Prologue

A council has been convened, but Tavarus Esteldia seems concerned about the outcome.

 

Prologue

            The building was huge, towering above the woods surrounding it—above the rest of civilization, really.  Lighted brilliantly in the radiance of the full moon, it was, in essence, a lonely monolith reminding of a past era, the sole monument to a wondrous age long gone by.  Now, however, it served more of a purpose than simply as testament to a long-forgotten time; it also served as a meeting-hall of sorts, for a certain—and quite exclusive—group of people, from time to time.  This particular night was among those times.

            Tavarus Esteldia, cloaked in both the darkness of the forest and the black robes required for such meetings, ambled up the spotless yet nonetheless well-trodden path leading up to the magnificent castle, pondering the possibilities of what might occur in the approaching meeting.  Looking up into the sky, endless myriads of stars shining light down to him, he let out a small breath of air and continued on in more a trudge than an amble.  With the group of people preparing to gather, the possible outcomes were as innumerable as those sparkling spectacles the sky displayed night after night.  Even with the amount of influence he held, he might as well try to number the stars as hope to correctly guess the night’s outcome.  He just hoped he could do enough to prevent what he feared the most.  If that was the outcome, then all was surely lost.

            As he crested the hill upon which sat that looming giant known to most only as ElrantuCastle, he immediately realized something was wrong.  All of the castle looked fine and in order, about it and among the grounds, but when he peered up into the sky once more he saw the flaw that had decided to pay nature a visit on this strangest of nights.  The moon, which just moments ago had brought every item around him into its own luminous perspective was now nowhere to be seen but as a dim ring sheathing a void black as the night, an event normally known as a lunar eclipse.  Such celestial feats, however, were easily predicted by the society he belonged to, their dates common knowledge to each and everyone of its members.  And it was well-known that tonight was certainly not an occasion for such.  In fact, the next instance should not have been for another eight months.  Something was dreadfully wrong, and as Tavarus now trotted to the castle’s entrance, he desperately hoped it wasn’t as he feared.

            The two regular guards for these occasions, Lyon the Strong and Aldon the Brave, were blocking the entrance as usual.  “Tavarus,” Aldon, the more talkative of the pair, said in greeting.  Lyon was no less a friend to Tavarus, but he showed it in his own way, with a grunt rather than an articulated word.  Tavarus knew the pair well.  To tell the truth, everyone in this organization was like family, more or less.  He hoped tonight wouldn’t bring any sibling rivalry, but he would accept that if it didn’t bring about the unthinkable—the thing which would tear apart the fabric of it all—the divorce, so to speak.  And he wasn’t at all sure that would be the case.

            “Aldon,” Tavarus replied with a nod.  “Lyon.  I suppose you two have taken notice of the unexplained celestial spectacle?”  He motioned to the conspicuously absent moon to clarify what he’d referred to.  “Tonight should have been a full moon.”

            Both nodded gravely.  “It is not good,” Lyon answered solemnly.

            Aldon started crying.  “We will all be destroyed, Tavarus.  Destroyed!  We…we are all doomed to destruction.”  His sobs got the better of him as he stepped aside for his fellow man in the cause they all fought for, the cause they all had to fight for.  He stepped aside for Tavarus Esteldia, one of the most vital members of the group, one of the most vital members of society.  Of the world.  And, because he stepped aside, because both of those guards stepped aside, he would become one of the most vital members of history itself.

            The history they all feared.

            “I’ll try to make sure that doesn’t happen, Aldon,” Tavarus assured him.  “Dear God, I will try.”

            Aldon just nodded, tears still streaming down his battle-hardened face.  Obviously impatient, he curtly gestured for Tavarus to move along in.  Giving one final nod to both guards, he complied and stepped into ElrantuCastle, or, as the group called it, Zelander Celdabra—the dwelling-place of Fate.  He knew tonight most of all the name would be quite fitting, regardless of the outcome.  Tonight, fate would be decided, one way or another.

            The cold stone corridors were ceremonially lit with lines of candles, a ritual reserved exclusively for meetings such as the one being held tonight.  The last such instance had been nearly three decades earlier.  Then, a sorceress had been burned for her crimes.  If tonight went as it should, this culprit’s punishment wouldn’t be nearly so quick and painless.  He would be impaled on a bloody cross, just as it should be, with what he’d done.  Tavarus just hoped the rest of the council would see it that way.  His head was so muddled with various undercurrents and ulterior motives, he couldn’t say anything for sure.  All he really could do at this point was hope, which he never stopped doing as he walked between the seemingly endless pools of rich orange candlelight.  Normally, he would have said it brought a warm, friendly atmosphere to the damp stone halls.  Given the circumstances, however, it was more like a pathway down to Hell itself.  Given the circumstances, Tavarus wasn’t altogether certain that was too far from the truth.

            As he continued to make his way towards tonight’s courtroom, the only sound to be heard was his quiet footsteps, the soft falls of his traveling boots to the stone floor.  Sure, the noise from the courtroom was certainly raucous enough to echo throughout the entire castle, or, at the least, the hall it occupied, but, as always, the meeting-room was magically sealed off so that no one could hear anything from it without physically entering the room him or herself.  Tonight, Tavarus was particularly glad of this; it meant he had a little more time to organize his thoughts before entering, and a little more time to relax.  Ha, relax, he thought, what a ridiculous notion.  Of course he would love to relax if he could—they would all jump through hoops to achieve such a release, but unfortunately the matters at hand were too serious to release one’s self from.  Much too serious.

            Tavarus brought his various thoughts to a close as he reached the entrance to the courtroom itself, barred by another pair of guards, though these, unlike those guarding the entrance to the castle, were reserved solely for instances involving the misuse of magic.  These guards were not a part of the regular group, but, rather, were hired specially when the need arose.  That needing coming up as seldom as it did, Tavarus didn’t believe he’d seen the guards since the incident close to thirty years ago.  The one major thing these guards did share with members of the group was their longevity, which made things convenient enough.  Tavarus knew the younger of the two had to at least be approaching his 250^th birthday.

            “Ayvem, Agor.  Good to see both of you again,” he said to the pair politely, hoping to delay or distract himself from the imminent task.

            His frail hopes were dashed when, without reply, verbal or otherwise, they opened the doors to admit him—Tavarus, respected elder of the council, and, he well knew, the final member to arrive at the trial.  When the doors closed loudly behind him, he knew they wouldn’t reopen until the proceedings were complete.  Though he tried to deny it, only one thing seemed able to occupy his mind.

            It had begun.

            “Tavarus Esteldia.  Please take your seat and light your candle.”

            Wordlessly, Tavarus obeyed, seating himself in the only unoccupied chair and placing his hands over the unlit candelabra in front of him, lighting it with the internal magic everyone in the room possessed.  The main purpose of doing this was to prove that no one was a fraud, but there were also ceremonial reasons involved.  The candelabras were originally to represent light flushing out all darkness.  For this, though, Tavarus wasn’t sure the representation would be accurate.  Here, darkness might well flush out the light.

            “Now all members of the trial have gathered, and all the candles have been lit.  I, as Supreme Administrator of the International League Dedicated to the Proper Use of Magic, declare the trial concerning Elegar Barzschraugh begun.”  There was a slight pause as he made sure everyone understood.  “Now, as Chief Prosecutor against Mr. Barzschraugh’s crimes of magic, along with my council of prosecution composed of Lyla Andikit, Verus Mekrerin, Alwen Morala, Tavarus Esteldia, Lyndis Crantuldonne, and Walcayr Intonin, the questioning shall begin.”

            Tavarus cringed inwardly.  Aldon, the Chief Prosecutor, had already changed several of the standard rules of address.  Aldon, a powerful but morally grey leader, pulled back the hood of his cloak to reveal his stark white face, his continually snarling mouth and his fiercely penetrating eyes.  Normally, Tavarus would have been happy to see those familiarly ruthless features against the prosecuted convict before them, but from the way things were going, he didn’t know who those features would really be going against—the prosecuted or the prosecutors.

            “So, Mr. Barzschraugh,” Aldon began, “why don’t you tell us which of the following crimes you’re guilty of?  We’ll begin with thirty-eight counts of magically-induced rape.”

            “Not guilty,” Mr. Barzschraugh, a huge, malevolent-looking human growled back in response.

            Tavarus stood proudly.  “We have evidence proving otherwise, Mr. Barzschraugh, including accounts from twelve different victims, so perhaps you’d—”

            “Tavarus,” Aldon interrupted curtly.  “Save it until we’ve listed all the alleged crimes!”

            Tavarus glared questioningly at Aldon’s snarling face, now complete with a self-satisfied smile.  Angrily, he sat back down, screening the room to see why no one else had questioned.  They all stared at him as if he had just done the most outrageous thing possible and they had no idea why.  Though he didn’t let it show, despair filled his heart.  It was worse than he had thought.

            “I’m sorry for that, Mr. Barzschraugh,” Aldon said.  “Now, let’s continue.  114 counts of naturally-induced rape?”

            “Not guilty.”

            “All right.  636 counts of premeditated murder?”

            Barzschraugh went so far as to smile.  “Not guilty.”

            Tavarus stood again.  “Do you find something funny, Mr. Barzschraugh?”

            “Tavarus!” Aldon snapped.  “You will leave the questioning to me unless I explicitly appoint you!  Do you understand?”

            He knew the validity of that rule well enough, but what irked him was that Aldon had bypassed others without question from anyone.  Tavarus wondered if the jury would be as yielding to Aldon’s wishes as the prosecution team was.  He wondered what was different about himself in particular—why whatever had happened to everyone else here hadn’t happened to him.  Unless…no, it couldn’t be.  If Aldon were going to make personal affront on him, it would be in private.  No, it must have been coincidence.

            “So,” Aldon said as cordially as he could, “we continue.  Again, Mr. Barzschraugh, I apologize for the delay.  402 counts of prolonged physical torture?”

            “Not guilty.”

            Tavarus felt hot tears running down his face.  He had personally spoken with the few survivors of Barzschraugh’s animal brutality.  All had been without limbs, or eyes…usually difficult even to identify as a living person.  Most had barely been able to speak, especially about the ordeals they’d suffered, but what they had managed to tell him, combined with the condition he’d seen them in…if it was in his power to rid the world of Elegar Barzschraugh, Tavarus knew he would do it.  He had sworn as much in a blood oath.  Elegar Barzschraugh would pay for his egregious crimes—he had to.  If Aldon didn’t do anything, Tavarus would have to take matters into his own hands.  He had prepared for that possibility, yet even so, if everyone sided with Aldon as they were now…well, he would just have to see how things played out, and continue to hope for the best.  Yes, he would hope for the best.

            “Three counts of total genocide of a people?”

            Tavarus barely restrained himself.

            “Not guilty.”

            “16 counts of incitement of a dispute, directly leading to war on a grand scale?”

            The culprit in question opened his mouth to give a toothy grin at that.  The beast was actually proud of what he’d done.  Proud.  “Not guilty!” he declared almost amiably.

            Aldon nodded, as if that was the most reasonable thing in the world.  “All right, then.  I believe those are all the charges that have been brought against you.  Does anyone else have any charges to bring this court against Elegar Barzschraugh?”

            Ordinarily, Tavarus would have brought up Mr. Barzschraugh’s conspicuous contempt in the courtroom.  However, at this point, he knew that would do much more harm than good, so he stayed silent, as did everyone else present.  He swore he saw Aldon smirk in his direction, but he ignored it as he waited for the trial to continue.

            “All right, then,” Aldon said, rubbing his hands together, “the jury can decide for themselves—”

            “Wait!” Tavarus exclaimed half-indignantly, half-imploringly.  “You directly implied that this court would consider the evidence mounted against the accused!  May I have permission to present it?”

            Aldon gave him a smug little smile, then contorted it into one of the more vicious examples of the snarl he was so well-known for.  “Well, apparently you’ve misconstrued my implications, Tavarus!  This court will certainly not consider any evidence against Mr. Barzschraugh, and I never said that it would, so you can bring nothing against me in my decision to withhold whatever evidence you may have.  Am I clear, Tavarus?”

            At that moment, Tavarus knew any punishment or condemnation Elegar Barzschraugh received for his unspeakable crimes would have to be self-imposed.  Not now though, not yet.  He would have to act with absolutely precise timing, or all was surely lost.  He would have to be perfect.  He knew that.

            “Yes, Sir,” Tavarus answered Aldon’s question in a distinctly bitter, disheartened tone, not too difficult to conjure up but not something fully reflective of his true feelings, either.  He was not completely devoid of hope as his tone implied, not for now at least.  He still had one trick up his sleeve, and he intended to use it, to be sure he did.  He couldn’t let a monster like Elegar Barzschraugh be loosed on the world again.  That must not be allowed to happen, no matter the cost.  He wouldn’t let it.

            “Good,” Aldon was saying in a remarkably malicious tone, even for him.  “Now, as I said, the jury can decide for itself the validity of Mr. Barzschraugh’s words.  Jury, do you need time to reach a consensus?”  He asked it as if it were a rhetorical question, as if the jury certainly would not need to take any time in making its decision.  Tavarus had no doubt the members of the jury were as loyal to Aldon as the remainder of the prosecution team was.  Already sure of the jury’s response, Tavarus Esteldia made no hesitation as he began uttering the words required to bring down the monster among them—he did so in as quiet a tone and as quick a manner as he was able, but regardless of the way he went about it, he had begun his attack.

            “We, the jury, have no need for any span of time in which to reach a consensus,” said Rahn Alansa, a man Tavarus had known over 400 years.  He felt saddened by the fact that everyone present, everyone he had known, and, for the greater part, loved, for so many years, had betrayed all he stood for, all the League stood for—or had stood for, it seemed.  However, he knew that the longer Rahn spoke, the longer everyone’s attention was fixed upon him, the longer he, Tavarus, had to continue his spell.  That being the case, despite his completely unbridled anguish at losing everything and everyone he’d held dear, he savored every word, every treacherous, death-dealing, devastating declaration that came from Rahn Alansa’s treacherous lips.

            “We have come to the conclusion,” Alansa continued, “that Mr. Elegar Barzschraugh is not guilty of any of the crimes he has been convicted of.”

            Aldon nodded curtly.  “All right, then Mr. Barzschraugh, you are free to go.”

            Tavarus was furiously endeavoring to complete the spell, now entering the last few words of it as Aldon magically cut the bonds holding the now-acquitted Mr. Barzschraugh without moving a finger.  As that heartless monster got up from its seat, preparing to leave, Tavarus stood to his feet, trying to create some distraction, anything to delay that demon’s progress for just a few moments.  Focusing all of his anger, he stared straight at the would-be convict and yelled out the final words of the spell.  “…VENTHRUS ALAM RAVATHI!!!”

            In a fraction of a second, everything and everyone but Tavarus was completely still.  The absolute halting of time within a certain area was one of the most difficult  spells of all to master, and, given its power, rightfully so.  But he had done it—not without years of frustration, yes, but nonetheless had certainly done it—and now it would finally pay off.  Elegar Barzschraugh would never walk the earth again, he thought as he prepared a much simpler magic-penetrating fireball to finish the beast off once and for all.  Speaking the relatively few words required for it, he released the attack and watched with a grim smile as it propelled itself straight for Barzschraugh…and was stopped in midair by a blue counterattack, from the right.  Furious, he turned to find out how such a hindrance could have occurred—and saw Aldon, still in motion and distorting his mouth full of fangs into the smug grin Tavarus had come to loathe above nearly all else.

            “Aldon,” his voice grated through clenched teeth.

            “Tavarus.”  His smile changed to one of affected congeniality.  “I suspected you might try to pull something like this.  I couldn’t allow it to happen, so I prepared a little spell of my own.  I can’t let you destroy the one chance I have at finding the Power, now can I?”

            Tavarus had always known that was what it had been about.  Aldon had been searching for the Power, a legendary magical ability that was said to give one the capacity to bear the essence (and, in turn, respective powers) of others on one’s self.  During the process of committing his heinous crimes, Barzschraugh had unearthed evidence of this thing’s existence, a related ability essentially making him a human compass pointing to various clues to the Power’s location, which, over the last half century, had brought Aldon closer and closer to his goal.  Tavarus didn’t think Aldon or even Barzschraugh himself knew how close they were to finding the alleged ability, but one thing was sure: Barzschraugh would be needed if there was any chance at ascertaining the Power’s true location.  That was, Tavarus admitted to himself, part of the reason he had been willing to risk everything on killing the man.  He knew that, morally, Aldon was capable of anything, and he didn’t want to see what would happen if that were complemented with an infinite magical capability to boot.  He didn’t know how long the world could endure such a force.  Although he certainly hadn’t wanted to loose Barzschraugh into the world for the sake of future victims of his crimes, he realized the primary reason was so Aldon wouldn’t be loosed on the world with a never-ending supply of power.  That would be much, much worse.

            As these thoughts all ran through his mind again, Tavarus pulled out a scimitar he’d had hidden on his person.  Not wasting time to bandy words, he lunged at Aldon with all he had, straight at the b*****d’s throat.  Aldon easily blocked the blow with a blade of his own, in his case a three-pronged trident.

            “Oh, come now, Tavarus, would you really try me in single combat?”  He snarled as he began his own offensive.  “I always was your better, but if you wish it, it would be as fine an end for you as any.”  He continued to speak in harsh tones as the battle went on, Tavarus barely able to keep up with Aldon’s fierce barrage of attacks.  “I have wondered why the compulsion spell didn’t work on you, as it did the rest.  Perhaps you’re special, somehow, Tavarus.  You always were superior to nearly everyone else, as far as magic was concerned.”  He paused to deliver a particularly vicious attack.  “But in combat, I will destroy you!”  Then he stopped talking as he focused all of his efforts on besting his foe.  Tavarus was quite adept with a scimitar, but he was losing and he knew it.  Both of them were giving their all, and Tavarus was barely defending himself.  Then, as he brought his scimitar up again, to fend off the oncoming blow from Aldon’s trident, it failed to block the attack and the prongs of the trident made three long, deep gashes down his left arm.

            As soon as it happened, the world around them came bustling back to life.  It was the most fundamental rule of magic: lifeblood is required as a stream through which magic power can travel.  If any of it is lost, magic fails to operate.  As it was, now that Tavarus had lost some blood, his time-halting spell had failed.  Now with everyone sure to side with Aldon against him, he knew he had no chance.  Not wanting to be tortured or humiliated, Tavarus Esteldia turned his scimitar towards himself and prepared to end his life.  Aldon was cackling uproariously as Tavarus shoved the blade at his unprotected throat.

            The metal shattered to pieces against his neck.

            Suddenly Tavarus was filled with a horrible burning sensation and a brilliantly shining light began emanating from him.  Blinded by its sudden presence and sheer luminosity, everyone just stood, stunned, in the places they had been when Tavarus had halted time.  Everyone, that is, but the recently released accused, Elegar Barzschraugh. 

            “I feel the Power!” he yelled out.  “I feel it!  It’s here in this room, right here!  It’s so incredibly strong…it’s…it’s almost too much…”

            Tavarus was the only one with unaffected vision as the blinding light filled the room, and he saw perfectly Aldon’s open display of awe and realization.  “It was you who had it all along, Tavarus?  You?!?”  His face distorted into extreme rage as it dawned on him exactly what that meant.  “YOU HAD IT ALL THIS TIME!!!  YOU!!!  I AM GOING TO—”

            Suddenly the light dimmed and everyone but Tavarus was held in invisible bonds.  Aldon was the first to struggle and try to break free, but to no avail—and, it would seem, magic was out of the question, too.  Somehow, the Power within Tavarus had nullified it.  Everyone in the room was left simply to watch and wait what would happen next.

            Tavarus, himself still in the dark as much as everyone else, felt a deep, bellowing voice emerge from within him as everyone stared in horror and amazement.  His eyes blazed a fierce red, then glazed over.  A look of recognition came to the face of Aldon and a few others.  Tavarus had always primarily been a prophet, and now he was about to utter a prophecy.  Aldon, at least, looked like he knew he should be listening carefully to every word that came from the prophet’s mouth.  He looked to Tavarus expectantly.

            The prophet—or, more correctly, whatever was within him—began speaking in the voice he had felt making its way out just a moment earlier.  It was not only deep, and bellowing, but painfully sad, dripping with sorrow, and amplified several times, so that the plaintive words echoed throughout the courtroom.

            “Ages have come, and ages gone

            As the sands of time slowly drop to the realm of death.

            But in an age to come, of great wars and strife,

            One child will rise from the ashes of life,

            And wield the Artifact of Power and Time,

            Bringing to himself that he has always desired

            And that which will bring great ruin.

            He will cross the plains of sorrow,

            Traverse the fields of pain,

            And reach the mountain-hall of Death.

            In this age of war and strife,

            When the child rises up to life,

            He must be allowed to accomplish all,

            Else fear the black wind of Blight’s call.

            But if ye be in that age, beware:

            For whether he falls, and meets his end,

            Or whether he journeys to the end,

            In that age there is but one end:

            Of endless pain, where all men contend.”

            As Tavarus spoke the last lines of the prophecy, he felt the same horrible burning sensation he had felt before, when the light had come out from him.  This time, however, there was no light, only an unbearable heat that continued to intensify at a nearly exponential rate, within mere moments great enough to burn the hair clean off of a person.  Screams of agony came as this began occurring to many, but Tavarus did not heed any of it; he could not.  His personal agony was much greater.  He felt the Power burgeoning within him, expanding that unspeakable burning sensation until it filled his entire body, his entire mind, his entire being.  He was the Power.  There was room for nothing else.

            The rest of those in the room, their personal agonies forgotten, watched in absolute dread as the Power continued expanding regardless of the room within Tavarus, its vessel—as Tavarus’ body began to look more and more strained by the pure force of the Power within it.  They continued to watch as it grew, kept growing, without stop, without so much as a pause—and then it was too much.  Every face was a mask of unrestrained, total, and final terror in the last moment, that split second before the Power fully exceeded the limits of its vessel, and then it had exceeded them, and the last, longest moment in all of their lives occurred, the greatest, most formidable, and of course most powerful explosion they had ever seen, had ever heard about, and, probably, had ever come into existence went off, and everything around that had stood, that had lived, that had thrived, became nothing, spiraling into oblivion in the smallest fraction of a second.

            The Power would stain the land for all time.

Author's Note

No specific notes, though obviously reviews are welcome.

Reviews

[Kathleen]

Thanks for making the text bigger. I liked the prologue it was detailed and well written. Although when I was reading the beginning I would have liked to have known what the meeting was about (like maybe say the misuses of magic)--you were hinting at all sorts of things, but I had no idea how to apply that (I was actually thinking the meeting had to do with astronomy or something since you mentioned the lunar eclipse and their dates being well known). Besides that, I thought your prologue was great!

[Kathleen]

I really liked what I read, but i didn't finish since my eyes got tired from straining. Could you please make the text bigger?