the course of his life, as Holy Knights only ever left when one of the mages needed an escort – and he was able the buy a new set of clothing without being recognized. He'd even been able to stop for a bath, though when he'd tried to have his old clothes laundered, the chagrined laundress – whom he'd paid for her services, regardless – had had to inform him that they'd fallen apart on her the moment she'd put them in the water.

After the bath, Thaddeus had nearly been spotted by a contingent of the King's Guard who were out on patrol. He hadn't known they were looking for him, specifically, though it was odd to encounter soldiers on patrol as close to the palace as he had been, and so he had beaten a hasty escape, returning to the Eltaran paths and leaving the comforts of civilization behind. Aylander had chided him about the near miss for several days afterward – this, after the Eltaran had said nothing the day Thaddeus had decided to visit the village – and so, for the next two weeks, Thaddeus had not lain eyes on another human being, understanding the need for caution while, at the same time, growing tired of spending every night in stone shelters that were hardly large enough to accommodate one person.

Something's happened.

Hearing Aylander's voice inside his own head had stopped bothering Thaddeus, even when it happened in the middle of the night, as it did, now. Opening his eyes, Thaddeus stared up at the unadorned ceiling of the shelter, lit from below by the still flickering camp fire of the night before. “What do you mean?” he asked – he never felt groggy when waking up, anymore, coming to full mental alertness almost at once no matter if he'd slept as long as he'd intended, or not.

Can't you feel it?

Sighing, Thaddeus said, “Aylander, even though I've spent my whole adult life around mages, that doesn't mean I have any magical talent, myself. If you've felt something, and that something is magical, don't expect me to have felt it, too. Tell me what you felt.”

It's . . . difficult to describe. A change. Like something's come into the world that wasn't there before. Something that shouldn't have.

Thaddeus frowned. There was something strange about what Aylander said. It was almost as if it was what Thaddeus had expected him to say. Had he been dreaming about it, maybe? “What do you think this something could be?”

Thaddeus sensed Aylander's pause to think. Something unholy. What do you know of the Necromancers, Thaddeus?

“Necromancers? They were an order of dark mages. The Conclave wiped them out four hundred years ago.”

Do you happen to recall the name of the last of their order?

Even though it had been an important part of his early lessons when becoming a Holy Knight, history had never been Thaddeus strong suit. If it hadn't had something to do with weapons, or with some bloody battle, he'd all but forgotten about it. “I can't say that I do. Why, Aylander? Do you think it's important?”

His name was Atraxos the Black.

Atraxos the Black? Thaddeus shivered. That name was a name out of children's stories, and Thaddeus was sure it hadn't been a part of the history he'd been taught concerning the Necromancers. Why would it have been? Atraxos had been killed more than three thousand years ago by Solanas the Elder, the first Magister of the Torvaran Empire.

“That isn't possible, Aylander,” Thaddeus said. “Atraxos the Black has been dead more than three thousand years.”

Nevertheless, it was him. Like me, it is possible that his body was killed but his soul lived on. Were you aware that the Order of the Crimson Serpent is not something new? It existed before. The elite guards of the Necromancer. Aylander paused, and when he spoke, again, Thaddeus could hear – and feel – all the pain and bitterness his soul still held. My brothers and I, the last Sword Priests of Eltara, were sworn to make sure it, and the Necromancers, never returned.

“Is that what happened to you? You failed, and became that which you were sworn to defend against?”

That is what happened to me, yes. My brothers and I were the last of the True, the ones who stayed behind when the rest of our people went off to make gods of themselves. When our people came back, they had become twisted, cruel, evil. The original Order of the Crimson Serpent, with the Necromancers as their masters. I do not remember those times personally – I am too young – but I remember what I was taught, and I remember the oath I swore when the last of the Necromancers was killed. The oath I failed to keep.

Somehow, even though he had never heard of them prior to their seizing of the royal palace and destroying of the Conclave, it didn't surprise Thaddeus that the Order of the Crimson Serpent were nothing new. The man who had led them – a mage named Garris Galgana, whom Thaddeus recalled had, for reasons he had never learned, fled the Conclave three years ago – couldn't have conjured them out of thin air. But why had Thaddeus never been taught about them, or their role in battles against the Necromancers? Forbidden knowledge, he thought. Not for anyone but the innermost circle of the Conclave.

“You may have failed, Aylander,” Thaddeus said, “but that doesn't mean you can't still fight. I freed you from what Galgana turned you into. I made it so that you can have the chance to redeem yourself.”

And I am thankful for that, friend Thaddeus. However, my brothers will never have that chance.

“Maybe not. We can mourn for them, later, though.” Thaddeus lay still for a time, staring up at the ceiling of the shelter and listening to the camp fire crackle. “Do you think what you felt was Atraxos coming back into the world, Aylander?”

It is a horrifying thought, but I think it likely.

“How do you think he was able to do it?”

I don't know. Perhaps through the mage, Galgana. I had a sense that that one did not fully understand the powers he was trying to wield.

That fit Thaddeus's memory of the man. Garris Galgana had never been an overly confident or competent member of the Conclave, and there were times Thaddeus could remember having felt pity for him. “If what you felt was Atraxos,” Thaddeus said, “I have a feeling that Garris Galgana is no more.”

He has become Atraxos's vessel.

“Yes.”

Our need to find the Wanderer has grown, then. How far are we from the village the Soul of the Conclave told you to begin your search in?

There never was a Soul of the Conclave, Thaddeus suddenly thought, not understanding why. “A few days, maybe. Surely not more than a week.”

Do you remember it well? That village?

Surprisingly enough, even though he hadn't been there in more than twenty years, he did. And the sting behind the reason he had left was no less, now, than it had been, then. “Yes, I do,” Thaddeus said. “And I wish we were going anywhere else but there.”

The Divided Knight - Chapter Three

The High Fortress had been a place of magic since long before the time of the Conclave. It had been built a thousand years ago, when the Torvaran Empire had been at its height, and Garris Galgana intended to restore it to what it had been back then – the true seat of power in the land, with the fools in the royal palace below nothing more than the puppets and mouthpieces of the mages who ruled over them. To do that, however, it was necessary for him to extinguish every possible source of opposition, and at least two sources still remained – one of which should never have been allowed to live as long as he had, and had now, with the help of the second source of opposition, managed to escape.

“You look troubled, Garris.”

Garris looked up from his brooding. Suspended in the air before him was the ethereal, glowing form of a man dressed in heavy robes. At once, Garris thought there was something familiar about the presence, but he couldn't quite place what. It didn't matter, though. The presence was nothing more than the spirit of some long dead member of the Conclave, and, here in the High Fortress, where Garris had surrounded himself with spells of protection the likes of which had long been forgotten by anyone associated with the Conclave, it had no way of harming or affecting him in any way.

“You have a lot of certainty in the strength of your wards, Magister,” the presence said. Its bearded face smiled. “I shouldn't need to remind you, though, that, were they really as strong as you believe, I would not be able to appear before you now.”

“Who are you?” Garris asked. “Why are you here?”

“Don't you recognize me, Garris? Or, should I say, doesn't what's inside of you recognize me?”

That was it. That was why the presence had seemed so familiar. The soul Garris had absorbed when he'd found the tome that had allowed him to resurrect the Order of the Crimson Serpent – a soul that, even now, kept itself largely hidden from him, only making its existence known when it had some suggestion or bit of knowledge to impart – recognized it. Or, rather, it recognized him, and that recognition stirred a sudden strong revulsion inside Garris, who found himself baring his teeth at the spectral figure. “Solanas,” Garris hissed.

“Indeed. The first person to ever claim the title of Magister, more than three thousand years ago. I've come to warn you that your plans will not succeed.”

“You were the one who allowed the Knight to live. You were the one who helped him escape!”

“I am. Even as we speak, Brother Thaddeus seeks the means to your end.”

Garris sat in silence for a moment, considering the figure's words. “And what is it he seeks? Who is it?”

The spirit presence's smile turned smug. “If you think that I would be foolish enough to tell you that, I'm afraid you're mistaken. I will tell you no more than what I have. Be afraid, Magister. Your end will be here sooner than you know.”

Garris matched the spirit's smile with one of his own, and when he spoke, it was not with his normal voice, but with a voice that was a curious blending of his own, and of that of the soul he had absorbed. “I think not, Solanas. You forget, you are in my realm, now, and are but a spirit. You may have been able to stay the execution of your precious Brother Thaddeus, you may have been able to help him escape, but, now that I know who and what you are, your powers are useless.” Garris stood, and was pleased when Solanas's spirit seemed to flinch back. He pushed back the hood of the blood red robe he wore. “You will tell me what it is you sent the Knight after. And then you will be disposed of, just as you should have been all those years ago.”

For a moment, nothing happened. And then Solanas's spirit surged forward, not stopping until it was only a few feet from Garris. The sudden movement startled Garris, and he nearly flinched backward, himself – an act that would have wound up with him falling backward into his chair – but he managed, somehow, to hold his ground. Still, he was left wondering. Had he underestimated the spirit he now faced for a second time? Not even the other soul within Garris – the one who had known Solanas personally, who had given Garris powers he had never before imagined possible, but who still refused to reveal its own identity – was certain.

“You are lost, Garris,” Solanas's spirit said. The blue glow of its eyes had turned into a sapphire blaze. “You think you command here, but you no longer even command yourself. I am ready to be destroyed, here. I prepared myself for it long before I showed myself to you. But, if you destroy me, you also destroy whatever is left of who you are. That will be the opening the soul you absorbed – the soul of Atraxos the Black – needs to take full control. Garris Galgana, who was always nothing more than a middling mage, who disgraced himself and then fled, never giving himself the opportunity the face the judgement of the Conclave, will be forgotten forever. Is that what you want, Garris?”

The spirit's words stung, reminding Garris of how cowardly he'd felt when he'd fled the Conclave three years before. But would staying have made any difference? Even if the Conclave's judgement had been lenient – a thing that was never certain, especially when it came to a mage who had misused his powers, as he had – he would have still been nothing more than a mage of average talent. Nothing he would have done would have ever set him above the others. He would have been forgotten. But I still would have been a part of the Conclave, he thought. Wouldn't that have meant something?

Don't be a fool, Garris. You have always wanted glory. Always sought power. Through me, you can have both.

It was the first time the soul Garris had absorbed had spoken to him directly. Its voice was deep, stentorian, impossible to ignore. That its voice was that of Atraxos the Black, last of the Necromancers, was something that could not be denied. And wasn't that voice right? Hadn't Garris always wanted exactly what it claimed it could give him? Hadn't that been what had driven him to misuse his talents in the first place? I fled the Conclave not because I feared its judgement. I fled the Conclave because the Path of Light was too limiting. I fled the Conclave so I could learn what I needed to do what I wanted!

The Conclave would have killed you had you stayed. Their Path of Light would have given them no other choice. And now you have returned.

And taken my vengeance!

Yes. Your vengeance. Now, destroy the annoyance the spirit before you has become. Rid the world of its pathetic presence.

Garris made ready to act, then paused a second time, remembering. What of the Knight?

Worry not about him. He will be my concern.

Garris found the statement confusing, and was about to question Atraxos's soul further regarding what it meant, but all thought of doing so vanished as he suddenly felt power surging through him. It was the same power he'd felt when resurrecting the Order of the Crimson Serpent – it almost amused him that he hadn't recognized that act for the necromancy it had been – and the only choice he had was the use it, lashing out with it and hurling a wave of destruction at the spirit presence of the first Magister of the Torvaran Empire. Solanas's spirit attempted to defend itself but, in the end, it was just a spirit, and so being, did not have the power necessary to turn back what was thrown at it. A brilliant flash of light and a clap of thunder filled the great hall of the High Fortress, and, when they were gone, only the body of what had been Garris Galgana remained.

Atraxos, now the sole occupant of Garris's body, would have chosen a different vessel if he'd been able – this one was far too short for his liking, and not very solidly built – but it would do. After all, this vessel was going to be the one that would allow him to touch the physical world again after more than four centuries, and, because of things he had learned during his time of imprisonment, Atraxos need never worry about this vessel failing him. He had become immortal, and, now that the Conclave was well and truly gone – the Knight who had escaped would be easily dealt with, no matter what errand Solanas had sent him on – nothing could stand in his way.

Atraxos spread his arms wide, threw back his head, and laughed.

The Divided Knight - Chapter Two

The armory was on the lowermost level of the palace proper, just above the dungeons. Thaddeus had no trouble getting there – the Soul had put every guard along the way to sleep. Once he reached the armory, Thaddeus spotted at once what it was that the Soul had left for him – a two-handed broadsword, about the same size as the one that had been stripped from him on the day he was thrown into the dungeons, sheathed in a metal scabbard covered in runes. Lifting the sword, Thaddeus was surprised at how light it was, and when he strapped it to his back, it was almost like it wasn't even there. Reaching over his shoulder to draw it, Thaddeus marveled at how the blade came noiselessly out of its scabbard, and at how the runes – identical to what was on the scabbard – carved into it reacted to the flickering glow of the torches that lit the armory. They're flickering with it! What kind of blade is this?

Deciding he would have more time to learn about the blade later – there was no telling how long the sleep spell the Soul had placed on the palace guards would last – Thaddeus re-sheathed the sword and left the armory. Holy Knights of the Conclave were trained to know their way around the royal palace as well as they knew their way around the Conclave's High Fortress, which meant that, even above the level of the dungeons, Thaddeus knew how to leave without being seen. Using the network of secret passages which honeycombed the palace, he made his way outside, looking forward to being able to breathe outside air for the first time in a month.

At last, there was only one more door for him to go through. Thaddeus approached it cautiously, taking a moment to peer through the window slit carved into the top of it. He saw nothing but the darkness of night and a hint of stars in the sky. Reaching over to throw the bolt that would unlock the door and allow him to open it, he paused in mid-action, overtaken all at once by an intense feeling of unease. Though he had seen nothing through the window slit, Thaddeus was suddenly certain that someone stood on the other side of the door, waiting to stop anyone who might try to use the secret passages to leave the palace. I have to go through, he thought, and threw the bolt, reaching up to grab the hilt of his sword as he leaned his body against the door and began to push it open.

Once the door was open wide enough, Thaddeus stepped out and drew his sword. There was no one on the other side, however, and Thaddeus jumped when the door slammed shut behind him, the sound of wood striking stone shattering the silence of the night. Calming himself, Thaddeus looked around, his sword held out before him, ready for anything that might come out of the shadows and attack. Nothing did, though the feeling of unease he had begun to experience back in the passageway did not lessen. Keeping his sword out, Thaddeus moved away from the palace wall, and it was only then that he realized just how silent the night actually was.

The passageway Thaddeus had come out of opened onto the rear of the palace grounds. There wasn't much back here, save for a wooded area on the slope that led up to the craggy cliff that marked the rearmost edge of the grounds. The cliff itself was part of a much larger, and much taller, mountain, and there was a trail at the foot of the cliff that, if one followed it, ascended all the way to the High Fortress of the Conclave. Thaddeus, as a Holy Knight, was quite familiar with that trail, as he was with the wooded area behind the palace. Even at this time of night, there should have been more things to hear than there currently were.

Suddenly, a form rushed out of the trees toward Thaddeus. Thaddeus only had time to determine his attacker was roughly the size and shape of a man, and that it was armed with a sword similar to his, before he was forced to fend off a wicked series of blows. The clash of steel against steel filled the air, and each impact of the two blades was accompanied by a flash of light the color of blood. Each flash revealed more details of Thaddeus's attacker – it was one of the same creatures who had initially taken him to the palace dungeons, a vaguely human-looking being with up-swept, pointed ears, pallid skin, black, soulless eyes, and a mouth full of pointed teeth. This was one of the Order of the Crimson Serpent's elite troops, and the crimson flashes made it appear even more demonic than it would have in natural light.

Thaddeus attempted a counter attack, and when he did, he found himself moving at a speed he would never have thought possible. His arms were a blur as he swung, initially seeming to take his opponent off guard and forcing it to retreat, but, as Thaddeus pressed the attack, it began to catch up and stand its ground, the air once again filled with the clashing of steel and the intermittent flashes of light – which, at this speed, had ceased being so intermittent. The fight was starting to wear on, and Thaddeus began to have a sense that, if it didn't end soon, his opponent would summon others of its kind. If that happened, even at the superhuman speed he was fighting right now, Thaddeus knew he would be outmatched. Somehow, he would have to end the fight before any reinforcements arrived.

In the blink of an eye, Thaddeus found himself standing behind his opponent instead of in front. Not taking the time to wonder how it had happened – he could do that later, if he survived – Thaddeus took the chance for what it was, swinging his sword in an arc and hoping the creature he fought wouldn't have time to react before the swing connected. It didn't, and the creature's head went flying, separated neatly from the rest of its body, which crumpled to the ground. Silence, save for the sounds of Thaddeus's labored breathing and the hammering of his heart in his ears, once again filled the air.

All at once, Thaddeus felt tired to the point of exhaustion, and he was sure he knew the reason why. The sword the Soul of the Conclave had given him was obviously magical in nature, based on the way it had enhanced his speed during the fight, and bestowed upon him the ability to teleport. To fuel its magics, the sword had drawn on Thaddeus's life energy, and, now that the fight was over, he had been left drained. Once, long ago, swords like the one Thaddeus had been given were quite common, but then, the beings who had forged them – fey creatures who had been known as the Eltarans, and who, according to myth, had been placed upon the face of the world by the Gods, themselves – had all but vanished from the land, leaving little trace of themselves behind.

Thaddeus needed to keep going – other creatures like the one he'd just defeated would soon arrive, summoned or not – but all he wanted to do at that moment was find a place where he could sleep. Even as light as it was, he wasn't even sure if he still had the strength to re-sheathe his sword. And then sparks of blue energy began to emanate from the blade, joining together and becoming more and more coherent until one of them lanced out toward the body of the creature Thaddeus had slain. The spark, which remained connected to the sword even as it touched the body, grew brighter, looking more and more like a bolt of lightning with each passing second, and then there was a sound like a clap of thunder. In the wake of the clap, the body of the creature was reduced to a pile of ash, which was immediately scattered by a sudden gust of wind. Thaddeus's sword continued to glow blue for a moment longer, then darkened save for the runes on its surface, which pulsed orange twice, then went out.

Thaddeus no longer felt so drained. He had enough energy, now, to make his escape from the palace grounds complete, and re-sheathing his sword was no effort, at all. As Thaddeus turned to head off into the trees – at the other end of the wooded area, there was a passage through the wall, that only mages and Holy Knights were supposed to be aware of, and Thaddeus figured he'd be able to reach it before true dawn broke – he became aware of a sense that he was, somehow, no longer traveling alone. Another presence separate from his own seemed to have settled into his awareness, and any attempt Thaddeus made to shake it off or ignore it proved fruitless.

You forgot something else about the sword you carry. Something I take as a blessing, but which you may view as a curse.

Thaddeus froze in his tracks. The voice – a man's voice, touched by an accent the likes of which Thaddeus could not place – had come from inside his own head. He knew at once the voice belonged to the new presence he sensed, though it took him a moment to understand, and remember, what it was the voice meant. Eltaran Blades like the one Thaddeus carried not only heightened the senses, reflexes, and arcane abilities of those who used them – they also absorbed souls. Usually, an Eltaran Blade only had enough room for one soul to be carried within it at a time, and the soul it carried could only be released by an Eltaran priest. Souls absorbed by Eltaran Blades were, according to what Thaddeus had been taught, cleansed, somehow, and could be communicated with. They were even supposed to make the magics of the Blade stronger, and kept them from taking such a toll on the wielder.

We also have a nasty reputation for driving the wielders of our Blades mad.

“I'll just have to try and find a way to get you out before that happens,” Thaddeus muttered, once again starting off through the darkened trees.

Good luck with that, my friend. You know as well as I do that there have been no true Eltaran priests for centuries.

Thaddeus had no immediate response for that and so remained silent. As he walked, however, he began to take stock of this new presence he shared his mind with. The soul Thaddeus's Blade had absorbed was an old one – at least four hundred years, if what he sensed could be trusted – and whatever evil it had been tainted with prior to its release had, despite the cleansing, left its mark upon it, making it bitter and full of pain. Underneath that, though, was something surprising – the soul was that of what Thaddeus couldn't call anything else but an Eltaran.

You mean you didn't know that, already? Not even based on the features of the body you freed me from?

While it was true that Eltarans were supposed to have had up-swept, pointed ears, Thaddeus had always been told that their eyes had glittered like jewels and that their skin had been anything other than pallid. They hadn't sharpened their teeth to points, either.

“What happened to you?” Thaddeus asked.

That is a long story, friend Thaddeus, and I have no wish to tell it to you, now. Another time, perhaps, but not now. What I will tell you is that, in our pride, we fell into darkness. And, because of us, that darkness now threatens the entire world.

Thaddeus had to ask. “Can the darkness be stopped?”

I don't know. But, if you succeed in finding this . . . this . . . Wanderer . . . there may be a chance.

“You know about that?”

I know everything about you that you know about me, Thaddeus. And more, since your thoughts don't have the same defenses around them that mine do.

Thaddeus wasn't sure how he felt about sharing his mind with a presence that could shield parts of itself from him. “Will you lower those defenses?” he asked.

I may, in time. Once I get to know you better. Once I decide I can trust you.

“I freed you from what you were. Isn't that enough for you to know you can trust me?”

While I am grateful for what you did, I fear that, because of what happened in the past – both my personal past, and the past of my people as a whole – it will be difficult for me to trust in anyone or anything ever again. Difficult, but, perhaps, not impossible.

Thaddeus walked on in silence for a time. Around him, the first light of the day was beginning to touch the trees, making it easier for him to see. Dawn wasn't far off, and he was starting to wonder if he had misjudged the size of the wooded area, when, in a clearing up ahead, he caught sight of the outer wall. Thaddeus hurried his pace, glancing over his shoulder as he reached the wall. The first rays of the sun were cresting the roof of the royal palace – still visible above the trees, even at this distance – and, as Thaddeus watched, he caught sight of movement behind him.

They're coming!

Thaddeus turned back to the wall. Even for a Holy Knight, finding the secret passage through the outer wall wasn't meant to be easy, and all Thaddeus could see at that moment were blocks of stone stacked so evenly that the seems between them were almost invisible. He searched and searched, finding nothing, sure he could hear the sounds of those who had been sent after him drawing closer.

Reach out through me!

“What?”

Don't ask me to explain. Just do it. Use me to help you find the passage!

Thaddeus wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. However, he did remember an exercise one of the mages had taught him a few years ago. It was meant to clear a person's mind of any extraneous thoughts, and it started by focusing all attention on one thing, like breathing, or the sound of a heartbeat. Thaddeus focused on his breathing, on its rhythm, doing all that he could to tune everything else out. As he did, his breathing slowed, and a feeling of calm began to descend over him. Nothing else mattered but his breathing. Not the new presence inside his head. Not the quest the Soul had given to him. Not even the people coming up behind him, people he knew had been ordered to kill.

And then the new presence within him – which he, suddenly understood, was within him, just as much as it was within the sword strapped to his back – swelled, filling Thaddeus's awareness and seeming to take control. Thaddeus's senses were no longer just human senses – they were also Eltaran, and, as he scanned the wall, he saw the opening of the passage. He darted toward it, his heightened senses feeling the spell which kept it hidden, and dashed through, every fiber of his being tingling with magic that, before, he never would have even felt. Once Thaddeus was on the other side of the wall, his senses once again became his own, the Eltaran within him receding back to where it had been, before.

You need to keep going. They will find their way through the wall, eventually, even if they can't see the passage like I could. Or, should I say, like we could.

“You were as surprised by what happened as I was, weren't you?” Thaddeus asked.

I must admit, I was. I was working on nothing more than what felt like the right thing to do. I'm amazed it worked so well.

“Do you have a name, Eltaran?”

There was a long pause before the presence answered. Once, long ago, my name was Alyander. But that name is meaningless, now.

“Not if I have anything to say about it. I'm pleased to meet you, Alyander.” And, with that, Thaddeus once again set off. Inside his head, the presence that was Alyander was, at the same time, both bemused, and pleased.

Likewise, friend Thaddeus. Likewise.

The Divided Knight - Chapter One

The cell should have been pitch dark, but when Thaddeus Alvarem opened his eyes, it was lit by a soft, white glow.

“Ah, Brother Thaddeus! You're awake at last.”

Sitting up and swinging his legs off the stone slab that, for the last month, had been his bed, Thaddeus was met by the sight of an ethereal figure – which was also the source of the glow – hanging in mid-air just inside the door of the cell. The figure was that of an elderly man dressed in a long, voluminous robe, and Thaddeus knew at once that he was looking at the spirit presence of a mage long since dead. I'll be joining you in death, soon, my Lord, Thaddeus thought.

“Who says I was actually asleep?” Thaddeus asked.

The spirit presence smiled. “I do, for I was the one who helped you to get there.” The smile broadened. “And my spell lasted precisely as long as I meant it to.”

Thaddeus, who, up until he'd been locked in this cell a month ago, had spent the better part of his adult life as a Holy Knight of the Conclave – the order of warriors sworn to defend the kingdom's mages – had always found most mages to be full of themselves, and it didn't surprise him that they stayed that way even after they were dead. Maybe I'll stay the way I am after I'm gone, too. “What brings you to visit the cell of a condemned man, my Lord?” Thaddeus asked.

The spirit presence's smile grew mischievous. “Perhaps to inform you that you are not as condemned as you have been led to believe. You see, as you slept, I took the liberty of unlocking the cell door.”

Thaddeus stared at the mage's spirit in confusion. “You did what?”

“Unlocked the door so you can escape. I also took care of the guard outside. You see, I need you to find someone for me.”

“Find someone for you? Who?”

“Perhaps the only one who can restore hope to these lands. Have you heard tell of the Wanderer?”

Thaddeus had heard tell of the Wanderer, before. There were few in the kingdom who hadn't. The Wanderer was a mysterious, cloaked stranger who, according to the stories, gave aid to travelers who found themselves in need while on the sometimes treacherous roads of the kingdom's eastern outskirts. The stories all agreed that the Wanderer was a fierce warrior who was also skilled in the use of magic – a rarity in the world, these days – and that few foes could best him. No details of who the Wanderer was or where he had come from were known, and not everyone agreed that he was even real.

“I've heard of him,” Thaddeus said. “I don't think anyone can find him, though.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I don't believe he's real. It's nice to think there might be someone out there, looking out for the helpless, but, after twenty years, I can't accept that we know nothing more about him than we did when the stories about him began. No one stays that well hidden. Not even on the eastern outskirts.”

The spirit presence raised an eyebrow. “Not even there, eh? What about the Shadow Brotherhood? They terrorized the eastern marches for forty years before their hiding places were all rooted out, and, for most of that time, little to nothing was known about them. If a group of bandits like those could stay hidden and evade capture for forty years, who's to say a single man couldn't do likewise for half that span? Besides, Brother Thaddeus, I know the Wanderer is real. I've sensed him.”

Thaddeus frowned. “You've sensed him?”

“Oh, yes. His presence is a strong one. Stronger than I've sensed in a long while.”

Suddenly, Thaddeus was struck by the idea that he'd met the spirit presence he now spoke to before. But when? “Forgive me, my Lord, but have we met before? I was just struck by the strangest feeling that we have.”

Again, the spirit presence's smile was mischievous. “Many have met me, Brother Thaddeus. Few, however, ever have any memory of it. Not even the splinter of a memory you seem to have.”

Thaddeus pondered the spirit's words for a moment, trying to make sense of them. Then his eyes went wide. “That's impossible!” he said. “You can't be!”

“I can, and I am. The Soul of the Conclave. Something else you used to think wasn't real.”

The Soul of the Conclave was supposed to be a manifestation of the Conclave's power, an entity conjured into existence and given sentience by the residual energies of all the spells that had been cast over the five hundred years of the Conclave's existence. As Thaddeus had been taught, the Soul watched over the Conclave – much as the Wanderer was supposed to watch over the eastern roads – and helped guide it, making sure the kingdom's mages never strayed too far from the Path of Light. No confirmed contact with the Soul had ever been made, but every member of the Conclave had sworn that it existed. Thaddeus had always shrugged the idea of the Soul off, thinking it just another mage superstition, and now, here he was, having a conversation with it. And, suddenly, he found himself feeling more than a little angry.

“All this time, you've been real?” Thaddeus asked.

The Soul frowned in confusion. “Yes.”

“Why didn't you do something, then, when the Conclave was being destroyed? Why did you let those monsters slaughter all the other mages and all of my brothers? Where were you when we needed you the most?”

The Soul didn't answer immediately, and its expression grew sad and faraway. “I am not all powerful, Brother Thaddeus, and the powers being wielded by those who did this to the Conclave were beyond me. I doubt anyone has seen their like since before the Conclave was founded.” The Soul looked at Thaddeus. “I did what I could, however. I saved you. And now I've given you the means to escape, the means to go and find the Wanderer and tell him what has happened. Maybe you won't find him. Maybe he will refuse to help. But I tell you this, he is the only chance the kingdom, and perhaps even the world, has left.”

For a long moment, Thaddeus said nothing. The words of the Soul had blunted his anger, and it had been foolish of him to think that the Soul could have done anything to stop the forces that had torn the Conclave apart – he had, after all, been forced to watch as the mages and his fellow Knights were killed, with none of them having been given anything close to a fighting chance to defend themselves. His anger was only blunted, however, and, as he sat in silence, its nature changed.

“You should have let me die with them,” Thaddeus said at last.

“To what end, Brother Thaddeus?” the Soul asked. “Haven't I made it clear that you are still needed?”

“Another can find the Wanderer as well as I. My place was dying beside my brothers, dying to defend what I swore an oath to protect. You had no right to intervene.”

“No right? No right? Brother Thaddeus, do you know what I am without the Conclave? Do you?”

Thaddeus, surprised by the Soul's sudden outburst, didn't answer.

“I'll tell you what I am. Nothing. Without the mages and their spells, I will diminish. Oh, it won't happen all at once – me being here and speaking to you should be proof of that – but it will happen. And, once I am gone, there will be nothing of the Conclave left. Everything it ever stood for will be forgotten. As the Soul of the Conclave, and as, perhaps, the lone entity in the entire kingdom certain of the Wanderer's existence, I could not allow that. And so I spared you, the last of the Holy Knights, in the hopes that everything will not be forgotten.” The Soul grew quiet, studying Thaddeus with eyes that Thaddeus only just then realized glowed with a piercing blue light. “Will you do what I ask, Brother Thaddeus? Will you find the Wanderer? Or should I lock the door of this cell and leave you to rot, waiting for an execution that may never come?”

An execution that may never come. The dark powers that had destroyed the Conclave and seized control of the kingdom – demonic magic users who called themselves the Order of the Crimson Serpent – had had a month, now, to execute Thaddeus, and they never had. They hadn't forgotten about him completely – he was still given food and water, and there was always a guard posted outside his cell – but it was clear that his death had ceased to be a priority for them. Leaving him to rot would serve the same ends for them as a public execution, particularly if they had encountered little resistance following the fall of the Conclave. If I don't go, the deaths of the others will be meaningless. I owe it to them to at least try and do as the Soul asks.

“I'll do it,” Thaddeus said. “I'll go.”

The Soul smiled. “I knew you would.”

“Where should I go once I leave here?”

“Head east, perhaps back to the village where you were born. From there, I cannot say.”

“How long will I have?”

“That's anyone's guess. Not even I can predict what the Order of the Crimson Serpent's next move will be. Be as quick in your search as you can, but also be thorough. No credible lead should be ignored, no matter how small.”

“That could take me months.”

“It could. Let's just pray that it doesn't.”

Thaddeus stood and moved toward the door of the cell. When he nudged it, it swung outward slightly, creaking on its hinges. Outside, he could hear the guard snoring. Turning back for a moment, he said, “I've never been much for prayer, you know.”

“Well,” the Soul said, “it's never too late to start. Good luck, Brother Thaddeus.”

Thaddeus smiled. “Luck,” he said. “Now there's something I've always had faith in.” He turned to go.

“Wait,” the Soul said.

Thaddeus looked back.

“Make your way to the armory on your way out. I left something for you there that may prove invaluable.”

“Like what?”

The Soul gave its mischievous smile. “You'll know it when you see it.” And, with that, the Soul vanished.

Greetings!

Hello, friends, and welcome to my blog.

This blog will be a place where I serialize whatever writing project I happen to be working on.  It is free for you to read and comment on as you like, and I look forward to hearing your feedback.  I also hope you wind up looking forward to reading what I write.

Now, let's get started, shall we?

Oh, and as for where I get the title of this particular blog, it comes from the title of a song by the Danish heavy metal band Wuthering Heights.  Here is a link to that song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHpR1m7b9b0