Featured Novel: The Shadow Channeler | Chapter 27 ('Just a simple uber w00t shall do it :)') | 03/08/08 | Rated 5 Stars

Chapter 26








The city of Rilos had long been held
by the Night’s embrace when Sandarus and the gfhice, tired but amazed at the
city, of which he had never seen before, arrived there. A very tired and
worried Hogar was standing there, and was just about to return to the
Platapurrien Puffer, when he saw the two specks appear in the distance. Wary
that it could very well be anything from a bandit to an unknown traveler, he
kept his hand on the hilt of his axe. What made his frown was that the figure
was accompanied by another one, and, unless Sandarus found a random merchant
walking to Rilos, even reinforced the fact that it wasn’t him. Shaking his head
and reasoning that his unstable, but life-saving companion was surely dead, by
beast, brigand, or otherwise, he slowly walked back in through the main gates.
Surprised that anyone would come in at this hour, the guard cautiously asked him
a few questions, to confirm that he was not a thief or otherwise shady
character, then the gates slowly groaned open. Unfortunately, it was a manual
opening, and, even more unfortunate, there was only one man there to open it.
Sighing and tapping his foot, he waited as the man heaved and screeched, and
looked back at the two specks. They had gotten surprisingly closer, and Hog was
sure that he could make out a dark blue cape. Scratching his head, he made his
way towards the two, and chuckled to himself when he heard a surprised yelp and
a massive thump! The soldier looked
at the giant walking away in annoyance, then saw for himself the two figures
coming up, and rolled his eyes when he realized he’d soon have to give the gate
another attempt.





“Is that…?
No…Can’t be…” said Sandarus, talking more to himself then to the High Oracle.
But, of course, the one-year old gfhice did not understand rhetorical
questions, and responded, “Who can that be? An ally or someone you are
acquainted with, perhaps?” Sandarus looked at the man in annoyance, then saw he
meant it in pure curiosity, and said, “Yeh, possibly. It’s just that, I do n- I
mean I don’t” he looked at the
gfhice, somewhat annoyed that his way of speaking was starting to affect him,
“understand how he could be here. We separated about a week ago…Could he be
waiting for me?” The gfhice gave a happy shrug, and continued to walk. He
turned to look at the being, and noticed that, in the past few days he had been
with it, it had grown a good inch of two. Shaking his head and looking forward,
his suspicions were confirmed when the man emerged from the shadow of the path,
and Sandarus noticed how tall he was. Several minutes later, Hog broke from his
jog to them, stopped and said, “Sandarus! You’re ok! Thank Dread! What have you
been doing, and what the h-“ he then saw the gfhice, and looked at Sandarus
immediately for an explanantion. He nodded, and recited what had happened since
the bandits had put up that illusion, and how the gfhice saved him, and their
short trip here. Hogar nodded cautiously, and shook hands with the now-serious
being. “Nice to meet you…” Hog paused, and the man, new to this, thought it was
the custom, and responded, “Nice to meet you…” Hogar shrugged and said,
“Hogar.” The gfhice shrugged, and said, “Hogar” Somewhat annoyed, Hog stopped
shaking his hands and asked, “No, you see, you tell me your name,” The gfhice
shrugged, and said, “I do not have a name. I am sorry.” Flustered, he looked at
Sandarus, who shrugged, and said, “Well what in the name of Dread should we
call you?” The gfhice’s face suddenly darkened. “Before I appeared in front of
my friend, I remember one thing, a name…” he said, and, despite his face
wrapped in cloth, Hog was sure he saw tears, “Oracle” he said. Sandarus looked
at Hogar in confusion, who shrugged in return. “Uh, Oracle? Ok, so I guess
that’ll be your name. Is that ok?” The gfhice nodded, and the three began to
make their way back, and Sandarus was relieved- albeit fairly grim –to hear
that Zuthis was alive. On the way there, Hogar and Sandarus took turns to
explain what exactly had happened since that day in Dreadnar, how Zuthis was
assumed dead, and how Sandarus was a fugitive for fleeing. Sandarus nudged
Hogar when he was about to mention how he had shot Zuthis, and Hogar
understood, although he looked at him, and rolled his eyes. Fortunately, the
guard had started opening the game beforehand, and had it opened enough for the
three to crouch under, before he let out a great breath and it crashed to the
ground. Hogar discussed with Sandarus that a gfhice mine not exactly be great
during this time of war, then realized he’d made a fatal mistake. “What war,”
said the being, its cloth-wrapped face creasing in a frown. “Oh…Ship,” they
said in unison, although Sandarus said it with a slightly different ending.
Sandarus looked severely at Hogar, possibly as how a mother looks at her child
to tell him to stop misbehaving. Sighing, and realized that nothing could be
done now, Sandarus began to explain what was happening in the kingdom, which
Hogar had explained to him before, out of earshot of the gfhice. “Impossible!”
yelled the man, angry for the first time, “My people, they would never do that!
They are calm, not murderers!” Sandarus shook his head, and explained that a
raiding party had come some time ago, and they had taken one prisoner and
questioned it. Then, Sandarus was the
one to notice he made a large mistake. “PRISONER?” Hogar and Oracle yelled
in unison. Sandarus, being a former member of the Elite Guard, was one of the
select few to know of his existence, and remembered grimly how severe they had
exaggerated the importance of the matter. He scolding himself silently, now
knowing that he should have paid more attention, and should have noted how damn
important it was. Not having much of a choice, he pulled the two aside from the
bustle of the town (strangely quiet, Sandarus noted) and explained them
everything. Oracle, if it was possible to tell, was red from anger, and Hog was
frowning in a look of surprise and disappointment. When he finished, he smiled
weakly and looked at the two. Hogar was shaking his head, and the gfhice seemed
extremely angry. “This is not the place, friend,” said Hogar, whispering it
into Oracle’s ear. Nodding, he seemed to release the tension that had been
built up inside him, and took off. He was immediately pulled by the scruff of
his collar, and remembered shyly that he could not be seen in public. Taking off
his cloak, Sandarus threw it over the man, and they began to make their way
through the city, trying to dodge to the shadows and not be seen by the
dwindling population of the city.





The man in black was confused, for
he had no idea where the new figure had come from. He had followed Zuthis to
his room, and had killed to unfortunate merchant in the one next to it, and
moved into the room. Quickly looting it, he then threw the body out the window,
locked the door, and magically reinforced it, then began a spell song.
“Etheralan Magium,” he whispered, and the wall in front of him suddenly
disappeared, leading into the room of the two. The wall had not disappeared,
however, it was nearly invisible to no one but him, allowing him to see easily
into the next room. That was when the trio arrived, and the man only recognized
Hog. But then, he rolled his eyes, and said incredulously, “What in the name of
Merlin?!” For, that man that followed was none other then that sfickus he had
seen in Dreadnar! The one he had lied to about seeing the other man on the
floor in the street! Of course, he had no other reason to believe then that
Sandarus was after him, and so that was exactly what he thought. It was a large
surprise for him, then, when a knock on the door sent the man flying out the
window, disappearing in the shadows. A rather confused bar-tender smashed open
the door, and scratched his head, shrugging, and guessing that the merchant did
not want dinner.








Jetion tried furiously to regain feeling in his legs as he
slowly froze to death. He yelled in pain as he forced himself up, each movement
seeming to take a millennia. Looking down, he discovered why. A massive gash
spread from his hip to his knee, and the blood was still fresh. Cursing himself
for being so blind, he looked in horror at his slaughtered allies, and then
knew he was the only one left. He clutched the object to his chest, knowing
that, if he died with it, here, now, all of their deaths- and his – would be
for nothing. Eventually, his legs gave away, and he cried out in pain as he
collapsed to the floor, and he heard a distinct cracking noise, which could
only be identified as his leg breaking. Tears blurring his vision, he pulled
himself, moving far slower then he wanted, knowing that all hope was lost, that
it was his fault, all of it. He had done this to all of them, and now he, the
only one left, would once again let them all down, this time, being the last. He
knew there was surely no hope left when he heard the unmistakable sound of the
Wolf Tooth, and he shook his head. How could he had done this?! The mistake he
had made! All his fault, all dead, every one! God had done this on purpose,
making him the last, so he could see the result of his mistakes. The suffering
was almost unbearable. Then, something else touched his hands, something
different then the ice-cold, unforgiving snow, and he realized that he had just
reached the body of the only one who had dared to be seen with him. Jamin. His
only friend, the only one who cared. He let out a cry of hatred for himself and
how unfair life was, and cried. He would die here, he reasoned. With the corpse
of the one who had always been with him. There was no point in living now, he
reasoned. Every one was dead because of he, and he would die soon too. He took
one last look at the world, the snow-covered, barren wasteland, and slowly lay
down and rested, a warm sensation coming over him, causing him to slowly lose
consciousness.

Chapter 27


Angrily battering his way towards a boat, he had a vague sensation that he was being followed. No, duh, you nit-wit! , he said to himself, every damn person in ten miles is heading to the ships like you! He finally made it on the ship, and aided one of the soldiers to lift the ramp, causing it to fall in the water, letting no more on the ship. Sinking down in relief, he confirmed that this ship was on passage to Dreadnar, and let out a sigh of fatigue. He asked one of the men that was closest to him what was all the trouble about. The man gave a grim laugh then looked at him in surprise. “You aren’t joking, are you?” Hazul shook his head, a little confused. The man frowned, then continued, “Well, I was there myself. I’m lucky to be alive. This whole damn kingdom has been taken over by the gfhii!” Hazul, hearing this for the first time, had no reason not to believe what was obviously complete lie, thinking that Draknius, any of his friends, especially Roit, were all dead. And somehow, he believed and felt that it was his fault. Hazul had heard legends of the gfhice; ruthless, evil creatures, that stopped at nothing to get what they desired, and were constantly at war with each other. He felt a cold, icy stone drop in his stomach, just as he thought that he had made it to Dreadnar to start a new life. “Chances are,” continued the man, snapping Hazul to attention, “They’re heading for Dreadnar, and when they get there, I myself reckon they’ll move on up north, where they’ll raid Jhemut. Then…” Hazul had stopped listening when the man had confirmed his guesses about where they were heading next. Dreadnar. The place where he thought he could refresh himself, and live happily, or at least calmly, for the rest of his life. Now, he noted, with irony doing no good to lighten his mood, Dreadnar would turn into the same bloody hole-in-the-wall Draknius is…Or was, he added grimly.

He got up, in such a saddened mood, that even the man’s “..So what’s your story, boy?” did nothing to anger him. He was as good as dead, he knew, and, as much as he doubted the man’s claims, moving north to Jhemut, if that was where they’d go next, would leave him stranded on Dreadnar, very likely to be catch and killed. He paced the over-crowded deck, muttering apologies to whoever he bumped into. Suddenly, he heard a familiar, albeit dangerous, sound. It was the crack of an arrow. He dived aside, prepared to fight whoever had assaulted him. Then, he realized, causing his head to automatically drop and his legs suddenly lose their strength, no one on the ship had attacked him. It was the gfhice. He also noted, almost worst the before, was that they were the only ship to have escaped the gfhii’s clutches. They had finished with the dock, and Hazul saw that they were throwing people off the boats, into the water, and immediately setting off. They were not using sails like his ship, however. They were using their insurmountable strength to plow the ship forward, using the oars. They were coming, he noticed, and fast. Some one bumped past him, and he thought he saw a glint of gold in the sunlight, and then nearly dodged an arrow that had came from that direction. The ship was in a mass panic now, the soldiers on it trying desperately to attack the other ships and calm down the other villagers to no avail. Picking the arrow up, but watching the ship warily, he held it up in the sunlight. He scratched his head in confusion, when he saw that in the light of the sun, it glinted an unmistakable silver.

Neatly stringing a thread of curses together, the man in black dusted himself off and stepped out of the slop he had landed in. Knowing that he was now being followed, he looked at the civilians with a new air, as if every merchant, sailor and farmer was a spy just looking for a chance to kill him. Walking towards the dock, in search of a more shady and unsuspecting place to make residence for the night, a chill wind cut through his cloak. He had the vague smell of something, yet he could not quite place it. On the horizon, the sky was a raging red, almost as if it was urging the sun to speed its descent and for night to come. Suddenly, a messenger rode in. His clothes were bloodied, his lips almost blue, and his face an example of death-like fatigue. He was in his twenties, and seemed a little too thin. Well muscled, a bow-man, it seemed, he had only a small short sword at his waist, and a long bow that only Regius’ men wore, he noted. It seemed that he had ridden at full speed, in some sense of hurry, and, from the looks of him, ran into some trouble, and was left wounded and without nourishment. Among the first to notice, the man set a pace towards the man, hoping to gather some information that could prove in any way useful. He helped him down, and offered the man the flask around his hip. Grateful, but thoroughly disappointed that it was not brandy, he took a long, thankful gulp, handing it back to a astonished man, who noted in annoyance that it was completely empty. Putting it away, he noticed that the man had some color that had reluctantly crept back into his face, and his lips had lost their blue tint. “Thank, man,” said the solider, regaining his composure, “My journey has been long and hard. I had been ordered to ride here almost a week ago, yet I had no idea that damned road was so…” His voice trailed off. “Dangerous?” the man in black offered, knowing too well what he meant, recalling vividly his fight. “Yes,” he said, his voice relieved that the man understood what he was saying. “You seem to have faced the same dangers as me, friend, and I thank you for your help. May I know your name?” Caught off guard, the figure flinched, almost as if he had been splashed with ice cold water. By now, a considerable crowd had gathered around them. The man, waiting for a response, a frown creasing his forehead, suddenly remembered his duties. “Ah, yes! Why I came here,” he raised his voice so all could hear, taking on an important tone that drew the remainder of the wandering townsfolk. “His majesty, the king, after sever thought…” The man in black sighed and shook his head as the man went through useless matters, such as new meaningless laws that had been set, and old ones that had been re-instated. The man was also happy to announce that Farmer Jioe’s pig-cow, Besuiii! had been found. After that, the man in black tuned out, hearing only something about finding the animal after it’s jump over D. Moun farm, and Farmer Jioe, stepping up on the pedestal the speaker was on, adding that he was happen it didn’t run off with Fid Eil, his farm boy, whom he suspected was trying to steal it from it. More matters went on, and finally, the soldier took on a very grave note that instantly caught the man’s attention. “His majesty, announced, some week ago,” he paused, looking around, “That the capital of Dreadnar and all of its surrounding cities and islands are going to war, against a race only known at the gfhice.” There was a stunned silence, during which many fainted, only to fall on the floor, not to be caught by even more shocked husbands. Some held no expression except in their eyes, the expression someone wears when they know they’re going to die, and nothing can be done. Some cried silently, and some smiled, battle a welcome surprise. The man in black growled angrily, knowing too well that all this would do would make his quest all the more harder. Turning away from the rest, not listening to the outcome of the man’s words, he walked away, towards the docks, and then realized the smell earlier. He also noted, with a grim smile, what was red on the horizon. It was the massive, hellish fires of war.

Regius was at a loss. He was so disturbed that he had barely touched the wine on his desk. The king slowly paced the room, trying to find a solution to all of this. First of all, obviously the most apparent reason and the most troubling, they were going to war, something that he was sure as hell was NOT good for the economy, the city, or anything damn else, for that matter! Second of all, as he had mused a few days ago, with the loss of his son, and a war at his heels, an assassination attempt (and succession) would put this kingdom into panamonium, far worst then anything else. Especially if those sfickus try to kill me, Regius thought. Then the thought came to him in a bright, shining sun, only to be blotted out by the large, black tidal wave of reason. His illegitimate son. He could still be alive, but he was sure as Dread that he couldn’t leave the city alone, which would be pretty much the same as being dead. No one knew of this so he could not trust even his most trusted servants and guards on this matter. Finally, something that imfuriated him, was that he had just been informed that his messenger has gotten to Rilos, much later then planned. With the loss of one of his most trusted captains, Sandyrust, or something like that, he thought, he was facing much more trouble than one his age could handle. Sighing and rubbing his temples, he sank back into his chair and sent for the jester. The twelfth one this week, he murmured in his head, with not even the slightest chuckle.