From Dark Fantasy, I venture into sword and sorcery for the first time.

The Dawn of Limcat

Prologue

Saya, Year 1043 Octalamus Dynasty – The Night of Blue Fire

Two of The Enlightened were missing, Grandmaster Virgil in Venegese and Grandmaster Shamak in Rottoman.  This was no coincidence, surely.  This was a power play, but by whom and for what cause?  The Enlightened did not normally interfere in politics or with other sorcery factions.  Yet, now The Hand or another house of sorcery, or perhaps even a king, meant the Order of The Enlightened harm.  It was these heavy thoughts that weighed on Grandmaster Ganaqui’s mind as he sat in his study.

            He sat cross legged within a circle of powered dragon marrow.  He was levitated by a few inches, his eyes closed, his mind soaring above The Hand’s headquarters inside the gates of Paladine.  It was a raven’s wings that guided him and through raven’s eyes he now spied the activity of The Hand.  Yet, from above nothing within the compound appeared out of the ordinary.  Sorcerers of various rank, clad in their black robes, moved about casually between several buildings including The Hand’s academy.  Others, labourers and servants, performed mundane tasks.  Several carriages came and went making deliveries. Armoured guards stood at the east and west gates. 

            Ganaqui had the raven circle above the compound several times, then perch high upon The Hand’s tower.  The magic is strong around these buildings.  I could be detected at any time.  Yet, perhaps the right window sill could prove advantageous.  But I must not linger-

            Pain.  Suddenly he was falling and Ganaqui could not regain control of the raven.  A crossbow bolt had struck the bird. He quickly broke the bond.

            Ganaqui’s eyes opened.

            “Father.” A toddler of four stood in the doorway of the study.  She was a beautiful child with bronze skin and large ebon eyes.  Her black locks shimmered in the golden light of the room’s orb.

            “Limcat, you should be asleep, dreaming of Fentasian fairies and sweet noodles.” 

            She scampered up to him and climbed into his lap.  “Tell me a story, one about the north people.” 

            “Ah, the north people, you say.  Did you know they have pale spotted skin and hair as red as fire?  And eyes blue as the Capsuni Sea?”

            “Blue eyes – for true?”

            Ganaqui took his daughter back to her bed chamber and told her a grand adventure tale of the north people’s Gods, which left her satisfied and heavy-eyed. 

            Back in his study, the Grandmaster peered into his Well of Illumination, a stone podium supporting a pool of water.  The water was still and dark and reflected Ganaqui’s likeness under the orb’s light.  Soon, Praxis, my old friend.  Come to me soon.

            He gestured to the orb hovering close to the ceiling, increasing its brilliance, and then took his seat at his desk.  A summons to appear before Emperor Octalamus lay discarded in front of him.  It was speaking with Praxis that was most urgent.  He must know the rest of The Enlightened were safe and what had been learned of those responsible for Virgil’s and Shamak’s disappearance.  Octalamus shall wait a day.

            He removed a sheet of parchment from a drawer.  If not The Hand, then who?  Ganaqui dipped his quill in his inkwell and wrote “The Hand” at the top of the sheet and “The Judar Magi” at the bottom.  He then inscribed “The Japsalon Cabal” half way down the sheet at the left margin.  He stared at the sheet – at the void to the right and pondered for a moment.  Then, with a fresh dip of ink, halfway down the sheet at the right margin, he wrote, “Figon Sorcery?”  Finally he placed a Giant Varanus Monitor tooth in the center of the sheet. 

            He closed his eyes and began to recite the conjurer’s rite in the language of the ancients.  Could Vespacia tell him anything?

            Suddenly a cool current of air swept into the room.  Ganaqui ceased his words.  Praxis.  He rose from his seat and watched the Well of Illumination.  A spiraling cone of water rose from the well, the air current strong around it.  It rose to six feet.  Then, with a sudden glimmer of silver light, the spiraling water took the form of Praxis.  “Ganaqui, we are under attack.  Here at the school.  You must flee Saya at once.  They have found us!” spoke the aqueous figure.

            “Who  – The Hand?  Who has found you?”

            “It has Sanazer’s stench to it, alright.  A combined force of mercenaries and sorcerers.  Save yourself, Ganaqui.  Flee Saya.” 

            Praxis - the rest?”  Something distracted the liquid form and it turned and looked over its right shoulder, then quickly its colorless eyes were back on Ganaqui.

            “Safe, in hiding.  I will save all I can that are here.”  Again something distracted Praxis.

                        “Praxis, how did they find -“           

                         Suddenly, a liquescent long sword burst through the figure’s chest and Praxis’ likeness collapsed into the well, splashing over the podium.  Praxis!  Ganaqui stood staring at the well of Illumination, at the water pooled around the podium.  Praxis.

            “Master Ganaqui!”  Vindelso, the estate’s steward, had rushed into the room.  “Riders approach.  Something is happening in the city – sorcery!”

            Ganaqui turned toward the study’s window and reeled one hand back over his shoulder, slamming open its shutters.  Beyond his estate’s walls and the Rolling Hills, the capital city of Paladine and the Emperor’s palace could be seen, albeit far off, clear of Fane’s Valley and walled up and against Ciceran Bay.  Tendrils of cerulean light moved at a vicious pace above and within the royal palace.  And indeed riders were approaching, yet still far off  – only visible from their torch lights winding through the Rolling Hills.

            Sanazer.  A coup d’etat.  I am witnessing a coup d’etat.

            “Get the servants and guards out the tunnels now – go!” Ganaqui ordered his manservant.

            “As you say, Grandmaster.”  Vindelso quickly disappeared down a hallway.

            Ganaqui’s gaze fell on his wife’s tomb in the estate’s yard.  Under twilight, he watched the torch lights disappear behind a pass and then reappear again.  The Hand’s sorcery engulfed the palace and now streams of cerulean light emerged in other pockets of the city, spiralling over rooftops with a graceful, deadly intent.  Ganaqui raised his hands in front of himself and slowly pulled his arms backward in a semicircle, speaking, “Alla da brumtos vi tallia!”  And as he did, a ring of fire rose from the earth and surrounded his estate.  Flames soared to thirty feet, the intense heat strong enough to keep the riders at bay.  

            Ganaqui’s eyes fell back on his wife’s crypt.  Farewell.

            He  rushed to Limcat’s bed chamber and scooped his sleepy daughter into his arms, then made his way down a hidden passage to a spiralled staircase.  “Where are we going, father?”

            “We must leave Saya.  Something very bad has happened.”

            “Will we come back?”

            “Perhaps, one day.  But it may not be for a long time.” 

            The staircase descended into a circular chamber.  Wooden shelves  – stacked with scrolls, glass and ceramic jars, and metal boxes of all shapes and sizes – lined most of the circular stone wall. 

            Ganaqui set Limcat down on the bottom stair.  The ring of fire would burn indefinitely – for years if necessary.  The servants and guards would all be safely away by the time the riders arrived.  Still, the estate was vulnerable if the tunnels were found or new ones were dug.  A last precaution was necessary.  Ganaqui activated an orb and retrieved a sealed glass jar from lower shelf. 

            “Where are we going to go?” Limcat asked rubbing her eyes, seated on the iron and wood stair.

            “Chinchora.  We visited there when you were two,” Ganaqui said holding up the jar and studying the black inky shapeless mass suspended in the fluid.

            “I don’t remember.”

            Ganaqui suddenly hurled the jar to the floor, smashing it.  A black mist rose from the shards, quickly gathering into a vaporous form.   

            “Father, what is it?”

            “Be still.  It won’t harm us.”  Ganaqui crouched to the level of the metamorphasizing spectre.  It was becoming more solid now, a large black head attached to small body with tiny limbs.  “It is a demon of the Shadowlands.  It is called Orcu Dal.”  Limcat thought it looked like a baby dipped in the stain Vindelso used on father’s desk. 

            Ganaqui watched as the demon’s face formed.  It’s mouth stretched open baring tiny teeth and a protruding tongue.  Then, as it mouth relaxed, as its nostrils flared, the demon’s eyelids opened and Ganaqui stared into the thing’s

luminescent vermilion eyes.  Dragon eyes, thought Limcat.

            “Greetings Orcu Dal.”

            “You release me, Master.  What is your will?”

            “Protect this estate.  Slay all who breach the wall of fire.  Raiders will arrive soon.  Remain until I return.”

            The creature scratched a pointed ear, peering behind Ganaqui and catching a smile from Limcat.  “May I have the child, Master?”

            “You may not.  The child is my daughter.  Now go.”

            “Your will is Orcu Dal’s.”  Then, with a quick surge of speed, the creature ascended to the ceiling and in an instant vanished with a loud “pop,” leaving a trace of black mist in the air.

            “Time to leave,” Ganaqui said taking his daughter into his arms. 

            “Is Chin. . .Chin. . .”

            “Chinchora,” Ganaqui reminded her.

            “Is Chinchora far?”

            “Yes, quite far by ship.  But we will not travel by ship,” Ganaqui said, placing a palm against a large stone slab fixed in the wall.

            “How will we go?”

            “Watch.” The stone slab began to glow white in the center, bleeding out to an amber brilliance creeping up to and around the stone’s edges.  Gone was the stone’s rough exterior.  It was no longer a solid mass, now an infinite channel.  A dark almond shape appeared in the center of the gateway, which quickly grew, dilating like a cat’s iris, peeling back the white and amber radiance to reveal the Shadowlands: sand dunes under an eternal nightfall illuminated by starlight.  A stature of Samara, the transgendered warrior god of the Shadowlands, emerged at her thighs from the sand.  Skewed backward, the statue held a long sword aloft in each hand.  Closer, the stone head of the winged Jackal, Korfen, surfaced from the dune.  All this distorted as if by a wave of heat.  “A short cut through the Shadowlands.” 

           “Is it hot?” Limcat asked.

           ”The gateway?  A little warm at first.  Ready?”

           Limcat smiled.  “Ready.  Will they have sweet noodles in Chinchora?”

            Ganaqui grinned.  “Would I take you to new city with no sweet noodles?”    With Limcat’s arms around his neck, Ganaqui stepped into the gateway to the Shadowlands., wondering if Octalamus had actually summoned him?  Had the emperor suspected treachery among the sorcerers sworn to serve him or had the summons been a deception - a ploy to deliver himself to Sanazer?