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    THIRTY-NINE


    <h2 style="text-transform: uppercase">SARIEN</h2>


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    Sarien stepped through the gateway and emerged on a field to the east of Fyrie. It bordered an expansive forest that ran all along the main thoroughfare they’d followed from Eldsprak to Tyriu not too long ago.


    The capital of Eldsprak was far enough in the distance that it shimmered in the morning haze. The enemy’s army surrounded Fyrie on all sides with encampments dotting the landscape. The wall was blackened from fire, and the gaping hole where Goslin broke through when retaking the city was only partially repaired.


    Above all, the arm of Wyndemir hung from an enormous gateway above the city. The act of looking at it made Sarien feel sick to his stomach. The suppression of the wayfaring on Maydian reminded him that even with Order granting him her power, it would not be enough.


    Too much hinged on him talking sense into the Council.


    Several council members stood huddled in conversation outside a tent large enough to be called a pavilion. They were all robed and masked. A few noticed him emerge, and soon they turned to face him.


    Sarien breathed in deeply, savoring the crisp morning air of his home country, and calming his rising nerves.


    “I’ve come to talk,” he said, showing that he carried no weapons. He couldn’t recall the last time he had seen his spear.


    One of the council members stepped forward. By his build, Sarien recognized him as the one that steered their last conversation.


    “Your invitation to join us still stands, Sarien. Will you join us in defending all worlds against the threats beyond?”


    Sarien spoke loudly, ensuring he was heard by all. He noticed that his mother was not present.


    “I am the Prime flow of Order, power bestowed on me by Order herself. When I met her?—”


    “No one can stand before a Prime without obliteration.”


    Sarien couldn’t tell who spoke, but ignored them. “She allowed me to pass into her domain. Order spoke clearly. A Prime entering out realm will bring about its collapse. You must stop what you are doing. Otherwise, Chaos will destroy us all.”


    The lead council member raised a hand to Wyndemir. “The Prime has already entered Maydian. Yet, here we all stand. Alive and well.”


    “Can’t you feel it?” Sarien asked. “Something terrible is happening. Beyond your restrictions on the wayfaring on Maydian, there’s a cracking, a tearing. You must feel it.”


    The council member paused. “The Prime restricts the wayfaring, not us. We have been assured that Chaos’ presence will not destroy our realm.”


    Sarien gaped at the Wayfarer. “What do you mean, you’re not restricting it? I saw you! All of you performing the ritual to bring Wyndemir to Maydian. It restricted all the paths in and out of Maydian.””


    Despite wearing the mask, the council member appeared surprised by the information. He turned to his fellows. To Sarien’s astonishment, they shrugged, a gesture bordering on the comical.


    “Order corroborates my story,” Sarien said. Ein and Kax shuffled behind him, as if expecting a violent response.


    “I—” Piatr began, but quickly fell silent.


    “What is wrong?”


    The power radiating from Wyndemir’s arm alone was suffocating, like a wet blanket of Chaos smothering Sarien’s focus and power. He felt the rhinn travelers faltering under the strain. The Wayfarer students weren’t helping yet. He couldn’t sense them. Something must have gone terribly wrong.


    Still, he couldn’t give up on the Council, not yet. When Piatr went down to his knees, clutching his head in both hands, Sarien addressed the others, sweeping a hand across the battlefield.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    “Look at the destruction you’ve already wrought. End this now. Help me in bringing order to chaos.”


    “It’s too late,” one among them said.


    Another continued, “We’ve walked too far down this path to turn back now.”


    “Our journey is just beginning,” a third added, her muffled voice sounding strangled.


    All of them straightened in a synchronized motion. A purple glow shone through the eye-slits in their masks.


    “Well said,” Qieza droned, stepping out from within a nearby tent. He moved with a hobbled gait, leaning heavily on a cane of polished wood. He stunk of rot.


    “Qieza,” Sarien said. “Do not listen to this creature. He is only using you for his own gain!”


    His words elicited no enthusiasm or defiance from the Wayfarers. They stood, mute.


    “Rousing words from one so young,” Qieza rasped. “Unfortunately, they are in no position to answer your call.”


    Three other priests of Wyndemir joined him. They wore nothing to hide the ever-present corruption of their bodies.


    “What have you done to them?”


    Qieza peered out at Sarien from behind a drooping forehead that looked dangerously close to sliding off the rhinn priest’s head. “I know you have been back and forth between here and my own home, and that you were present on our previous assault on this pitiful little city. Who could have missed you on that pillar, holding back our efforts and the very will of Chaos itself, if but for a brief moment? You, Sarien, have seen what my priests can do. Do not stand there and ask ignorant questions to which you already know the answer.”


    “You’ve corrupted them,” Sarien said.


    “That much is obvious.”


    “You’ve taken their will.”


    Qieza grinned widely, revealing a toothless smile. “Given freely in exchange for power. Such is the burden for the self-proclaimed keepers of the worlds.”


    “Kax,” Sarien said.


    Darkness moved at blurring speeds from the corner of Sarien’s eye. It hurtled toward Qieza and the other priests. While soaring through the air, Kax’s entire body dimmed and then darkened until a human-shaped void took his place. Long thin blades of darkness grew from his hands as he swung for Qieza’s head.


    In the last moment, a boy appeared between Kax and his prey, his arms outstretched. His face was turned away. His eyes clenched shut.


    Reze.


    The darkness that was Kax’s face undulated and Sarien got the impression his friend was screaming as he stopped himself, landing right in front of the boy. Reze wrapped his arms around Kax without falling into the void. Both disappeared through the wayfaring.


    “A troublesome anomaly,” Qieza mused. “I’m saddened to say that you will not see him again. Powerful as he may be, he is no match for one of the Halvgudar.”


    “The boy?” Sarien asked, dumbfounded.


    “That can’t be right,” Ein said, surprising Sarien. His father had remained silent until now.


    The high priest resumed his slow advance toward Sarien. “One of Wyndemir’s own. My child, you could say. Raised by my loving hand. Soon you, too, will join me.”


    Sarien looked to the west, where he sensed Reze’s exit through the wayfaring. The boy blazed bright with power next to Kax’s impenetrable darkness.


    “We’ve come to the beginning, which unfortunately for you, begins at your end,” Sarien heard Qieza say.


    The councilors and priests were flooded with a torrent of corrupted power. Only Qieza remained as he was.


    Sarien clawed wildly for his gray flame. He cursed, not having the foresight to keep his power out in front of him at all times.


    A rush of tainted magic flew at him.


    His father grabbed him in an embrace, his back to their attackers. Flames roared to life with such heat and power that Sarien coughed, the very air sucked from his lungs. An incredible gale pushed the fire forward, intercepting the horrific, shimmering purple streaks from those possessed by Wyndemir.


    Obscured from their enemies’ view, Ein threw them to the ground and rolled away as Sarien finally got a hold of his own power. Desperately, he threw a bout of his gray flame, blindly striking out against Qieza.


    Their magic met midair, the shockwave sending Sarien and Ein flying. Sarien’s ears rang with a shrill, shrieking noise, deafening him from all else.


    His father screamed something in Sarien’s face, but he couldn’t make out the words. He coughed violently, desperate for air.


    Fire erupted from the palm of Ein’s hand, a huge ball of it striking into the councilor’s ranks. They burned but didn’t waver in their focus.


    Sarien tried to intercept their attacks and drain away the wayfaring aspect of their powers but found none. They were relying solely on whatever power Wyndemir was lending them.


    Gray, billowing flames struck a wall of chaos and held. His father lent his own strength with his pyromancer’s flame, but soon had to pull back as the chaos ate away at his fire.


    Ein quickly extinguished them and dodged to the side. “This is not good,” he mouthed. He bled profusely from his head.


    Sarien gritted his teeth. He was fading and there was no means of escape.


    Qieza stood, watching silently, as if awaiting Sarien’s and his father’s doom.


    The ringing in Sarien’s ears subsided. That was when he heard a strange cracking coming from below.


    “Do you hear that?”