Echoes Of A Gloried Past (Book 2) (23 page)

Aaron shook hands with the captain and nodded to Braden. If all went well then they were to rendezvous at Ferasdiam’s temple in the old quarter of Nolan’s district.

The former Elitesman, Isaac, regarded Aaron for a moment. “You will mostly likely be walking into a trap, but you already knew that.”

Aaron met his gaze. “I know, but I think it will not be enough.”

Isaac smirked in a knowing sort of way, as an older man indulges a much younger man. “I’ve never seen anyone with your level of attunement to the energies that surround us. Having faced my share of Shandarians and Elitesmen alike, I know this is not the norm, and I would venture to guess that you are Ferasdiam Marked.”

Aaron merely nodded, waiting for the Elitesman to continue.

“The specialist Elitesmen can hurt even one such as you. And I will say this only because I believe that you truly mean to help the Lady Sarah. You are only limited by what you can perceive as possible. Even the specialists have a weakness to unravel. I hope you will survive long enough to figure this out.”

Aaron returned the Elitesmen’s gaze. “If you succeed in helping to rescue my friends then I won’t lump all the Elitesmen together. What will be started today won’t end with this day’s events, and I hope you are prepared for that and remember which side you’re on.”

Aaron and the old Elitesman regarded each other for a moment and then Braden broke the silence by saying it was time to move out.

Aaron walked to the alleyway next to the district headquarters and brought out the comms device. He needed to see what Tanneth had only hinted about before. The drone hovered near a closed window on an outside wall. The drone’s camera showed a translucent frame, as it was in stealth mode. He was able to bring up an image through one of the slits of the wooden shutter and almost gasped at the bloody mess of the room. Gavril remain strapped to a chair with glowing bindings that joined his arms and legs. The others were hovered behind some type of barrier. Sarik had his eyes closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. Roselyn was crying into Verona’s shoulder. Verona’s face was a mask of rage and horror at the bloody mess before him. The shadow of the Elitesmen hovered just beyond the barrier.

Hold on, help is coming.

Aaron turned off the comms device and tightened his grip on his staff, and the runes began to flare. He summoned the energy into himself and launched to the rooftop of the nearest building. Aaron turned to the tallest building closest to him and leaped onto the flying buttress, easily a hundred feet from where he now stood. He squatted down, taking in the view of the city. A gentle breeze pulled lazily at his black cloak. Far to the south, a billowing column of smoke rose into the air and was soon joined by others throughout the city. The Resistance comprised of the fragmented remnants of the De’anjard were doing their job well. He could hear the pops of explosions followed by more columns of smoke rising into the air as alarm bells began to echo in the distance.

Aaron turned to face the great black towers of the Citadel of the Elite, yearning to head straight there, but he knew his role in the plan. They expected him at the arena, and he would not disappoint. Aaron pulled up the drone’s map in his mind. He knew of the tunnel network that ran between the arena and the Citadel. The High King’s palace was not connected. He drew in more of the energy around him and felt the medallion grow warm on his chest. He leaped to the very top of the tower and faced the arena which was still a good distance away. Aaron glanced back at the dark towers of the Elite, knowing where the crystal charging station was and with it his best chance at securing the needed travel crystals. He released the breath he had been holding and strengthened his body, then leaped toward the arena. The wind roared passed his ears, and he used the particles in the air to push him farther along than any jump had right to go. His cloak flapped behind him like a cape, and he landed within a stone's throw of the arena. He took a direct path, not caring at this point if anyone saw him. The others by now would be making their way to one of the service entrances to the Citadel and free their friends.

Aaron leaped again and landed upon the top of the arena wall, much to the ignorance of the people below. The twin suns were beginning to set, and their flared brilliance had long settled into a deep crimson that bathed the city in a reddish hue. He settled down to wait and watched as the arena was filling with occupants.

***

Mactar kept clenching and unclenching his fists in a vain attempt to ignore the growing unrest at Tarimus’s abrupt appearance. Tarimus had become an unknown quantity as no one had ever been shifted out of phase between realms for this long. He truly had dwelt between the crossroads of the soul, and it was troubling to know that he was free. He had subverted Tarimus to his will before and knew that Tarimus would be seeking retribution for his imprisonment. Part of him relished in the challenge much like what Aaron Jace was proving to be. Mactar’s brow furrowed in concentration as his mind tumbled through the possibilities. Tarimus had been different ever since his first encounter with Reymius’s heir. It was subtle at first, but now as his mind worked backwards with the benefit of hind-sight, he could see a pattern that had been hidden before. Aaron had the power to free Tarimus, but what would make him do so? A woman crossed his vision with a swath of golden hair partially hidden in a hood, and the thought struck him like lightning. 

Sarah!

What wouldn’t someone do for the one they love? Not that he harbored any such attachments. Knowledge and power were what he cared about, that and the thrill of toying with kingdoms while they squabbled and cast their fearful gaze toward the High King. As if the mighty High King Amorak could have accomplished so much without the likes of him. The High King was simply a means to an end for his other-worldly allies. Mactar’s thoughts drifted back to Sarah. Primus had tried to kill her and paid the ultimate price. The fool was no match for her, and the only way he could have killed her was to come from behind. Not all the pieces fit together because he didn’t fully understand how Tarimus came into play, but there was a connection there. He was sure of it even if he didn’t know how. Mactar’s gaze swept through the arena and momentarily settled upon Rordan’s back, who stood a short way off studying the field. The death of his twin brother had shaken the young prince to his core. As if sensing his thoughts, the prince turned to look at him, and Mactar gestured for him to come over. The sun was setting, and the rite of the initiates was about to begin.

Rordan came silently to his side and took the seat next to him. It was a mark of the changes in the young man that he kept silent and not filled the air with idle chatter. The grounds of the arena were already set with the course that the new initiates of the Elite would have to navigate. The arena held traps for the unwary as well as hidden caches of weapons and other useful items. The arrangement of debris formed a complex maze with enough corners and dead ends to challenge the young recruits. The center held a wide expanse of open ground where the strongest of recruits would gather. There were many levels of recruits to be tested, from those who had been taken from their homes this very week to initiates who had embraced the order but had not been promoted to full Elitesmen. It had been some time since he had attended one of these events. They were often beautiful in their brutality. One could see what a person was truly made of when stripped away of the preconceptions of civilization. People will conform to a natural hierarchy, giving in to their need to be told what to do, and the illusion of freedom was often enough to satisfy most. 

Elite Grand Master Gerric appeared at the podium in a flash of light. Quite theatrical, Gerric never missed an opportunity to convey the power of the Elitesmen. The crowd came to a hush almost instantly, and Gerric raised his hands.

“Bring out the hopefuls,” the Elite Grand Master said.

Across the arena, doors opened, and a procession entered gathering just outside the entrance. Mactar looked on, keeping the lack of enthusiasm from his face. The new recruits, not more than children in their own right, would be fodder for the more experienced initiates. The practice kept the Elitesmen strong, as the weak would never survive very long in their midst. Only the strong and the cunning would prosper. The only reason he was here was to meet with Darven, who had so far not seen fit to show himself.

“There seems to be more people than usual,” commented Rordan.

Mactar glanced at the crowd. The prince had a point. “Perhaps they expect quite a show.”

Rordan nodded but said nothing.

“You’re rather quiet this evening, my Lord,” Mactar said.

He watched as Rordan kept his eyes on the arena’s occupants. “I’m here, as is required of me.”

“Indeed,” Mactar said. “Sometimes it’s the places we are in that true insight can be gleaned even if we are in a place we’d rather not be.”

“You’re speaking in riddles again,” came Rordan’s terse reply. “Fine, I’ll indulge your game. What insights am I about to glean by watching the slaughter of the new recruits?”

Mactar smirked inwardly. While Rordan was more of a leader than his late brother, Primus, he was the more squeamish of the two.

“Patience and maybe we’ll both learn something,” Mactar replied.

Rordan turned and glanced up, about to reply, and frowned. Mactar looked behind him but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“What is it?” Mactar asked.

“I thought I saw something,” Rordan said. “I smell a lot of smoke in the air. Do you?”

Mactar sniffed the air and could detect traces of smoke. “A bit, but not enough to concern me. You saw something?”

Rordan’s gaze grew distant before replying. “Nothing worth mentioning,” he said and turned back to the arena.

Elite Master Gerric brought up his hands again. “Bring out the initiates.”

The doors off to the opposite side of the arena opened, and a small group of initiates began to walk into the arena. The elder recruits melted into the shadows, allowing the new group of initiates to enter. 

“Initiates,” Gerric said, “welcome to the proving grounds. This is your one chance to demonstrate your worthiness to join the ranks of the Elitesmen. Each of you was invited because of your potential to rise above all others, but that is not a destiny for all, as there is a price that must be paid. Hidden throughout the arena are these white crystals,” the Elite Master said, holding a glowing white crystal above them. “Find them, and you survive to the next round. Failure is never tolerated in Elitesmen.”

“I only sense that about half of the initiates have any potential to tap into the energy,” Rordan said.

Mactar raised an eye-brow. “They mix the groups. Some may have actual potential and others … They serve a purpose. Some things can only be awakened through conflict. What would you change? Do not pretend to be so squeamish. I’ve seen what you’ve done to people who cross your path.”

The young prince narrowed his gaze. “Things change.”

Intriguing
, Mactar thought. The prince was taking a fresh look at everything he had taken for granted before, but he could still sense something off about the prince just below the surface. He didn’t say anything else but glanced around, looking for Darven.

***

Aaron crouched above, watching as the small group of children moved into the arena. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had listened to the announcer and heard the undercurrents of what had not been said. Survival was only guaranteed for those able to find the white crystals. He wondered how many of them there were until the cunning brutality of the events about to take place dawned on him as the last rays of the setting sun faded. 

“You stand upon a crossroads.” The Elitesman’s voice echoed throughout the arena, and Aaron could hear him perfectly. “One of the core tenants of the code of the Elite is to sever all ties from your previous life. Tonight, we will help you do that.”

The Elitesman gestured, and glowing orbs ignited, revealing a group of older citizens in twelve individual cages. The initiates turned, and some cried out, reaching toward the cages. Aaron’s heart thundered in his chest, and his jaw clenched as he realized what the Elitesmen had done. 

“I believe you are familiar with the people locked in these cages,” the Elitesman said. “Retrieve the white crystals and bring them back to your loved one’s cage, and all will be well. Fail to retrieve the crystals in time, and they will die.” The Elitesmen paused for a moment. “There are only six crystals in the arena.”

Aaron brought the rune-carved staff to his forehead and closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn’t risk contacting Braden through the comms device and had to assume they were close enough to sneak into the Citadel by now. He could wait no longer and be a witness to the imminent slaughter of the children and their families. Even the ones who would survive this test would lose part of themselves, and that he couldn’t be a party to.

The runes along the staff began to glow as he gathered the energy around him. Aaron looked behind him at the sprawl of the city. The pieces were in place. He could see the smoke of the fires emanating from key locations, and any minute they would gain the notice of the guardsmen.

Aaron stood poised atop of the arena wall and watched as some of its occupants looked in his direction noticing the glow of the staff. He launched into the air, and the glowing runes of his staff streaked across the sky as he landed upon the arena grounds.

***

“It’s him,” Rordan gasped, echoing Mactar’s thoughts.

“He is here,” Rordan said, rising from his seat. “The Alenzar’seth is here.”

Off to the side, Mactar glimpsed a pale white head and heard the mirthless laughter of Tarimus.

The Alenzar’seth will plunge your world into a flaming pit of hell, Mactar!

Tarimus’s voice hissed behind him. Mactar twisted around ready to attack, but again there was nothing.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rordan asked. “Shouldn’t we … ”