Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy) Read online

  My jaw dropped. “You beat the crap out of Double A already?! That’s great, dude!” I congratulated him.

  “Thanks,” he replied, wincing as he continued to rub his knee.

  I looked down at his obviously painful leg and winced. “I just hope four tools will be enough to get you to the big leagues,” I muttered, suddenly overcome with regret.

  Adam stopped rubbing his knee and shot me a look. “Don’t talk like that,” he reprimanded. “It’ll be fine with a few weeks of rest. Besides,” he continued, “even with a bum knee, I hit better and field third base cleaner than anyone else in the system. My thirty five homers led the entire organization—including the Majors—and so did my hundred and two RBI.”

  “Still,” I argued, “you would have been drafted in the first round if you’d had two good knees…”

  My brother pulled the car over to the side of the road, slamming on the brakes after we were well away from the pavement and into the wide patch of gravel lining this part of the road. “Aaron,” he said after putting it in neutral and turning toward me, “you need to move on from that. It happened ten years ago and I would make the same decision again without a moment’s hesitation if the situation presented itself, even if it cost me my entire baseball career. You’re my brother,” he added seriously. “You’re all I’ve got, and I’d do anything for you.”

  Adam had tried this talk a few times before, but it had never worked. The fact that I had literally cost him nearly all of the cartilage in his right knee because of a stupid race I had been so determined to win—even though he was two years older than me, making it essentially impossible—was an event which was never far from my mind.

  “Besides,” Adam continued, “I’ve got a meeting scheduled for just after Christmas with the guy who does all the football knee surgeries. The team’s footing the bill, so apparently I’ve done enough to make them at least consider getting it worked on.”

  The sixth song ended and the disc player showed we were now listening to song number seven. The song merged fluidly with the previous one, but there were some sort of strings instruments accompanying the woman’s voice as she chanted something I didn’t recognize.

  “This is the one!” Adam said ecstatically as he cranked up the volume. “Listen to it and then try to tell me you don’t like the music.”

  I listened to the song, but her voice wasn’t making a lot of sense to me for some reason except that I thought she might be talking about flowers. I suddenly realized the song was probably only so difficult to understand because of the booze. “What’s the name of this song?” I asked defeatedly as I examined the cover art, which was kind of creepy with some goth-looking girl smirking contemptuously at my soul.

  Adam shrugged as he mouthed along with the words. “I really don’t care what it’s called,” he retorted, “I care how it sounds and how it makes me feel. This song makes my brain relax, and sometimes it’s the only thing that helps me fall asleep.” He closed his eyes and bobbed his head rhythmically as he listened to the music.

  I listened as it broke into the chorus, where the instruments amped up to absurdity and it sounded like she was talking about a field…and then something about the ‘purple sky’ and ‘candy’ something or other. It really didn’t make any sense, and I blamed the rum for my inability to understand the song.

  Adam said something, but I didn’t understand him because I was too busy focusing on some strange noise which I assumed was part of the song. Then I realized it was coming from outside the car, and I adjusted the rearview mirror to see a pair of headlights coming down the road behind us. They were drifting all over the road, and I didn’t trust my own eyes to assess the danger as it hurtled toward us.

  “Adam,” I said, shaking my brother by the shoulder, but he didn’t open his eyes as he continued listening to the song. “Adam!” I yelled, but it was too late.

  The pickup crashed into us in the rear left quarter, and I lost consciousness when the impact smashed my head against the window.

  Chapter III: Aftermath and Reluctant Allies

  The gates of both the Middle and Inner Walls were opened after the sun had risen high into the sky, the presence of which removed the possibility of further attacks in the near future. After the field had been examined preliminarily by soldiers, the High Sheriff came down to perform a personal inspection. I had awoken from my nap after an hour or so, during which time Aemir had dutifully stood guard over me. When I had fully awakened, I led my companions down onto the field.

  I went about collecting samples of the fleeting remnants which the invaders had left behind, but all I was able to retrieve were a few small vials of the ashen, powder-like residue which the maroon ooze probably became after just a few minutes. There was nothing resembling weaponry or armor, or any other conventional siege equipment. It was almost like they simply disappeared when they were defeated, leaving a faint trail of ashes and dust which blew away in the wind.

  I had made my way to the last known location of the juggernaut, and it was only due to the high concentration of the residual powder in that location that I was able to retrieve any kind of samples for later study—assuming I had time to do so. I was, however, unable to find any trace of Magos Antolin but I spent at least fifteen minutes searching.

  It was a cold morning, but I knew that it was only partially due to the coming winter. I gingerly touched my hand to an exposed stone, and it was like touching a frozen aluminum pole. There was frost all over the ground, and my breath hung in a small cloud before dispersing into the air.

  The execution of magic required tremendous energy, and often times that energy was simple heat. But to drain an area so large of so much heat meant that huge, magical, effort had been exercised. Part of that had to have been due to Antolin’s battle-ending efforts, but I suspected that whatever had brought the army to the castle’s doorstep was to blame for the majority of the drain I felt.

  And it wasn’t just the heat that was drained from the area. My own body, containing what I understood to be an incredible amount of raw magical energy—even for an Imperial Wizard—seemed sapped not only by proximity to the field of battle in general, but to the area I now stood in particular, and I could feel it pulling at my power reserves.

  A coughing fit took me by surprise and I doubled over with hacking spasms—spasms which produced more than a few drops of blood. It seemed that magical energy and heat weren’t the only prices one paid for executing a spell and while I hadn’t enacted anything world-shattering in the last few days, my pathetic body had to pay a physical price anyway.

  The High Sheriff’s retinue approached, with Baeld towering over the dozen personal guards assigned to the castle’s master. I was still awestruck at just how large Baeld was compared to everyone else around him. His size wasn’t the only thing that set him apart, as his coal-black features were so angular and sharp that he may as well have been carved out of stone, and his eyes were purple rather than white with iris-less, black pupils. He nodded stiffly to me as he approached, and I returned the gesture.

  The Centurion-style yellow plume was easy to spot on the High Sheriff’s head, and as it approached I felt my jaw set. Being in the presence of the castle’s highest ranking official had a way of testing my patience, but I struggled to keep my composure.

  The High Sheriff reached up with fine, gauntleted hands and removed the helmet, causing a cascade of waist-length, straight red hair to spill out from underneath as the symbolic headpiece was given to the nearest soldier. The High Sheriff’s features were not so much intoxicating as they were striking and different, with a wide jaw, sharply pointed eyebrows above hazel eyes, and a small number of freckles scattered on her face. She wasn’t so much beautiful as she was unique—which would have been attractive were it not for her icy disposition.

  “Wizard,” she said stiffly, making no attempt to hide her disdain. “What have you learned of our foes?”

  I swallowed the knot in my throat and cleared my throat, ca
reful to avoid a resumption of the coughing fit I had just completed. “I believe Magos Antolin was able to sever nearly the entire horde’s connection to its master, leaving only the colossus for me to deal with,” I explained hoarsely. I once again tried to clear my throat before continuing, “I don’t know the method he used, but the price appears to have been high since I can’t find any trace of him.”

  She nodded without taking her eyes from my own. I could see that she was contemplating some matter, but I had no way of knowing what it was. She had a lot on her shoulders as the only surviving member of the area’s governing family, and I could only guess at the responsibilities which unrelentingly tugged her in every direction.

  “You have our thanks, Wizard,” she finally offered formally. “Your House has proven capable where we did not believe it was possible.” She bit her lip momentarily before ceasing abruptly, probably realizing she had done it without thinking. “Our own court of mages was incapable of doing more than slow them in the previous attacks before their powers finally succumbed to whatever foul magics brought this nightmare to our doorstep.”

  “As I said, Sheriff,” I said calmly, tilting my head and shrugging my shoulders, “we aren’t normal mages.”

  She nodded curtly. “I see that now, Jezran Cobalt Wiegraf. I shall not underestimate you again,” she promised with a hint of something less-than-civil in her voice.

  I bowed awkwardly. “I am pledged to rid your land of this curse, Sheriff,” I promised. “Nothing will stop me from doing that.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Your price has been agreed to, Wizard,” she said coldly, “and Castle Coldetz keeps its bargains.” She turned abruptly on her heel and strode purposefully back to the Main Gate of the Middle Wall, followed by her retinue. Baeld hesitated, and only when I finally took my eyes off the High Sheriff’s figure and found his eyes did he clasp his hands together in some sort of salute and give a sharp nod.

  I didn’t understand the significance of the gesture, but my time in these strange lands had taught me that politics are often everything, so I returned the gesture the best I could. He seemed satisfied, and turned to follow the other members of the Sheriff’s retinue.

  “Not so tough,” I heard Dancer say from my left, and I looked down to see the ridiculously large mane of the small man’s hair. He had strapped the spear to his back, and his arms were folded across his chest defiantly.

  “Which one?” I asked curiously.

  “Baeld,” he spat with a tilt of his head toward the towering figure wearing armor which almost glinted with a golden hue in the sunlight. “Gaeld tougher,” he said with finality.

  I shrugged my shoulders and hung my head. Perhaps my greatest mistake had been trading away Gaeld’s services, but it wasn’t as though I had received nothing in return. I ran my thumb along the edge of the metal disc I had used against the flyer and remembered the meeting where I had agreed to the bargain. In hindsight I wasn’t so sure it had been worth it, but at the time it had seemed a more than fair deal.

  Gaeld had been significantly smaller than Baeld and was actually closer in stature to Aemir, who was around six feet tall and probably a hundred seventy pounds. But Gaeld was fast, implacable, and more importantly he was devious and ruthless. He was the perfect Champion, but I had always felt as though he was like an attack dog that was one step away from losing control at any given moment.

  “You may be right,” I said eventually before changing the subject. “Were you able to find anything else of note?” I asked, eager to leave the previous topic in the rearview.

  He shook his head, never taking his eyes off the hulking form of Baeld. “Nothing. No master, no blood, no trail,” he said almost disinterestedly.

  “I must report the same,” came Aemir’s voice from my right. “Master Antolin did not depart on foot, neither was he carried away. Either he grew wings and flew, or he simply disappeared,” he said, spreading his hands wide.

  I nodded, having expected their findings. “All right,” I said wearily, “we should return to the castle and find Pi’Vari. Maybe he’s had some luck translating those notes,” I said, forcing a measure of hope into my voice.

  Back in the castle proper, the walls were adorned with the yellow banners bearing the crest of Coldetz: a giant eagle astride a mountain, with one claw holding a pickaxe, and the other a shield. The interior of the castle was well-maintained and lit by large banks of candles, as well as torches mounted in iron sconces just above my eye level.

  We made our way to my herald, Pi’Vari. His absence on the walls was due to a few factors, not the least of which was that he isn’t the most capable of warriors. His aptitude for magic had almost qualified him for entry into the College at Veldyrian, which produced all of the Empire’s ‘High Wizards,’ but his talents failed to secure him one of the precious seats in his year’s enrolling class.

  So he had caught on with House Wiegraf as a research assistant several years before my ‘arrival,’ if one could call it that. His latent abilities had proven useful in the past, but it was his razor-sharp tongue for which he had earned my highest appreciations—as well as my greatest condemnations.

  His wavy blue hair seemed to almost float around his face, which was exceptionally pale, but not in an unhealthy manner. His skin was ivory-colored, and his eyes were a shade of blue which was so faint that they were almost translucent.

  “Master,” he greeted me airily with a bow, “I hear we were victorious in more than just the defense of this castle.”

  I furrowed my brow. “We drove the invaders back and sustained relatively few casualties…” I said with obvious confusion.

  Pi’Vari smiled, which I had learned was his favorite expression, as he could hide literally any emotion he wanted behind it. “It is tragic, what happened to Master Antolin,” he said smoothly, “but such is the way of things. I suppose that House Wiegraf will now require new leadership. Do you know anyone who might be able to take the position?” he asked blithely.

  My eyes narrowed. Pi’Vari knew as well as everyone else attached to House Wiegraf (whose number of Wizards could be counted using only the thumbs of both hands, including Antolin and myself) had come to Coldetz to secure it against these attacks.

  Our House was a small one, and Antolin had apparently never displayed a high degree of political aptitude, opting to lock himself away in his library and adjoining laboratories for days on end without breaking for food or sleep. As a result of his aloof nature, we were almost completely isolated in the power structure of the Imperial City. Not only that but Antolin’s research had drained our coffers and actually incurred massive debts, which we had great difficulty satisfying.

  “Master Antolin,” I said coldly, “is merely missing. We shall carry on with our business here and attempt to gain clarity as to the cause of his disappearance. If we are unable to find such clarity,” I raised my hand before he could interrupt me, as he had apparently wanted to do, “then I will see to the affairs of our House until such a time as he finds his way back to us.”

  Pi’Vari shrugged his shoulders lightly, as every gesture or movement he made seemed to be made with the same light, frictionless effort. “You are correct, of course,” he said smoothly with a bow of his head, “I apologize if I have given offense. I assure you it was not my intention, Master,” he added with his eyes still turned to the floor.

  “I am not your ‘Master,’ Pi’Vari,” I corrected him wearily, “and I am also not a Magos of any Circle, in case that particular detail also escapes your memory. I am a Journeyman of the Path, and we would all do well to remember that,” I said pointedly.

  Pi’Vari, who had been straightening himself out of his bowing posture, paused momentarily before finding my eyes, which I held firmly on his own. “Quite so,” he said with a tilt of his head, “again, my apologies, Jezran.”

  I really didn’t want to spar with him any more, so I switched gears. “What have you found among these notes,” I asked with a wave to the assembled b
ooks of bound parchment and half-rolled scrolls which were arranged quite neatly on his limited workbench. Pi’Vari, for all his flaws, had a mind for organization and logistics, and that talent came in handy from time to time.

  He nodded gracefully and moved to the far end of the table, almost appearing to glide as he did so. “I have found a few bits which may assist us in devising a method by which we might dislodge this particular threat, but they are only fragments and I have not yet completed my examinations,” he warned before handing me a small scroll of Imperial make which he had used to compile his notes.

  I accepted the scroll and read it silently. I had essentially been required to learn how to read the language of the Empire when I arrived in this world, but strangely enough it had been a fairly easy process for me. As a result, my reading speed was less than exemplary, but I had a full working knowledge of their language. I read the scroll and found references to various types of magic which the now-deceased Court Wizards of Castle Coldetz had believed were behind the attacks, as well as references to the relationships between some of these magic forces and the effects we had confirmed with our own eyes the night before. Many of the references were arcane, even to a learned wizard, and while I had never actually attended the College at Veldyrian myself, I possessed all the knowledge of one who had.

  Finding the common threads interwoven among the data was simple enough for me to do, and those threads all pointed to a confirmation of our original suspicions: the God Sworn were behind the attacks, as only their magics—or those of the Imperial Circles—could produce effects like the ones witnessed here at Castle Coldetz, and Master Antolin had confirmed that none of the Houses capable of such a display had participated. How he had confirmed this was beyond me, but he rarely asserted anything without being absolutely positive about it.

  What the God Sworn wanted with this particular Castle had originally been a mystery, but my tour of the caverns beneath the fortress the day before the attack had illuminated the situation considerably.