《Forbidden》


 Earth: The Foundation Book

    Addison,


    This will be the last you hear of me, today my life will end. Just as my forebears, I will take the dark road that all must travel. However, my journey into the next world will not begin with the quiet hand of death laying itself upon my brow as I sleep, old and tired. My passage will begin with fire and agony, earlier than nature would intend.


    I do not understand why it should happen in this way, as confusingly, it is my friends who seek to write the final sentence of my life story. Their calligraphy coloured red, quills dipped in my blood. This does not mean that I fear what is to come, no. As is preferred by many, I die in the company of beloved others, not alone. Despite their cause.


    I do not hate them, their reasons are their own, and as fellow Guardians they must act for the greater good of the five cities. I trust that this is best. It is as Fate''s design.


    Our relationship was never strong, you and I. I did not approve of your love for blades and arrows, their use being impetuous compared to the intricacies, elegance and the refinement of the Mage''s power. And you did not enjoy the lessons I had conducted for you during your childhood, they were ˇ°complicatedˇ± and ˇ°boringˇ±. Perhaps you were correct, even though I greatly enjoyed my own education as a boy. As all people are different, we are as equally different from each other.


    What is the same in us, is our blood. We are family, I am your Father. And though I have not loved you, you are and always will be my Son. I have respected your path, praying to the Author of Time for your safety in battle, hoping that you use what I have taught you to become more than the soldier. Now I wish for you to respect me, respect our lineage. When I pass, you must step forward and become Guardian. You must protect the Second City.


    Our order is required, the rituals must be performed daily. Though the reasons for this tradition are lost, far beyond even my erudition, we must continue. You must continue. My old friends know this, they will not seek you out, you will be protected. If not, our family will be replaced. That is if we are replaceable.


    I have asked and ordered much of you throughout your life, this would be the last. You have lived hard, and most likely felt pain that is foreign to me. So I part with a gift and my last instruction to you. I hope you put this final education to use, use what has now been stolen from me. Come back to your home and visit the tower, you will find what I offer. Explore your true potential, learn of the arcana. Become more than what I am, more than what anyone else can be. I give only that which you deserve, for persevering with war; and persevering with me, your vexatious Father.


    ~Adam, of the Storm


    The parchment was folded once, twice, and then pressed tightly with a flat weight. Adam had made several attempts to write a suitable letter, but it seemed more difficult than constructing the most complicated spell. He felt drained.


    The time was upon him. The room echoed with sounds of footsteps ascending the great stairway outside. The only light was a single candle on his desk, illuminating the Mage and the many books stacked high around the edges of the wooden top.


    He turned toward the closed door behind him, remaining seated. The thumping of boots became louder and louder until reaching the entrance. Below the door could be seen a flickering light, it flowed through the slit like spilt water. Then the door opened inward, its hinges straining, squeaking. Four figures stepped through, defined by the fire light of a single torch. It appeared to be three adults and a smaller child.


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    ''I have been meaning to oil those hinges, only my time has been dedicated to study.'' Adam spoke and then stood from his chair, dark robes falling to his feet and covering the floor. He continued to talk with a smile, although faced with a great darkness. ''My friends, it is rare for you all to visit. How may I help you?''


    The torch-bearer spoke, his voice thin on the air, as if he were struggling for breath. ''A great magic brings us here.''


    ''A great magic?'' Replied Adam. ''Please, elaborate.''


    The rasping voice increased in volume, although hardly noticeable. ''We are here for the spell.''


    Adam laughed. ''Spell? We are wizards, Kilian, do we not possess enough spells?''


    ''Enough! Your games are not warranted here, do not play at ignorance or innocence.''


    ''This is my study, my tower, my home, my city.'' Stated Adam, sternly. ''Where else are my questions most valid if not within these walls?'' He turned back to his desk, staring down at the folded letter solemnly. In the light of the candle, the paper glistened with scattered golden runes, embedded within the make-up of the material. The Mage was silent for a time, then spoke. ''I had foreseen your arrival, days ago now. Time is of no obstacle to me, but I could not reason why you would come in force, other than it is needed to protect the cities. Why else would my trusted friends and allies appear in this manner? Surely only for the good of the world.''


    Kilian responded. ''Emrick has told us of the spell.''


    ''Oh...'' Adam did not hide his knowledge of this. ''I am disappointed in you, Emrick, my oldest of friends. You have broken my trust. No... You have shattered it, like a mirror against stone. Why?''


    The voice of a young boy spoke, only the age of eleven. ''Adam... Please understand, you can not keep such power in the hands of one person. You must share this knowledge with us all.''


    ''Oh Emrick, how can you speak of such power in this way, when I have never conveyed to you the nature of the magic?'' Adam spoke with softness. ''We have only had vague correspondence concerning my studies, why would you believe this to be a danger to you or the others?''


    ''Adam, you do not exaggerate, you do not lie, it is not in your nature. So when you tell me that you have discovered the greatest magic, how else should I take your words?''


    Adam wiped a tear from his face, emotion building inside of him. ''Oh my sweet Emrick, you are so na?ve, even when so long lived. Why would you confuse greatness with power, power with danger?'' He faced the group of four with a saddened smile. ''I would never involve myself in something that would harm you, my closest of friends.''


    ''Enough!'' The rasping voice of Kilian interrupted. ''You have gained knowledge and power far greater than we four, you have brought imbalance to the Five Cities. We can not allow it.''


    ''Is this truly about the balance of the cities? Or are you using Emrick''s information as a pretence to act out on your own jealousy, Kilian?''


    Kilian snickered. ''Jealousy? What jealousy?''


    ''Kilian, it has been plainly obvious for a long time. Yes, I have acquired a vast archive of knowledge, but not to undermine the four of you. It is just what I do, I live for education.'' Adam scratched his hairy chin. He looked into the eyes of the others, seeing the reflection of flame in them. ''You have always done the same as I, to seek higher education, but we know that you have never reached the same level of learning. So you have begun to hate me for it, letting your jealousy turn to anger, and your anger to poison my friends against me.'' He turned for the last time, sitting back at his desk. ''It saddens me that you do not act for the good of the cities, but out of selfishness or mistrust. The spell you seek can not be shared, it is not meant for you. If my life must end, that is as Fate would have it, I accept that. But Fate will also have it that you do not obtain the magic I have created. It is forbidden.''


    Adam took up the letter and held one corner to the candle. The flame licked at the folded sheet and then spread toward Adam''s hand, engulfing the letter completely. The runes glowed orange and then blue, turned black, as did the paper, and then disintegrated. But instead of ash it was blue glitter that fell to the desk, then vanished.


    ''I hope this reaches you, Addison.'' Said Adam, his voice all but a whisper. Then he spoke his last words. ''Let us be done with this!''


    With that final decree, a wind blew through the room, the door slammed shut and both torch and candlelight were extinguished. The study went from darkness to green, emerald flames growing from the hands of the four Guardians exposing each wall to be high bookshelves. The magic was cast, fire flung through the air at Adam.


    In the end it was painful.

 Air: The Loyal Book

    ''I haven''t had iced tea for a long time.'' The bearded man smiled politely as the silver tray and goblets of golden brew were set down in front of him. His green hood and cloak, draped over his shoulders, were reflected in the polished metal. Behind him was a window looking out over the First City, a place built of orange sandstone and covered with trees and bushes. The tower of the Guardian was high above. Seeing that his dark brown hair was untidy in the mirrored image, the man brushed it out of his face and behind his ears. His fringe was blown back into his eyes when a wind blew through the study, rattling books on their shelves and flapping paper on a desk in the corner.


    The young boy, who entertained the older male, took up a goblet and handed it to his guest. He then sat. ''Then I am glad that I can be the first to serve you such a rarely enjoyed beverage.''


    The man nodded in thanks. ''As am I, Emrick.''


    ''It has been a very long time since I have had guests, and coincidently, a very long time since I have had your company.'' Emrick picked up the second goblet, making the item look larger than it actually was in his childish hands. He pressed the cup to his lips, tasting the tea. ''Mmm, very good.''


    ''It has been a long time, though you have not changed much.''


    ''Is that not how it has always been?'' Emrick smiled and licked his lips. ''But you, you have changed. You went off into the world a boy, sixteen if I remember correctly.''


    ''You do.'' The man replied.


    ''That would make you twenty-two now. How have the past six years treated you?''


    ''They have treated me well.'' The man said as he placed his drink down on to the table. ''They have also treated me harshly.''


    ''Ah, but this is life!'' Emrick leant back in his chair and kicked his feet back and forth underneath the table. ''The different experiences we have are what make us who we are, and you appear to be strong. Much stronger than the mucky youngster who once dirtied my halls.''


    ''Maybe...'' The man rubbed his hands together. ''My hands are no longer dirty, but the filth has only been replaced by worse...''


    Emrick looked at the sad eyes of the one who sat across from him. He attempted a comforting reply. ''We all have our issues, we should not dwell on them for long. How will we ever move on otherwise?''


    ''Should we not seek closure to our problems?'' The man''s dark eyes fixed on Emrick''s own.


    ''Closure is important, if it can be obtained...'' The young boy swallowed down a tense feeling in his throat. ''Otherwise we should not dwell, it is for the best.''


    ''I agree.'' The man said as he broke his gaze.


    Emrick sighed and brushed his hand through his blond hair. ''Good.'' Pushing himself out from the table with a squeak of his chair, the young boy continued. ''You should relax, enjoy the city and enjoy my home as if it were your own.'' He placed the goblets back on the tray and made to take them out of the study. ''You have only just arrived, so please, let us continue tomorrow. I would enjoy your presence for however long you may wish to stay with me, if you please?''


    ''Very well.'' The man smiled.


    ''Good.'' Emrick returned the smile and left the room.


    The tower was warm this evening, the windows on the outside of the winding staircase allowed the sun to shine in and heat the sandstone during the day. Emrick soaked up the warmth through his feet. He rarely used footwear, preferring to feel the world against his soles. Additionally, he disliked heavy clothing, so he wore lightweight garments. Usually a white cotton tunic, which today was coloured peach in the reflected light of the building''s brickwork.


    Travelling down the tower''s stairs, the small boy made his way to a wash room, where he would clean the tray and goblets. Once done, he returned to the study to find his guest leaning against the stone arch of the window, watching the streets below.


    The man spoke as soon as Emrick entered, demonstrating his acute hearing. Even the soft steps of the child could not hide his small presence. ''It will soon be dark.''


    ''Indeed.'' Replied Emrick. ''The time of the ritual is almost upon us.'' The man was silent, maintaining his gaze out of the window. ''Would you like to join me?'' Asked Emrick as he leant up against the table behind the bearded fellow. ''The ritual does not take much time. Afterwards we can eat and enjoy the fireplace in the lower hall.''


    The man looked back into the room. ''I would be happy to. It has been a long time since seeing the old tradition.''


    ''Wonderful! I will gather the equipment, please wait for me here.'' The boy quickly exited the study, leaving the man to stare outside again.


    Later, the two stepped on to the flat circular top of the tower from the steps that lead from below. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the city. The sky was red and orange, blending with the sandstone buildings of the great First City.


    Emrick held a small bird cage in his left hand, a white dove nestled within. In his right was a brown leather roll, bound with black cord. He walked to the centre of the flat roof, where a white circle of a two metre diameter was painted, stood at the centre and placed the cage at his feet. The older male stood near the edge of the tower top and watched while Emrick conducted his ritual.


    The leather roll was unbound and spread flat. Contained within was a short bladed knife and a number of coloured chalks, as well as sharpening tools for the blade. Emrick opened the bird cage and took the dove by its neck, he then moved the cage outside of the painted shape. The bird did not struggle. From the roll came a green chalk, which was used to write Emrick''s name within the circle. At this point the bird began to flutter in Emrick''s hand, so he tightened his grip.


    The chalk was placed back into the roll and the knife was drawn. It had a simple wooden handle with a single edged, two inch blade. Without hesitation, without word, Emrick lifted the bird and blade above his head and into the last of the sunlight. The knife was plunged into the breast of the bird, turning white feathers to crimson. Death came quickly as the life force was drained from the animal and allowed to drip to the floor inside the white circle. It coated the chalk written name, masking the cursive script. With his naked foot, the child wiped over the chalk, using the blood to clean away all evidence of it ever being there. Then the daily ritual was over.


    Emrick dropped the bird, wiped his hands and the blade across a cloth produced from inside his white tunic, and then returned the knife to the leather case. Picking up the bird cage and the roll, he signalled to his companion to follow him back down into the tower. ''Come, the ritual is over. The carrion creatures will dispose of the carcass.''


    The man with the beard followed, and spoke on the subject of the ritual as they descended. ''Do you know the origin or reason for the ritual?''


    Emrick replied. ''I do not, this knowledge has been lost to us over time.'' He could feel his bloody foot sticking as he stepped down the stone steps. ''It was never permitted to record the reasons for the tradition, which I can not understand. But this is the way it has been for thousands of years, and so it shall remain.''


    ''While I journeyed the lands, I met the tribesmen that exist beyond the territory of the Fourth City.'' The man''s voiced echoed down the stairway, being much deeper than the boy''s. ''I discovered that they perform a similar ritual, although monthly rather than daily, and also on nights of a red moon, regardless of the date. Any white bird was used for the ritual, as the tribesmen did not have the means to breed doves. They had to catch what they could out in the wild.''


    ''I see.'' Emrick responded while continuing down.


    ''The chief of the tribe would bleed the bird on to the name of his dead ancestor, some fallen warrior, and then wipe it clean with his foot. The tribesmen told me that it was a way to ward off evil, to protect the tribe. The ancestor spirit would fight off any being that attempted to cross over from the world of the dead.''


    Emrick was intrigued. ''Interesting. It sounds as if there is a connection. We should talk about this more!''


    ''We will.'' Replied the man.


    The next morning, Emrick woke to the sound of birds and with the sun filtering through red drapes over his window, making the room bright and pink. He sat up with a creak from his four post bed and focused his sight on the bedroom door beyond the foot of the furniture. Outside he could hear footsteps and what sounded like heavy loads being shifted around.


    He climbed out from his comfort and found a white gown to wear, wrapping his naked body in smooth silk. As usual, his feet were left bare, making hardly a sound while stepping softly toward the door.


    Emrick crept out into the hallway, his bedroom was just across from the study, where he had conversed with his guest the previous evening. He quietly made his way to the other room and peeked inside from the open archway. Suspicion filled him, and then dread.


    Browsing though Emrick''s archive, his history books, science texts and magic tomes, was his supposedly deceased friend, Adam. The bookshelves had been emptied, their contents piled on top of the table.


    Emrick gasped, causing the other to look up from his reading. The fright soon left him. ''Addison, you''ve shaven!''


    ''Yes, I needed the change. The beard was weighing me down I think, it was so thick.'' Replied Addison.


    ''I... I was taken aback.'' Emrick entered the room properly. ''You look so much like your father.''


    Addison chuckled. ''Please, I am far more handsome than Adam.''


    ''Of course... Of course!'' Emrick laughed at the jest, but then quickly turned his smiling face to one of question. ''What are you doing?''


    ''I am sorry, did I wake you?'' The man stood up, embarrassed. ''I was only reading, studying. You said to make myself at home, I hope I am not crossing any boundaries.''


    He was, but Emrick did not want to be harsh. ''No, it is fine.'' He approached Addison and motioned for him to sit back down. ''What are you reading?''


    ''Everything.''


    ''Everything?'' Emrick was shocked. ''But there is a lifetime of material here.''


    ''That is why I began reading just after you had retired to bed, yesterday.''


    ''You''ve been reading all night?''


    Addison wiped his eyes and yawned. ''Yes.''


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    ''How much have you studied?''


    ''About a third of your collection.''


    ''A third?'' The boy squealed. ''This can''t be.''


    ''It is extraordinary what a military discipline will allow you to achieve.'' Replied Addison. ''Also, I have read much of this material before, growing up under my father''s tutelage.''


    ''I see.'' Emrick sat opposite of Addison. ''Is there anything in particular that you wish to learn?''


    ''Yes.'' Addison spoke while reading. ''I am quite interested in the night sky, the movement of the stars and moon. Perhaps you could teach me?''


    ''Perhaps I could.'' Emrick rose from his seat. ''But first we should eat breakfast.'' He moved to leave the room. ''I keep chickens on the lower levels of the tower with the doves, would you like boiled eggs, perhaps with cured ham?''


    ''I would like that greatly.'' Addison looked up with a hungered gaze.


    ''Very good!'' Emrick left the study while talking loudly down the hallway. ''You continue to read, I shall not be long at all!''


    Emrick gathered the food from his stores and prepared it in one of the many kitchens some levels below the study, standing on stools to reach the various shelves and work tops, as he had no hired help to ease the struggles of his height. He lived alone, but never once thought of redesigning his living space.


    While away from Addison, he used the time to contemplate his current situation. He had ended the life of his closest friend two years previous, and only now does the son and heir return. But rather than return to the Second City, to take up his position as Guardian, he has come to Emrick. This was troubling. Addison has a role to play in the protection of the Five Cities, but has left the Second in disarray, its people poor and sick. This was the price for removing the Guardian, so the Guardian must be replaced. No one knows what the long term affects of a city without a Guardian may be, none would wish to find out. Emrick would have to convince Addison to do his duty sooner rather than later.


    A second issue that nagged at the back of Emrick''s mind was whether Addison knew the circumstances of his father''s death. There should be no reason for him to have this knowledge, as far as Emrick was concerned, but the possibility was a daunting thought.


    Returning to the study, Emrick came with a tray. On it was a basket of boiled eggs, a plate of thickly sliced ham, and a serving of bread and cheese. It was a large amount for such a small boy to carry, which showed when he nearly dropped the tray trying to slide it up on to the table.


    Addison assisted him. ''This looks wonderful, thank you!''


    ''It is not all for you!'' Said Emrick playfully.


    ''Then you best eat your share soon, little Emrick, because I am famished.''


    ''I may be little, but I am your elder. Pay more respect!''


    The two laughed while eating and talking, and their day went to study, as did the several days following.


    A day came when Addison put away the books and began to relax more. He left the tower to experience the city during the day, and in the evening he sat and talked with Emrick. They spoke about the past and about the future, about their personal experiences over the past few years and more. The subject of the Guardians was finally reached.


    ''Will you return home, to take up the mantle that your father left so early on?'' Emrick asked, the light of the sun through the study window glowing through his blond hair, exaggerating the innocent look of his childish form.


    ''I think I might.'' Addison replied while biting at a crumbling biscuit, the two snacking at the time. Their moments together were enjoyed with food quite often. ''My time here has been enlightening... Though I think I would struggle to fill the void Adam has left.''


    ''How have you coped with Adam''s death?''


    ''Well, I think.'' Addison sighed. ''We have been apart for so long, that him no longer being there was normal for me. I do not consider him lost, I only consider that our reunion has been taken from me.'' He looked up at Emrick and found his eyes. ''Do you understand?''


    ''Yes.'' He did not.


    ''It may be that I have not yet come to terms with his death. How can I, when someone as intelligent and insightful as Adam dies in a simple accident, in a fire? It is a cruel fate that kills a good man in such a way.'' Addison looked away from the table, choosing to gaze through the window. ''He may not have loved me, though I do not understand why, but he did care for me, and I loved him for it in return. I wish that I could have told him that, although I may not have deserved that opportunity, considering that I left him and his traditions for the war.'' He turned back to Emrick. ''Was his death my punishment? Was that the price for abandoning my family, for choosing passion over duty?''


    No! Thought Emrick, but was too scared and ashamed to say it aloud.


    ''Did Adam suffer in such a terrible way, alone and burning, because of me?''


    No, my poor sweet boy, no! Emrick''s eyes began to well with tears, forcing him to look away from Addison. He wanted to cry out. It was me, it was us! The other Guardians! We were selfish, scared and confused. We allowed jealousy to cause us to do a terrible thing, something that we could never suffer enough for. He wanted to scream it out, but he could only cry on the inside. Still too guilty and fearful of what would happen if he owned up to the evil deed he had done, feeling that his body would crumble to dust if he did, betraying his own thoughts


    ''It is nearly time for the ritual.'' Said Addison.


    When Emrick turned his sights back into the table, Addison had returned to looking out of the window. The sun was low and the clouds were on fire in the red sky.


    ''I have a request.'' Addison sounded very serious. ''If I am to become Guardian of the Second City, then allow me to make a step on that path. Allow me to perform the ritual this evening.''


    Emrick was quick to answer, wishing to set a stable path for the person he had hurt. ''Of course, it would be my honour to have you do so.''


    Addison stood and gave a short bow to Emrick. ''Thank you, and thank you for your hospitality during my time here.''


    ''You are welcome Addison.'' You are more welcome than you could ever know. Emrick sat with his legs shaking from guilt, but soon he stood from the chair and composed himself. ''I will gather what is needed, please make your way to the tower top.''


    The city was massive, a small country in size. At its centre stood the Tower of the Guardian, the first of five. For miles around it could be seen high above the lower skyline, tall and strong. For thousands of years there had been only twelve people to perform the ritual at the top of this tower, eleven of those Guardians belonged in the distant past, before Emrick. Addison would become the thirteenth.


    The young man stood within the white painted circle, at his feet there were no signs of previous rituals. Creatures of the night would clear the stone of blood and flesh after dark, leaving a clean canvas for the living paint to be splashed upon it afresh.


    Emrick came from the steps with cage and tools at hand, his breathing laboured from climbing the great stairway of the tower. The sun would soon reach the horizon, so the boy quickly handed the cage to Addison and unrolled the leather case at the side of the man''s feet. Addison took the dove from the cage and chose a white chalk to write with.


    Emrick stood back to give Addison space. ''You know what to do?'' He asked.


    ''I know exactly what must be done.'' Addison replied as he knelt and began to write the name on the ground. A then D.


    Emrick was pleased that the other understood the ritual. ''Very good.'' He then went silent, allowing the tradition to take place peacefully, as was usual.


    Addison completed the script and replaced the chalk, taking up the knife. He looked up into the sky, raised the sacrifice and the blade above his head, paused, and then cut open the bird. The blood dripped down and around the written name, it trickled on to Addison''s arm and dripped from his elbow to his foot. The sandstone was darkened with the lifeblood of the dove, but Addison did not wipe it away with his foot. He stood silently and waited.


    Emrick was confused, but dared not to speak during the ritual. What is wrong? Complete your task. Yet Addison remained unmoved. Come on boy, do it! Emrick could not understand why the other did not finish the ceremony. Stepping forward, he finally broke his silence. ''What is wrong Addison?''


    The man looked down from the sky and locked his eyes on to Emrick''s. His expression was unexplainable, but it made the child freeze.


    The sun set below the horizon and night time came, but were the red sky should have vanished, it persisted. Emrick fought to break eye contact, and when he did, he was baffled by what he saw. The sky was not black as it should have been, but was the very same colour as the blood that flowed from the bird. Looking high above, Emrick found the reason why.


    ''The moon is... It is red!'' He gasped, then looked at Addison who had maintained his vision on Emrick. The young boy broke his gaze again and focused on the inside of the circle, reading an unexpected name. Where the script should have read Addison, instead it said Adam. ''What is this, Addison?''


    The man gave no reply. He swept his foot across the stone and blood, and erased his father''s name from the floor. The reaction started immediately. Emrick''s feet shivered, his legs went weak and struggled to hold his weight. ''What have you done?''


    Addison dropped the bird and blade, letting them sound off against the stone. Then he walked out of the circle towards Emrick. ''The tribes beyond the Fourth City would perform their ritual during a red moon, not for protection, but as punishment for those who would hurt the tribe. Be that an enemy...'' He stepped closer. ''Or a traitor.''


    Emrick gasped and collapsed, his knees knocking together and then crashing into the hard stone surface. ''You know? How?''


    ''I know because my father cared enough to inform me. Time and distance were of no obstacle to him. I have thanks for that.'' Addison replied. ''And thanks to you, reliable Emrick. Thanks to your tutelage and the access granted to your library, I was able to know when the red moon would come.''


    ''What have you done to me?'' Emrick asked. He felt his stomach turn and his hands begin to numb.


    ''During my time here I have read and learned much, things that my father would never have been able to teach me now that he has passed on. But I have also learned of things that would not have been possible, I assume, if he had continued to live. The opportunity was in his death.'' Addison knelt down to Emrick. ''You keep your personal journals amongst your library, and although they do not discuss your magic and alchemy in detail, they do reveal much.


    ''You are of an age lost even to yourself, lost in the monotonous routine of the Guardian. You have lived this routine for thousands of years, doing so as an eternal child. You reached this state through powerful magic and great sacrifice, although I have not discovered what this sacrifice may have been. Perhaps giving up an able adult body? Which explains this form you have taken for so long. What is clear to me, what you may have forgotten, is why you chose to find immortality. You dedicated your natural life to this goal for one reason, because you feared death.''


    Emrick slumped to the ground, weakened by the magic Addison had cast. ''Please, do not do this, my boy.'' Emrick began to plea, saying things out of fear that he would have otherwise never have said. ''It was not just me, the other Guardians, it was them. It was Kilian''s plan, Drake''s magic. Please, I did not want to do it-''


    ''But you did do it.'' Addison growled. ''You took my father away from me, you betrayed your closest friend. The greatest companion you have ever had over millennia.


    ''I have done terrible things, abhorrent things. All of which I will pay the price for in due time.'' Addison began to shout in anger. ''But you have done the gravest thing, you have taken the life of a true friend, someone who trusted you with their life. What a misplaced trust it was.''


    Emrick cried, whimpered. The tears poured down his cheeks, but when they dripped from his chin to his body, he could not feel them to numbness. ''I am sorry...''


    ''Yes you are, and you will be forever.'' Addison stood. ''You are immortal. Perhaps if I took your head, you may be no longer.''


    Emrick cried out at the thought, but soon went mute.


    ''That is not the punishment you deserve, whether or not it is your greatest fear. And what a fear it is! To push a man to the edge of knowledge, to take life and death, and make them meaningless. But no, meeting your fear is not suitable.


    ''To you, Emrick, I give you something worse than death. I lock you away in your immortality. Unable to move, unable to feel. You will see and hear all, but you will have no means of expression, no voice. To anyone observing, you will appear dead. But at least you may conquer your fear, as I am sure that you will wish for death. Eventually.'' Addison stood and walked to the staircase leading down into the tower. ''The carrion creatures will clean up this mess, they may even take you.''


    Emrick was left alone, crying on the inside. His soul crushed, his body lifeless. The red moon stared down at him. He looked up at it. I am sorry! He prayed to it. I did not want to do it, but the balance was broken... He forced us... But I am sorry! The red moon did not answer. Addison, please return to me. Do not leave me like this, I am sorry. I will pay another way, I will make it up to you and Adam. Do not leave me! Do not leave...

 Ice: The Fear Book

    The blue bricks of the Third City glistened as the rain clouds broke and the sun shone through. The buildings began to soak up the heat, and the thin veil of water over the streets began to evaporate or pool at uneven ground.


    Giles stepped out from underneath the protection of a store canopy, which fluttered in the breeze, scattering water back into the air. His four guards, soldiers protected in silver and blue plated armour from toe to visored helm, who had remained in the rain, returned to him. They took positions surrounding him closely, one hand on their sheathed swords.


    The Mage, Giles, was not so much a handsome man. His nose was bent to one side, his lips were thick and his skin was sickly white, sometimes blue when the colour of the buildings were reflected on to him. But this did not affect his image of himself. Giles maintained a neat head of brown hair, brushed back and treated until it had a healthy shine. His greying beard was trimmed equally all over, never advancing over one centimetre in length. He wore deep blue clothing, a doublet and trousers, black boots and a black leather belt with a silver plated buckle. Wrapped around him was a heavy cloak, blue like the deep ocean, trimmed with black animal fur.


    He walked out into the sun, taking the opportunity while the rain had paused to return home to his tower after an early afternoon walk. As he did so, he took in the sights of the city he loved and protected. The buildings were plainly designed, square and flat topped, and never reaching more than three storeys high. But the people adorned the uniform blue walls with banners of silver, and blue and purple of all shades. Their shop stalls framed the streets, selling food, clothing, tools, toys, books and ornaments. The women sang, the men joked and laughed; the children played in puddles and shadows, splashing and hiding. The guarded man was proud of his city, of its people and of the splendour it offered.


    But even with the joy, the pride and satisfaction, there was a doubt. The guards were not a tradition, Giles was a Guardian, and Guardians seldom used personal bodyguards throughout their history of existence. This new need for protection arose after the recent death of two close friends, other Guardians. Giles had become increasingly fearful for his health, even his life. He was aware of the dangers posed to him. He was aware of this because he was once a danger to another man in the past, and he did not wish the same for himself. Thus the soldiers were bought, trained and used as personal protection from friends and enemies alike.


    The great Guardian''s tower of the Third City was, as all of them were, as tall as the sky is high. Its four walls were flat and a deep blue, and stretched up until ending with a glass, square prism top. Littered on the walls were windows of all shapes and sizes, depending on the size of the room on the other side, all of which had different interior designs and uses.


    In the centre of a large cobblestone square, framed only with wooden benches, was the foot of the tower. Giles arrived and paused at metal gates, six metres in height, which were the only known entrance and exit to the building to those on the outside. They were flat polished iron, strong and heavy. Their hinges were long and broad, fastened to the blue walls with thick bolts that were set deeply into the large stone bricks. There were no handles or knockers, no obvious ways to open the entrance, but with a wave of his hand, Giles was able to will the gates open. The metal squealed at the hinge, scraped across the cobbled ground and then stopped open at a perfect ninety degree angle from the wall. He entered with the surrounding entourage, gestured with another wave, and the gates closed behind him. Anyone who would attempt to open the entrance physically would fail. This was another security measure, ensuring his safety from anyone who would wish him harm. Some thought it needless, an act born of paranoia, but Giles thought it wise.


    Within the Guardian''s tower of the Third City were many dining halls, laboratories, training halls and dorm rooms. The building was full with servants, cooks, researchers and assistants. Giles conducted much magical research and experimentation, and to fuel this work it required time. Time spent cooking and cleaning was time away from research; time gathering materials and ingredients was time away from composing spells; time making life easier for himself was time spent away from making the life of the Third City denizens easier. All of this time was needed, so it was up to servants and assistants to help free it up.


    It was only once a month that Giles was able to leave the tower, to walk the streets and spend some time for himself. This moment had just ended, and his feet would not touch the cobbled square or stony streets for another four weeks.


    Once the gates closed behind him, Giles was greeted by a cheerful, chubby young woman. She stood within the stone walled lobby, surrounded by paintings, carpets, wall scrolls and potted plants, all illuminated by fiery torches that hung on the walls or candles set on tables. This room, and the rest of the inside of the tower, had the look of some medieval palace, were as the city outside was much more modern in comparison.


    On both sides of the long hall where wooden double doors, and opposite the iron gates was a spiralled stone staircase, leading both up and down from this ground level. The young woman, a maid in a long white dress and bonnet, welcomed Giles and led him towards the staircase. She took his cloak from his shoulders, folded it in her arms and spoke with familiarity toward the Guardian.


    ''Now, Guardian, your meal is prepared and awaits you in the tenth floor dining room. Be sure to eat, you have not been sleeping of late, and I know of your night terrors. A good meal always helps. A fire has been set and your books have been bookmarked and your journals are organised and ready for use.'' She stepped up before Giles, leading the way up the stairs. ''If you would like parchment and ink''-


    The young woman was cut off. ''Yes yes.'' Said Giles. ''I need only ask for them.'' He was somewhat disgruntled, but compliant.


    ''Very good Guardian, I do not want needless spillage or stains on my tables.'' The woman looked back and smiled.


    ''I know...'' Giles returned a smile from the corner of his mouth.


    Behind the two were the four armoured bodyguards, climbing the stairs in twos with heavy feet. Giles could hear their laboured breathing behind him. He grimaced.


    ''My guards shall eat separately from me this evening, I have much to think about and they would be a distraction.''


    ''Certainly Guardian.'' The woman replied, as the group ascended past the passage to the sixth floor, loud talking echoing out from it. ''I will have a table set for the men in the servants quarters of the tenth floor. Should I request the armourers from the basement levels come to the tenth?''


    ''No. After the men have eaten, they can return one-by-one to have their armour and weapons removed.'' Giles required his guards close at most times, he preferred them to not all be indisposed at once.


    ''Very well Guardian.''


    ''Thank you Miranda.''


    The woman''s voice raised in pitch. ''You are welcome Guardian!''


    It had been a long day and night. During and then after the meal, Giles read from his archives and wrote notes constantly, being extra careful not to drip ink where he sat. After the daily ritual that all Guardians must conduct, he returned to his study for several more hours. The time spent working showed on his tired face the next morning.


    Miranda, the soft featured Head Servant, awoke her master by use of bright morning sunlight. The thick curtains of the master bedroom were opened, revealing the grey stone walls, large flat bed and a fireplace facing the foot of the bed. Giles'' eyes burned, and he attempted to hide his face under his blankets. Miranda gave him no such choice. She had already tossed a towel at the man, and moved on to gathering clothing from his wardrobes for him to wear after a morning wash.


    ''Guardian, it is time to wake up.'' The servant was commanding. ''Go for your bath, a guard is waiting outside for you.'' She spoke like a mother would, or an authoritative spouse. No other servant was quite so bold, or quite so familiar. But Giles allowed this, perhaps knowing that it was needed to keep him on track.


    Giles exited his bedroom in white robes, greeted his guard with a nod and took down the hallway towards a bathroom. He passed various servants who were cleaning or transferring items to different rooms, depending on what was needed by each researcher and current experiment in the tower. Unlike Miranda, the Head Servant, these workers did not speak, nor even make eye contact. Perhaps by Miranda''s command. They worked around Giles quietly, never interrupting him or hindering his current tasks.


    Reaching the bathroom, entering through a stone archway covered with a white curtain, Giles stepped into steam and heat. In the centre of the square room was a bronze bathtub and a side table with a number of cleaning implements: scrubbing brushes, nail brushes, soaps, glass bottled shampoos, a tin jug of clear warm water for rinsing. All prepared on command of Miranda. The Guardian dis-robed and stepped into the hot water, spilling some of the liquid over the edge of the bath as it rose.


    After washing and drying, Giles returned to his bedroom to dress, leaving the bathroom behind to be cleaned by whichever servants tended to that particular job. Waiting for him was Miranda, ready to help him dress, and to comb and tidy his hair and beard. It was often easy to think that Giles liked to look after his own image, but it was in fact the Head Servant who ensured a tidy appearance.


    This was the morning ritual undertaken every day, and felt just as important as performing the Guardian''s Ritual. Something that must happen before the day could be looked upon as successful.


    A month passed by slowly, without much progress in research by the tower inhabitants, although people were hopeful for the next few weeks. The climate had changed over the last few years, and crops were struggling. The tower was working towards a solution, and the solution, although difficult, may come soon. To clear his head and start afresh, Giles took his monthly walk through the Third City, but today he would be joined by Miranda.


    The two strolled and talked, encircled by the four armoured guards. Giles spoke of his intended experiments, and Miranda listened intently, entertained fully by the concepts that the Mage wished to bring to life.


    People greeted the Guardian as he passed them on the street, and the market places came alive with shouts as merchants tried their hardest to advertise themselves and sell goods to the city''s protector. One such merchant, who sold detailed glass sculptures, managed to gain the man''s interest by complimenting Miranda and suggesting that the ˇ°kindly Guardianˇ± may want to buy a gift for the ˇ°beautiful young ladyˇ±.


    Giles took a single gold coin from his pocket and handed it to Miranda. ''There is enough here to purchase anything you wish.''


    Her face went wide with an incredible smile, which warmed Giles'' heart. ''May I really, Guardian?''


    ''Of course!'' He replied. ''Take your time, I will await you here.''


    Miranda gave a strange but happy yelp, and skipped off to the store. Giles remained in the street with his guards, waiting patiently. The woman approached the merchant and his goods, started talking and browsing.


    Giles looked on, pleased with himself that he may well bring some joy to the woman who helped him so often. A group of children ran past, laughing and shouting, drawing Giles'' eye away from Miranda for only a second, but when he looked back, a new customer was standing at the store next to her.


    The two seemed to be talking almost immediately, and Miranda listened attentively. Giles could not see the face of this anonymous man, though there was something familiar about him that could not be recalled. His clothing was not native to the city. He wore greens and browns, cotton and wool, with light leather armour strapped over. It was typical of a soldier from the Second City, but this was not what felt familiar. It was the gesturing, the way this man held his posture, so strong and sure. It was a confidence that Giles could not place.


    Miranda turned her head to look at Giles, still listening as the man spoke. She quickly turned away when her eyes met his, and continued to absorb whatever it was that the Guardian could not hear. The Mage became concerned, worried in fact. But he held his tongue, remaining patient, not wanting to appear desperate or needy to Miranda.


    Another half minute passed, the unknown man picked up a statue of a horse galloping and handed it to the servant woman, then walked away. Giles never once saw his face. The Head Servant handed over her gold coin, received several silver and copper coins in return and then walked back to Giles'' side. She held the glass horse closely at her chest and smiled.


    ''Are you pleased?'' Asked Giles, hopefully.


    ''I am.'' Replied Miranda, looking ahead as they continued their walk.


    ''Good...'' Giles said, hesitating to enquire about the event he had just witnessed. He soon found his courage. ''Who was the gentleman that you spoke with at the market?''


    Miranda remained focused on looking ahead, never meeting his eyes. ''Just a friendly stranger. He seemed to be rather fanatical about glass and crystal sculptures, and wished to help me choose something meaningful.''


    ''And what meaning does this horse hold?'' Giles was blunt, though still tried to maintain a soft tone.


    ''Freedom.'' Miranda explained. ''And truth.''


    That night was the same as usual: Giles ate, read, wrote, performed the Guardian''s ritual in the glass chamber at the top of the tower, washed, and then slept through a nightmare. Miranda ensured that Giles was well looked after, and that his bed was warmed before he settled for the night, but the next morning something was wrong. Giles was awoken with a shake, his eyes opened to a dark room.


    An armoured guard stood above him. ''Guardian. It is past time that you woke.'' The guard spoke with a metallic twang, his voice bouncing inside his visored helm.


    ''Miranda?'' Giles asked for his servant.


    ''No one has seen her, Guardian.'' The bodyguard informed him.


    Miranda had gone, disappeared without any available reason. Giles panicked, searching high and low. He commanded servants and guards and assistants and researchers alike to search for her. An investigation was conducted, interviews and interrogations made, but no one within the walls of the Guardian''s tower was aware of how or why Miranda had vanished. Giles was saddened, confused and angry, but there was nothing that could be done. He would have left the tower to search for her, but too much work would be postponed. He could not lose that time.


    A new Head Servant was begrudgingly appointed, for the sake of the day to day workings of the tower, although this woman did not take as much care in Giles as Miranda had. Work continued on, and Giles tried his hardest to remain professional through his displeasure.


    During the four weeks before Giles would leave the tower and walk the streets again, he had noticed peculiar behaviour from the servants and workers within the building. Were as in the past no one would react to Giles with as much as a glance, for whatever reason this may have been, the men and women now whispered and sneaked a stare behind his back. Giles was a quiet man and the type to keep his unease to himself, so this built up and ate away at him. He hungered to leave his home and walk off his issues, perhaps find a way to deal with them while refreshing himself outside. When the day did come, it did not go according to plan.


    The day was hot, the summer reaching its climax. This was not a welcome heat, it was heavy and sapped at Giles'' strength. He considered cancelling the walk, but the thought of possibly seeing Miranda somewhere in the city spurred him on. He had spent his own time combing his hair, trimming his beard and dressing himself neatly. Perhaps not as well as Miranda was able to, but presentable all the same.


    The five walked the streets in typical formation, four armoured men surrounding the Guardian. As they travelled, they made the realisation that things were not altogether right. The usual cheerful conversation, the laughter, the singing, all were missing. Giles noticed instead that the people stared and whispered. When he greeted them, they scurried away without making a reply. This was similar behaviour to what the tower workers displayed over the past month. Once reaching the market place, the same street where the glass horse was purchased, the tone of the citizens changed to anger.


    Giles heard shouting erupt, confused as to why. ˇ°We know what you did!ˇ± was one such line spoken, and the words ˇ°killerˇ±, ˇ°traitorˇ± and ˇ°backstabberˇ± were thrown around too. Before he knew what was happening, one of the armoured guards stepped in front of him, blocking an oncoming projectile. A glass figurine smashed against the blue breastplate, its shards exploding outward like a snowball exploding against a wall. It could have been considered pretty, glistening in the sunlight, if not for the intent behind its use.


    One soldier drew his sword as a mob formed in the street, their heckles echoing all over. The other three led Giles back towards the tower, retracing the path they had taken to the market. The first to have drawn his sword was the first to fall under the mob, left behind to a bloody and angry fate.


    The riot chased Giles and his bodyguards all the way to the tower, through hostile streets that were once a joy to walk. Before exiting the last street on their way to safety, the guards hurried Giles away to reach the square, while they held back the crowd. He left his men and stumbled out onto the cobbled square, all energy lost to him. It only dawned to him once he collapsed outside the iron gates, that his magic could have stopped the hostility in seconds. But fear had taken him. Using spells and incantations were difficult for one who had not experienced a chaotic and violent assailant, especially when it came in such a large number.


    But why had his people so suddenly turned on him? What was the meaning of it all? These important questions were soon wiped from his mind when one of the bodyguards returned, fear washing all rational thought away.


    His sword was missing, his armour bloody. Giles took note that one of his armoured fists was particularly coated in red compared to the rest of his body. The soldier clinked and clanked his way towards Giles, the armour sitting slightly loose over his body. He spoke through the visor. ''Guardian. We must hurry inside before the mob reforms, we no longer have the numbers to protect you...''


    Giles breathed heavily, and could only manage a shaky nod. He waved his hand at the door from where he knelt on the floor, and when the gates started to open, the soldier picked him up by one arm and all but dragged the Mage into the tower.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The Guardian lay on the lobby floor after the doors closed behind him, regaining his breath. His hair was a mess, dry tears stained his face, and his clothing was dusty, with one bloody hand print wrapped around his arm. The bodyguard stood still, completely unmoved by what had occurred.


    Giles finally found his voice. ''What was that? Why did they...?'' His lips quivered and his breath faltered. The guard was silent. ''Why were my people so... So angry? So violent?'' He looked up at the armoured man.


    ''Guardian... They say you did something terrible.'' He replied.


    ''And?'' Giles probed.


    ''That is all, Guardian.'' The bodyguard looked down toward the Mage. ''But whatever the people say, we protect-'' He hesitated. ''We have protected you, and I will continue to do so. It is my duty, my honour.''


    ''Yes.'' Giles replied. ''Yes...''


    The trek up the winding stairs gave time to think and dwell on unanswered questions. The people called him murderer, traitor, and Giles had only betrayed and killed one person in his entire life. The people were either mistaken or knew about the true circumstance behind Adam''s death. And if they knew, they could only have learned this information from three other people, one of which was already gone. Perhaps Emrick had died by means of which Giles feared most, by a continued betrayal. Perhaps this is what he was witnessing now, a campaign geared towards the fall of the Third City''s Guardian. Just as Adam was the first the perish, and Emrick the Second, Giles would be the third.


    It was known that after the last Guardian of the Fifth City had died, Kilian had supported Drake in taking over the role. Maybe Kilian was behind this death also? Maybe Kilian wished to usurp all Guardians and place people under his own influence in power. It was his plan to destroy Adam, Drake''s magic that was used. Emrick and Giles were simple accomplices, they did not plan. Maybe Kilian had turned the people of the third City against Giles, he was a master manipulator after all, this was his speciality.


    The Mage''s head rushed with thoughts of conspiracy. Coupled with fright and the adrenaline high from the chase, his body began to shake with anxiety. The bodyguard had to guide the shivering man up the stairs to his bedroom, to lay down and rest.


    The servants, assistants and researchers were told to leave the Guardian to sleep. The bodyguard stood at the door to the bedroom, allowing no one access. He did not once think to remove his bloodied armour, and those who looked on it were quickly frightened away by the sight. But their whispers could be heard throughout the tower, and their suspicious tones found their way into the dreams of Giles.


    His nightmare was of the death of Adam, Guardian to the Second City. The man fell to the floor within his study, old robes melted and glued to his skin. Green fire flicked flesh from his face and ate away at the inside of his mouth. And then once death came, they turned on Emrick. His long life taken away from him, his youthful skin turned to blister and ash. Then they turned on Giles, igniting him with green fire. He stumbled in the dark, a black world where the fire cast no light besides that on himself, Emrick and Adam. Giles'' eyes caught the hollow sockets of Adam''s face, and with movement of his lower mandible the dead man spoke.


    ''You have sown the seeds of betrayal.''


    ''A message from the other side...'' He repeated this to himself for an hour after waking, all the while scouring books written about the meaning of dreams. He tried his hardest to interpret, and consistently came to the conclusion that the dream was a message from Adam, a message from the world of the dead. Giles had betrayed, and this lead only to more betrayal. His traitorous ways were coming back to haunt him, to punish him, and they came in the forms of Kilian and Drake.


    Sitting at the table in the dining hall across from his study, Giles rested his feet after pacing for more than anyone would care for. The new Head Servant entered the room, tray at hand with freshly buttered bread and jam, as well as cup of goat''s milk. She smiled beneath her pointed nose as the tray was set before the Guardian, and then made to walk away.


    The Wizard sipped at the cup of milk, but as the thick liquid touched his tongue he spat it out. The taste was sour and strong, he distrusted it. ˇ°You have sown the seeds of betrayalˇ±. The words echoed in his mind. I can trust no one! ''What is this?'' He demanded with a quick temper.


    The servant''s smile turned to a quiver as she was stopped in her tracks. ''It''s milk, my Lord Guardian.'' She answered immediately.


    ''Really?'' He asked, suspiciously. ''Then drink.''


    ''Pardon, my Lord?''


    ''You drink it!'' He said, while thrusting the cup into the woman''s face, sloshing creamy white over the rim.


    ''I don''t understand, Guardian, what do you mean by this?


    ''You mean to poison me!'' Giles accused her, standing from his seat. Are you Kilian''s thrall? Drake''s? ''If not, drink that which you have brought to me!''


    ''But my Lord...'' The woman reeled back as Giles made to grab her. He took her by the back of the head, by her hair, and forced the cup to her lips. Try as she might, she could not produce the strength to fight back.


    ''Drink. Poisoner. Drink the filth!'' His growing fear caused a fast paranoia, a paranoia that fuelled an aggressive madness. It took the strength of the bloody armoured guard to wrench the serving woman free of Giles'' grip. The soldier pushed the woman aside and stepped between her and the Mage, blocking his aggression.


    Giles froze, staring at the bloodied gauntlet. The dried brown blood reminded him of the people of his city, the people he protected, who now accused him and made attempts on his life. In his head, Kilian was laughing at him, a rasping, breathless laugh. Drake chuckled along with him. Adam laughed too, pleased with this deserved plot against Giles. He lost himself to his paranoia, his vision blurred and all sense of the world around him was gone. The next thing he knew, Giles was being shaken back to his senses by the guard, a tuft of hair clasped within his fingers.


    His vision sharpened, his hearing cleared. The woman was on the floor, crawling for the door. ''A madman! A madman!'' She screamed, tears streaming down her face.


    A small group of maids and servants stood at the doorway in shock, mouths agape. ''He is mad!'' One proclaimed. ''Maybe he is a murderer, a mad murderer.'' Said another. Then came a comment that filled him with rage and hurt, that tempted his magical power to surface. ''Perhaps he even killed the lady Miranda, perhaps that is why she has vanished!''


    Giles went to shock, and then to fury. The building began to vibrate beneath his feet and a wild heat emanated from his body. ''Killed Miranda?'' He screeched a terrible screech. ''Killed Miranda!'' Dust began to shake from the old walls, furniture moved from their places and the Head Servant fell back to her knees whilst trying to climb to her feet. ''How dare you!'' His eyes were ablaze, the floor was scorching under an invisible fire.


    The people about him began to panic and run, shouting and accusing, crying and warning. The building grew hot and it shook terribly. Giles screamed an angry and frightening scream, he let the rage fill him and then spill over into the world. The power grew large before threatening to explode outward from him, but as quickly as it rose, it abruptly and painfully vanished from him. The bodyguard acted, struck, then pulled his armoured fist from Giles'' stomach, and the Mage fell into darkness.


    In his sleep were sounds and sensations. There was chanting, familiar voices talking that were long unheard, a touch to his brow, a wipe of his lips, heavy limbs and light headedness. Just before he woke, he saw a flash of dead eyes seeping green fire and boiling blood.


    When Giles awoke, he did not speak. The tower was quiet, there was no sign of anyone apart from the lone bodyguard, still clad in metal.


    The man came and went as Giles remained in bed. He brought food and drink, walked the halls and sometimes disappeared for hours at a time. Giles paid no mind, he simply existed in his bed with no intention of moving. But the time did come when he found the energy to rise, and when he did, he had questions and concerns, about his tower and about himself. The only person to ask and to help him was the bodyguard.


    The Guardian sat at the foot of his bed, the guard in a chair by his door. ''I can guess where my servants have gone.'' The guard nodded to Giles'' words. ''Why have you not left me?''


    ''I am sworn to protect you.'' The guard replied.


    ''Sworn, or simply doing a job already paid for?''


    ''Sworn.'' The man stated sternly. ''It is true that I work for money, but I still hold honour in the job I perform. You have paid for my loyalty, and I have sworn on my honour to serve you well.''


    Giles wiped his lap clean of fluff and dust, and smiled. ''Unlike my servants.''


    ''Yes.''


    ''How long has it been since they left me?''


    ''They departed immediately after your-'' He hesitated, thinking carefully about his next words.


    ''Outburst?'' Giles offered him the word.


    ''Yes, Guardian.''


    ''Indeed.'' The Mage replied.


    ''You slept for a day and they took that time to gather their possessions, perhaps even some of your own.''


    ''Of course they did...'' He sighed. ''I have missed the ritual...'' His mind wondered. ''But what of you, where have you been coming and going to?''


    ''I have been scouring the tower, ensuring no hidden enemy or assassin awaits you.''


    ''And?''


    ''There are none.'' The guard said with confidence.


    ''That can not be the only thing you have been doing.''


    ''I have been out of the tower, once or twice, to buy fresh food for you.''


    Giles'' eyes became slits, suspicious. ''We have ample supplies in our stores, why would you need to buy more?''


    ''I took measures for your safety. The stored food was destroyed in case of poisoning, which required me to visit the market to resupply.''


    He was pleased at that, feeling that the guard was quite trustworthy. ''And how is the city outside of my tower?''


    ''Not well, Guardian. The people still accuse you of a terrible crime, and rumours of your sudden, although temporary madness, have reached them through the mouths of your servants.''


    ''I see... Did the people attack or hurt you?''


    ''No. They fear me enough to stay away. The armour you have granted me, in it''s current state, fills them with dread. And any item that allows me to freely come and go from the tower must add to their fears, as they see it as being a great magical power.''


    Giles was silent for a time, then spoke. ''Please, find me some water.''


    ''Yes Guardian.'' The bodyguard rose.


    ''Better yet, wine.''


    ''Yes Guardian, I have procured you some from the market already. Your servants left you without much.''


    Giles laughed, weakly, feeling some ease. But as the guard left, he caught sight of that painted gauntlet, that blood dried armour. And for a second he envisioned the mailed hand holding a dancing green flame. His eyes widened, then the man was gone.


    Upon his return, the bodyguard brought a half bottle of wine, and some crumbling cheese wrapped in cloth. He placed the food at the side of Giles, on the bed, and handed him the bottle. Giles looked at the bloodied hand once more, then took the wine bottle to his mouth, sucking deeply. The taste was fruity, the liquid aromatic, but it had a bitter edge to it that was odd. The bottle had probably not been left to breath for long enough. After many steady gulps, he placed the bottle at his feet on the floor and wiped his mouth during a gasp for air. ''What did the people say I had done?'' He asked of the soldier.


    ''I do not think it appropriate to say.'' The bodyguard replied.


    Giles ignored him. ''I can tell you what they have been saying: They say that I am a killer, a murderer, a traitor.'' He tried to lock eyes with the guard''s, struggling to see through the visor on his helm. ''They say I have killed someone important, no?''


    ''It is as you say.''


    ''Who do they say I have killed?''


    ''Guardian...'' The bodyguard pulled his chair from near the door and placed it in front of Giles and sat. ''May I speak freely to you, Guardian? I have protected you, I have killed and seen others die for you. Will you allow me to impart some of my limited wisdom on to you?''


    Giles answered with unease. ''Yes...''


    The bodyguard leant in closer. ''If you seek to ease yourself of a burden brought on by sin, then I believe it important that you confess the evils you have done, even if only to yourself... Or secretly to one other.''


    The advice was well taken. ''Maybe you are correct in this.''


    ''Maybe I am.''


    ''Very well, listen.'' Giles took a breath, exhaled, and then took yet another breath. ''I have killed. It was someone close to me... Somewhat. Our relationship was not one of close friendship, although we were pleasant enough to each other. Our relationship was professional, if you can call what we do a profession at all. The man was a fellow Guardian, one of great power and ability, and of even greater love for the people he protected.


    ''The man was one who spent his time delving into the depths of known knowledge and beyond, and this led him to discover what he claimed was the most powerful magic. Or so I was made to believe. Others in our order had discovered this information and claimed these things, I was simply an accomplice to what... What we did next.


    ''Another Guardian, Kilian of the Fifth City, convinced us that this powerful new magic would be used against us, used to imbalance the five cities and make the Second more powerful than thought possible. I knew this to be a lie, in the end, yet the deed was already done. Four Guardians destroyed their ally with emerald fire, and the Second City fell into darkness...'' Giles went silent, the guard did not respond. A minute passed before he spoke again. ''What say you?''


    The guard took a moment. ''What did you gain from this?''


    ''There was no gain. The magic was lost to us. No, not lost. The magic was something entirely out of our reach. We tried the most drastic act to take it, and failed... Perhaps we should have just asked...'' Giles looked sad, troubled. ''All I have gained is guilt. At first I thought that I was protecting the cities, but as I flung fire from my hands, Adam''s words echoed in my mind.''


    ''Adam?''


    ''Yes, the Guardian of the Second City.'' Giles took a breath through his nose, long and deep. ''He was diplomatic, where we were not. He was pacifistic, where we were not. He alone could have stopped us by use of force, he was strong enough, but he did not act. He called us friends and never once thought to harm us, or protect himself from us.


    ''I knew at that moment that what I had taken part in was wrong, played out on a lie. I have regretted it ever since. Can I be forgiven?'' Giles asked, although he knew the answer.


    ''Only the man you have slain can forgive you, and he is gone.''


    ''If only...'' The Mage looked to the floor, eyeing the wine bottle.


    ''My lord?''


    ''Ever since my people attacked me, I have felt Adam upon me. His ghost breathing down my neck, clawing at me, clawing for his justice.'' He shivered with the thought. ''He awaits my murder by the hands of the others, he knows that Kilian has not finished playing his game of death. Another has disappeared, wiped from the board, and now it is my time. I fear that my forgiveness comes only after my end, and then it would be too late. I would have no life to live after the weight has been lifted from me.'' He choked on his words. ''ˇ°If my life must end, that is as Fate would have it.ˇ± There is nothing I can do...''


    ''And this is why the madness had taken you so suddenly.'' The guard stood from his seat, pushing the chair back across the stone floor with a squeal. ''You seek to redeem yourself, but redemption can only come in death, and you fear it.''


    ''No.'' Said Giles, looking up at the guard. With a pathetic smile on his face, he drunkenly laughed, the large sips of wine taking affect. ''It''s not death I fear, it''s the next world. When I will have to face Adam, with his forgiveness or his wrath, and admit that I am a pitiful man. Not strong enough to be good like Adam, nor even selfish enough to empower myself, like Kilian. I am just a poor, weak follower with no path of my own.''


    The guard paced the room, metal clattering and scraping the stone beneath his feet. ''I did not know what I was going to do...'' He spoke softly to himself, all but a whisper.


    ''What? What is it?'' Giles stood.


    The guard turned to him. ''Redemption?'' He asked, but allowed no answer. His armoured hands reached for the clasp hidden under his helm. The leather was pulled apart and the straps fell loose. The helm was lifted and tossed onto the bed, past the shoulder of the Mage.


    Giles sat softly on the bed, his lips quivered, tears filled his eyes and then he cried. He cried through a smile while looking up at the man that stood before him. ''Adam... You live!''


    The man gave Giles a queer look that lasted not even a second, then he spoke with a sharp grin and dark eyes. ''No, Giles, my friend.'' He stepped closer. ''I am still perished.''


    Giles was confused, he sought for an answer with bumbled speech through spittle and tears. ''D... dead? But how? How are you here with the living? Is this a cruel jape?''


    The armoured man laughed, his face red. ''Jape? You think this a joke?'' He laughed again, slapping his belly with a clang of the armour. He gripped Giles'' thighs with both hands, one bloodied, and pressed his face to the other''s own. ''The only joke here is you, believing that you still live. The truth is that you have been gone from the living world for some time, the curtains have parted and closed, the audience boos.


    ''The guards you had hired died protecting you in the market that violent day, when everything changed for your city. Your throat was cut and your people painted your blue walls with red!''


    Giles mouth was agape, he felt for his throat. Cut?  He tried to speak, but no words came to him. Dead? His hands clenched and his body shook.


    ''This tower has been your oblivion ever since. A remarkable construct, made of my will and your mind. A perfect facsimile. Now...'' Adam''s face darkened. ''Is it forgiveness or wrath that comes to you here?'' The man pushed Giles to his back and walked to his chair, uncharacteristically laughing. Had his death soured him, darkened him? He placed a foot on the seat and leant onto his knee.


    ''Dead? Dead?'' Giles repeated to himself, incredulous. ''I am dead?''


    ''As a doornail!''


    ''No!'' Giles crawled to the head of his bed, his legs kicking and pushing. The blankets were flung and the steel helm fell to the floor with a ring that vibrated in his ears. ''I escaped, you saved me! I escaped!''


    ''I was the gatekeeper to the other side. You killed me, and the universe compensated me, it allowed me to be the one that guides you into the afterlife!''


    Giles'' eyes widened and the whites turned to red. ''I am not ready for this!'' He cried. ''I am not ready, Adam, I am not ready!''


    ''Was I ready? Was I prepared to die?'' He spoke with anger. ''When the four of you came to me, do you think that I was ready to see an end to my life?''


    Giles'' head began to spin, through madness or alcohol or more. Adam''s face spun with him, judging him. He became shrill, his hands clenched and bled as his own nails tore the skin of his palms. ''I am not ready!'' The cry came louder, and then the scream. Giles truly believed himself dead, his scream was proof enough. The fear, the guilt and the madness took over and would never leave him.


    The armoured man looked on Giles blankly for a time, then left the room, left the screamer to shriek until his throat bled and his tongue choked him. ''I suppose I do look a lot like my father.'' He quipped.

 Fire: The Battle Book

    ''Who?'' Asked Drake, as was usual for the beginning of a duel. His voice echoed loudly.


    ''Markiah Holt. First of District Twenty-seven.'' The man was a giant. Bare chested, with a fluff of dark brown hair between his pectorals. His arms were as muscular as could be possible, but his stomach was fat and his legs thin. Across his back was slung a heavy iron mace with a haft of two metres in length. The man stood one head higher than even that.


    Drake sat his grey stone throne on the dais of the great hall. This was the ground floor of the tower of the Fifth City, a hall so large that the flaming braziers that uniformly lined the room from dais to door could not illuminate the walls, which were lost in inky blackness.


    ''Come.'' The Guardian commanded, standing from his seat, black and green robes falling about him. A large hood concealed his face in shadow.


    The giant of a man reached for his weapon and made to charge the long distance, but darkness suddenly surrounded him. A wind ran cold through the room, the fires were extinguished, and then emerald flame was loosed across the hall. A scream lost itself to the gloom.


    The flames of the braziers returned with a flash of green, and then their hot tongues turned golden once again. Drake was sat on his throne, his right hand smoking from beneath his long sleeve. Far across from him, near the large bronze doors of the hall, was a smouldering heap of bone and flesh, burnt blood and bubbling fat.


    The Fifth City was one of hard stone, hard steel and harder men. Once it was the City of Flowers, some called it the Fifth Petal. But when its previous Guardian had died, fallen from his tower, the city soon became the City of Flame, the Rotten Petal.


    Drake had been chosen as the next Guardian. He had entered the city with an army, fresh from battle beyond the walls of the Fourth City. With these dark men came a dark culture, brutal and without mercy. These were soldiers who had fought and seen death, won a great war, yet gained no prize for themselves. Drake awarded them the city, honouring each captain of his military with leadership of each district. The gentle folk were driven from their homes, and only those with the will or skill to survive remained.


    The battle hungry Drake turned the city into the arena of a great game. Each district would present to him their strongest warrior, decided through deadly combat, and a duel between Champion and Guardian would commence. The loser would perish, the winner would sit the stone throne until death, commanding a great host and ruling a rotten city. Many men travelled to the Fifth City, many men became Champion, known as the First, but each were ended by the emerald flame.


    He sat his throne day and night, ate at the throne, spoke from the throne, commanded from the throne, killed from the throne. Since his time in the city, Drake had never once explored the other floors of the tower, nor performed the sacred ritual that all Guardians should. He remained mostly seated. A day would come that would be different.


    ''My lord commander!'' The stout man entered the hall, his boiled leather and ring mail armour coated in the blood of others. ''The city gate has fallen and District One is under attack.'' His shouts echoed about the room as he quickly marched toward the dais.


    Drake leant onto his knees and spoke with interest. ''Whose army?''


    ''No army, my lord.'' The stout soldier coughed. ''Just a man.''


    The Guardian sat back into his throne and thought for a moment. ''Any warrior from District Thirty and onward could do the same. Let this man come, and let him break himself against the shields of the Champions.''


    ''Yes my lord.'' The soldier bowed and retreated from the room. The bronze doors closed behind him.


    A day passed and the soldier returned, his arm a bandaged stump. ''My Lord Commander, Districts One through Twenty-five have fallen. Their Champions have been defeated. I led a retinue to confront the man, but we were defeated. I managed to escape here to you, even in great pain.''


    ''This does not concern me. Did I not tell you that greater Champions would defeat this man?''


    ''Yes my lord, however-''


    ''Silence.'' Drake''s voice was soft, but it carried a darkness in it. ''Leave me.''


    ''Yes my lord.'' The man exited.


    Two days passed without word. Drake continued to sit, his silent servants serving food and drink. On the third day, the great bronze doors opened and a new face appeared. A younger man than the stout soldier, longer of leg and broad shouldered. ''M''Lord commander.'' Fear was on his voice. ''Districts Forty to the city gates have fallen.'' The man fell to his knees. Drake noticed bloody marks on his legs, as if bitten.


    ''Have my army assembled, hunt the man down.'' He was calm.


    The soldier grimaced in pain. ''M''lord. Your army was deployed yesterday, and already a third have fallen.''


    Drake sat up straight, intrigued. ''How is this so?''


    ''The remaining fighters from forty districts have rallied behind a man who they call the new ruler.''


    ''Have they now?''


    ''Yes M''Lord... Only...'' The soldier showed much fear.


    ''Speak.'' Commanded the Guardian.


    ''Well M''Lord, not only have the citizens rebelled, but there are worse things... Packs of ghostly wolves run savage through the streets, and there''s been word of other evils. Demons made of lightning, they fall from the sky and turn our ranks to ash.'' The man fell to his hands, his fingers gripping the stone floor helplessly. ''M''Lord, we won''t last a day even.''


    ''Leave me, and fight.'' Said Drake. ''I''ll await this new Champion and his followers if you fail.''


    ''But M''Lord-''


    ''Go!'' He commanded, and the soldier obliged, scurrying out of the bronze doors.


    Ten more hours he sat, and then the doors to his hall opened once again. Another soldier entered, armoured in brown leather under mail, and a dark green wool spun hooded cloak over that. A dagger was strapped to his belt, a bastard sword across his back and a fine yew longbow was at hand. ''Guardian. The city has fallen and your army is all but broken.''


    ''How many of my men are left fighting?'' Asked Drake, somewhat unmoved by the news.


    ''Small bands are scattered across many districts, unable to regroup and rebuild a host.'' The soldier spoke while approaching the throne with strong steps. ''They will be defeated or captured in short time.''


    ''Tell me the name of the man who has broken my city gates, raised an army from my people and smashed my own forces. Tell me the name of this Champion of all districts.'' Drake was not easily fooled by this soldier. ''Who?''


    ''Addison, son of Adam, of the Storm. Heir to the Guardianship of the Second City and slayer of traitors.''


    Drake''s smile could be seen within the shade of the black hood. ''Come.''


    Darkness overcame the light of the braziers, a chill ran through the air and then a green heat made to swallow Addison. The emerald flame tumbled through the blackness, its light illuminating the stone below it. It fell against the ground were Addison stood, splashing angry and hot. When the orange fires returned to light up the hall once again, Drake sat while eyeing a pile off black ash on top of scorched stonework, thoroughly pleased.


    The hall was silent for many minutes, and Drake fell into his usual habit of sitting and waiting. Perhaps the rebel army would storm his hall next, breaking through the bronze doors in the hope that their leader and champion had disposed of the Guardian. What a fun scenario that would be. He would burn hundreds with his flame, savouring the sounds and the smells. It had been years since he had burnt more than one or two men at a time, and there was nothing quite like the taste of charred flesh on the air. He allowed himself a wide grin, quite happy with the thought. His smile was then lengthened across his right cheek, a burn curling up to his ear.


    From the shadows to his left came a second bolt of white and blue light, then a third and a forth, each narrowly missing Drake as he leapt from his stone seat and took to the shadows of the opposite side of the hall. When each bolt of energy sparked up, they rendered Addison in a blue glow, pulling on the string of his longbow and loosing the electric arrows at the darkly robed Guardian. When his shafts of light were in the air and away, the shadows reformed around Addison and concealed him once again.


    The Guardian slipped into the shadows himself, hidden from Addison. The only light was burning between them down the centre of the hall. There was no movement, no sound, each of them waiting for the other to act. It was Drake whose impatience won out first.


    With a breath and a conjuration of power, the Guardian raised his hand and allowed flames to lick up about his fingers. The magic was thrown to where Addison was thought to be, a ball of fire arcing across the hall, the light revealing Drake''s own place within the shadows.


    While the magic was still in the air, the blue glow from Addison''s primed missile revealed him to be several metres to the left. On quick release he was shrouded yet again. The bolt passed by Drake''s chest as he dodged, passing between arm and body, and burning and ripping through the dark robes. The shaft of energy ended its journey against the wall far behind Drake, dispersing in a flash of light that silhouetted the Guardian. Another bolt was loosed and Drake was forced to dodge once again, evading with increasing speed.


    ''I have no patience for this!'' Drake called out, annoyed. His power swelled and his will called for light. The high ceiling of the hall became awash in emerald brilliance, flames flowing over the stone, chasing away the shadows. Tall square stone pillars became apparent, spaced metres between and splitting the hall into thirds across its width. Beyond them were stone walls with jet black tapestries inlaid onto them. The black stone shimmered with the green light, the images it displayed describing some ancient battle, where five armies united to overcome some inhuman horror.


    ''It was you who favoured the darkness, I simply followed your lead.'' Addison stood with bow in hand, his cloak and hood missing, part of the armour on his shoulder was singed, black but intact.


    ''It is not often a man evades my fire.'' Drake spoke from beneath his hood. ''But your magic is weak, and you will not last.''


    ''Magic?'' Addison looked at his bow and back to Drake. ''This? This is not my magic, this is simply an enchanted weapon. Silent, stealthy. Though stealth has failed me.'' Addison threw the wooden bow aside with a clatter. He raised a hand and pointed at the Guardian. ''This is my magic.''


    Drake could feel it. There was a fuzz about his skin, the air was electric. Before he knew it, he was rolling away with black and green robes spiralling around him, as the arc of lightning crept quickly across the hall and exploded with a crack against the black tapestry behind him. Another came, and Drake still moved, leaping behind one of the hall''s stone pillars. He soon found himself sprinting to the next when the first pillar exploded into dust.


    Behind the second pillar was a moment''s reprieve, when Drake could consider his next move. Hit him before he hits me. Was his first thought. So Drake leant out from behind the pillar and made to toss fire. He quickly ducked back into safety as Addison''s magic crackled toward him, thundering through the location where his head had once been. Close... He sighed. Let''s try this again. The Guardian leant out, took note of Addison''s position, and ducked back behind the pillar as another bolt flew towards him. Immediately he jumped out from the opposite side of his cover, hand engulfed in his signature green flame. The hot green magic was launched across the room toward Addison who had reacted to the movement, sending another crackling bolt of electricity toward Drake.


    The fire intercepted the path of the lightning, and Drake briefly thought that the magic would disrupt or cancel each other out. They did not. Both flame and electricity struck where their targets would have been standing, if not for their simultaneous evasion. The fire splashed against the ground, the lightning popped with a flash, and Drake made an advantageous discovery.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    It seemed to him that the electricity could pass through the emerald flame without dispersing the fire. It would have been pleasing if Addison''s magic could be disrupted, but this would work in his favour greatly. He gathered his power deep within himself, building heat inside. His stomach burned, his body shook and then quickened to a vibration so fast that the stone at his feet was worn. The magic took him, his entire being erupted into fire. Drake became fire.


    From behind the stone pillar came a shade, shadow and fire entwined. It danced across the hall towards Addison, green and black, hungering to embrace the other with a devouring heat. Lightning struck, once and then twice, but each bolt passed through the elemental being with no affect.


    A deep laugh sounded from the fire, the flames rising with each bellow. Drake was untouchable. Addison turned and ran, sprinting towards the dais as Drake followed in his new form. The shade chased him to the throne and then beyond, tossing fire as he did.


    Behind the stone chair was a doorway with stairs leading up. Addison darted through and up the steps into the unlit stair and on to the upper floors of the Guardian''s tower. Drake followed, his heat leaving a scorched wake on the stone floor behind him.


    Addison''s footsteps echoed as he ran, washing down through the stairwell and into the floors below him. Drake followed the sound, illuminating the way with his flickering light. He passed many doors, some locked, some open, some broken, yet the echo of running continued, so he continued to follow. It was around the thirtieth floor that the other sound started. It was low at first, but then as he reached the thirty-first floor, the roaring began. It was the sound of running water coming from behind a closed door. Water trickled out from the foot of the door, and very quickly began to steam when it came into proximity of Drake. The sound of sprinting continued above, so the Guardian left the closed room alone and floated up.


    Drake had reached the fortieth floor when Addison stopped running. He would only have to search two or three floors above him to find his enemy from the sound of it, and burn him alive. The forty-first floor opened up from a broken down door, its hinges rusted and torn, the wood scattered just on the inside. Empty bookshelves and tables filled a large chamber, the green light lit the room and revealed there to be nothing living inside. Drake continued on.


    The forty-second floor had a door loose on its hinges. It swung open under the force of Drake''s fiery form and immediately combusted, combining with the green light to illuminate the room with orange and emerald. Inside was some sort of maintenance room, filled with brass pipes that bubbled within. They seemed to be pushing water or perhaps some other liquid about the room and possibly the rest of the tower. When Drake approached the pipes, they quickly began to shake and hiss, steam and bubbles fizzing out of the seams of the metalwork. He moved away again, satisfied that Addison was not there.


    But as he turned to leave, the light caused the pipes to cast moving shadows. Drake thought he saw movement within, something hugging the dark shapes as they moved. His magic charged, the fire and his form was ablaze, flickering and burning more than before. The room was bright, the temperature intense. Steam escaped the pipes with a whistle, the brass rumbled and the sounds became unbearable. And then from the shadows Addison appeared, peering through the complex lattice of pipework, his lips moving, but his words obscured by the thunderous sound of the shaking brass and the squeal of the steam. Then came the water.


    The pipes burst, gushing and steaming. The rush took Drake, and the next thing he knew he was tumbling down through the tower stair, his flame extinguished and his solid form rolling over steps with water surrounding him. The torrent forced him down and down, crushing him against stone steps and then throwing him up at the stone ceiling, but still down and down and down. By the time the water had stopped, Drake was sprawled on the stair, just outside the door of the seventh floor. His back, shoulders and neck ached, his knee throbbed, but he was otherwise unharmed. A normal man would have been killed.


    The darkness surrounded him, he could feel the wet slickness of the ground, could hear the running water continue down to the floors below, and could hear the crackle come from above. The purple blue light was a din at first, but soon crept around the spiralling stone walls of the stairwell and towards Drake. He ran. He could feel the air change, the electric buzz went through his body, he was no fool, he knew what came for him. The light chased him quickly, faster than fast, and Drake could not outrun it. His robes were heavy with water, the steps were too wet to run down without slipping. He found himself correcting his balance more than once, checking himself against the outside wall.


    At the Guardian''s heels came fingers of lightning, travelling through the water, grasping hungrily for his legs. Their brightness was rivalled only by their electric heat. He would be caught, but... Drake focused himself, found the centre of his internal energy and brought it to the surface. As before, his form was released into elemental fire and the electric magic found no grip on him. And so the water came again.


    When Drake was next on his feet, it was after being washed down the stair and back into the great hall. He had been soaked through and dripped heavily from his robes. The black and green material hugged his head and body tightly. Before he was fully aware, his head still spinning, the crackling magic came from the dark doorway behind the dais. Again the electric power sought out Drake, using the water to find him. The lightning magic found nothing, as the Guardian transformed himself once more. Just as Drake had adapted to Addison''s lightning, Addison had adapted to Drake''s seemingly untouchable fire. This angered him.


    The green flame exploded in size, demonstrating Drake''s fury. His anger grew and his power swelled. The elemental form of smoke and fire and shadow doubled in size, then doubled again, and then again and again and again. Drake screamed and burned and scorched. The great stone hall filled up with his heat, the floor began to soften and glow, edging towards molten. The orange fires of the braziers were lost to the emerald.


    I have never... Drake was lost in his anger, he had never lost a battle. I will never! He forced his growing mass into the stairway, his flames travelling up the steps, licking at the walls and spreading into each and every room in the tower. Libraries burned, pumping stations burst and the water evaporated, stone melted, glass vaporised and the very air itself was heated until it exploded out of the top of the tower, raining stone and mortar down on to the city below.


    The release of energy was all that Drake could manage, and he was soon left standing in the darkened hall with his fires extinguished. The tower top was gone, the power and heat had been so incredible. Addison had surely perished. Surely.


    The air was light, his breathing was heavy and laboured. Drake made his way through the darkness, over the dull shimmering floor to the doors of the hall. Before he could reach the doorway, the hinges creaked and the bronze doors swung open. Light flooded the great room from outside and three long shadows crept across the hot stone ground. Growls echoed, and padded feet and claws sang out as the grey and black shapes made for Drake. Their yellow eyes aglow.


    The wolves were on him, teeth shredding his clothes and gnawing at his legs. Drake kicked one off, kicked out again and struck the beast on the nose, and then again on the neck. The animal rolled away violently, and then one of its pack mates was thrown atop of it. Both animals dispersed into smoke with the impact, and the last of the three was left to have its throat torn out by Drake''s own hands, flesh and blood and fur all vanishing into dark mist in his fingers.


    He laughed, amused by these apparitions. Addison was certainly creative in the use of his magic. He was also creative in his strategies, turning the city against Drake. So now he must leave the tower and take back what was his, before the entire game comes to an end.


    He left the hall and entered the city streets, dark dirt roads and dark stone buildings with dark tiled roofs and dark dirty windows, all damaged by the fallen stones of the Guardian''s tower. The world was grey and blue and orange, the night sky mingling with the fires that raged below it. The sound of steel against steel could be heard and the screams of the dying too, all off in the distance. Drake walked with torn robes and aching bones, heading toward the sound of battle. It was a song to him, beautiful and an inspiration to his blood lust.


    Passing abandoned houses and the abandoned dead, the Guardian took in the sights and the smells. His lungs sucked it in, his eyes wide with it all. It was revitalising. His pain subsided, his heart pumped, his energies rose. He laughed and screamed and laughed again, and then he laughed and screamed and screamed and laughed and ran and screamed! The tight dark streets opened up into a fountained square and a battle was at hand, swords and shields knocking and clanging together, armour and weapons rang, shouts lingered in the air and echoed against the buildings surrounding the square. Drake came into the fray with his voice singing a frightening song. He leapt into the air, higher than any normal man could, and landed within the fight, crushing the head of one lightly armoured soldier beneath his feet, and then striking with a bare fist against another. The second man''s armoured chest crumpled like paper, his body propelled into a couple that were dancing with steal and iron between them.


    The fighting men soon stopped their skirmish, fearful of Drake, and their unwillingness to continue fighting was their doom. Drake swept into one side of the joined battle, like a scythe he cut soldiers down with feet and fists alone. He moved quickly, faster than the other men could run, and was soon standing over their writhing bodies. The other half of the square broke out of their shock and dared to run away, but Drake was on them. He charged up their rear, grabbing at shoulders and heads and arms, pulling and crushing and throwing. Bodies were tossed aside like leaves in the wind, landing heavy on the ground or inside the dried up fountain. They smashed into buildings, through windows and doors. The Guardian''s strength was inhuman... But then he was inhuman.


    Drake pulled at his ruined black and green robes and ripped them from his body, tossing them aside. Beneath was a black, full body overall, with neither gloves nor boots. His head was bald, his skin pale and sickly green, and from the left side of his neck to his cheek was silver green scale. He took a breath and allowed a pleasurable shiver to run from his head to his toes, and smiling he took off again, sprinting through the city.


    One street was filled with men victorious over Drake''s loyal army, the Fifth City''s soldiers lay dead at their feet. He bulled into them all, his shoulders and fists and elbows cracking bone beneath their force. The next street was not as populated, just one large man busy looting a house of stored weapons. Drake dashed past the man, as quick as a flash, leaving a broken necked doll to fall to the ground. An enemy, an innocent, or his own men, Drake engaged them all. His lust for battle outweighed his rationality.


    After travelling through several districts of the city without contact, Drake began to calm, but then he came to a long and wide street, easily able to fit five carts across. Beyond the road was fire, and fighting, and the Guardian craved it. He rushed on, only to stop when a crowd appeared from alleyways and buildings ahead of him. They stood their ground in front of him, blocking the street, baring swords and maces and bows and slings. Drake laughed. ''That''s him!'' One man pointed with his blade. ''The old Guardian!''


    ''Come!'' Drake shouted, but the men made no such attempt. He laughed and clapped his hands together, creating a green spark and a small flame between his palms. When he pulled his hands apart, a long black blade grew from them and ended with a dark green hilt. He took the sword in one hand and slid the blade through the heel of the other. His blood coloured the sharp edge and then was alight, the sword aflame in that emerald green that was so commonly used. ''Come now, and die fighting, or die running.'' The men''s faces were fearful, and Drake loved it.


    ''I never would have taken you as a swordsman.'' The voice was a surprise, and not only to Drake. The line of fighters parted at the centre and Addison stepped through them with a limp.


    Drake smiled. ''How did you survive?''


    ''You blew me out of a window, luckily not so high up that I could not save myself.''


    ''You are very skilled.'' He pointed with his blade. ''But your magic is weak!''


    ''As is yours, that is why you failed to kill me.'' The Guardian was enraged by that. Addison scratched his head, gave a yawn and then continued to speak. ''I have known about you for a long time, Drake. I took part in the war beyond the Fourth City, where your name was legendary. Your army was powerful, your command unrivalled.


    ''Unfortunately, I entered the war after you took your leave of it, so I never had the opportunity to meet with you. But I was able to see the results of your campaign, the death and the destruction; the charred remains of men and women; of the wildlife; the trees and the villages. You left a scarred land, where even hardened soldiers were turned back with revulsion.'' He looked Drake in the eyes. Those pale green eyes. ''I came here with fear of you, with anger for a great many things, but that fear has gone.''


    ''You will fear me again.'' Drake took a step toward Addison, and another. ''My magic can consume you and end you within the blink of an eye, or it can burn you slowly, stretching out your death into hours and days.'' He kept walking forward. ''But for you, I would not use my magic. My blade was made for you, Addison. I have waited for you, I have dreamt of the day that my steel would kiss one such as you!'' His quick walk turned to a jog. ''No spells, just swords!'' His lips curled into a cruel smile. His sword aglow as the green fire curled up around the blade.


    Addison answered by gripping the hilt of his own sword, drawing the weapon from over his shoulder. The blade was clean and silver blue, it''s edge well sharpened. It left the scabbard with the sound of metal scraping leather ringing in the air. ''Just swords.''


    His words must have inspired some courage in the other men. Just swords. Their fear for magic left them and they charged at Drake, leaving Addison standing alone, his blade hanging in his hand. Just swords. Metal flashed, steel clashed with steel, but only Drake was victorious. His flaming sword cut through the other men''s weapons, through their armour and shields. The Guardian in battle danced around the rest, his blade whirling and slicing. Screams sang out around him, bodies thudding to the ground. ''You will fear me!'' Drake screamed out. He was as graceful as he was deadly, as fast as he was strong. No one could touch him. ''You will fear me!''


    One warrior swung an axe at Drake''s head, but the Guardian was under it and cutting through the assailant with a flash of green. The blade sliced through and then into another behind. It caught the other warrior''s spine and jammed, but a kick was all it took to shove the second man away and retrieve the blade, just in time to swipe upward and block the sword of a heavily armoured giant. Drake kicked his knee, metal bent and the bone inside cracked. The man fell, Drake spun backward on one heel and brought the other foot around to the man''s helmet, crushing it and its contents like a juicy red grape. In the same motion, his sword was in another opponent, cutting from collar to waist.


    The men died quickly around him, great warriors or not, and he would have it that Addison would die the same. The pale green man approached the son of Adam with speed, raising his black sword above his head, poised to strike down. Addison stood motionless, his sword at his side. When Drake came down on him, the other man stepped aside and allowed the Guardian to pass him by, the blue bladed sword parrying the black and green. Drake whirled around, his blade whistling, reaching out for the foe. The momentum when coupled with inhuman strength and speed created an unimaginable force, one that could slice a man in half with ease. But instead of striking Addison, the flaming sword flew down the street, spinning like a wheel of fire. Drake''s hand was still holding on to the hilt.


    Addison had knelt below Drake''s whirling attack, cutting upwards with his own blade and severing the pale man''s hand from the wrist. Drake made no sound, but his wide eyes spoke for him. Addison rose up to his feet and slammed his shoulder into Drake''s chest, causing him to stumble. Blood ran from the open wound, and on contact with the air it combusted into green fire. A steady flow of flame poured from the Guardian''s pained and bloody stump.


    ''I am a better Swordsman than I am a Mage.'' Addison proclaimed. Drake looked up in shock, his mouth opened and closed. No words came.


    Addison wasted no time. He stepped forward heavily, putting his weight behind the point of his metallic blue blade. The tip took Drake between his collarbones, into the soft dimple of his throat. The deep red ran down the blade and was ablaze. When the sword was removed, scraping against flesh and bone and scale, the blood ran loose.


    Drake''s eyes were still wide with shock when the emerald flames engulfed him, his life blood flowing freely from him and ensuring his death with fire. His skin blistered, his blood boiled, his life was ended.


    In the end, it was painful.

 Soul: The Forbidden Book

    The Great Library of the Fourth City was truly magnificent. It was an archive of books and scrolls; ancient and rare artefacts; art pieces; musical instruments and related materials. The tower was open to all Fourth City citizens and visitors, all but the very top floor.


    The city was once a simple place, its people average in every way possible. The library had been created in order to give the people a purpose, an education. Many citizens became scholars, exploring the depths of their chosen area of expertise, made possible by the expansive archive. The archive itself was made possible due to the large population of researchers, collectors and explorers who provided the material for the library. These contributors travelled the world to document new or rare knowledge, find incomplete series of books or scrolls, or trade for rare or educational items and artefacts. All were brought back to the tower, catalogued, and then stored on the appropriate floors.


    Kilian was the quiet curator of the library and Guardian of the Fourth City. His people looked to him as a teacher and a leader. The first floor of the tower acted as a lecture hall, but was also used to hold court, to listen to the wants and needs of those the Guardian protected.


    As of late, Kilian had met with hundreds of the city residents who brought concerns over the increase of refugees to the Fourth City. Kilian was well aware of the issue, his research time had been dedicated to the problem entirely. It was well known now that the Guardians to the First, Second, Third and Fifth Cities had been lost, and the consequence of the Guardian''s Ritual not being performed had slowly come to light.


    The Second City was the first to fall from its grace. Adam of the Storm had held another educated city, but the people were not able to cure the disease that spread so quickly after the death of their Guardian. All but a few districts of the Second City remained alive, though their time would soon pass.


    The First City fell next. Emrick the Immortal had vanished, although his death was unconfirmed. None-the-less, the ritual had not been performed. Refugees from the First City who had travelled to the Fourth, brought with them terrifying stories. Creatures never seen before in the wild had begun to inhabit the city. Large leathern winged beasts, dark of colour and red of eye, nested in the Guardian''s Tower. Each night they would swoop down into the city and take unexpected men and women into the sky and back to the tower, though it was not known if this was for food or something else. When the people began hiding more and more in their houses, the creatures began to break through the sandstone walls, taking people directly from their homes. Giant rats and black toothed cats had also appeared, finding their way into homes and stores, eating and defiling food and grain, attacking pets and children. The stories were yet to be confirmed by an objective source.


    The Third City, The Trader''s Paradise or the Blue Pearl to some, had supposedly turned red with its people''s blood. A madness took the city, its people had turned on each other and began to slay one another. Friend or foe, brother or sister, parent or child, no one was safe from anyone else. Those who found themselves leaving for the Fourth City soon turned against each other on the roads, those who did happen to make it to their destination began to turn on the peaceful citizens of the Fourth City, and were soon put to death because of it. All refugees from the Third City were then prohibited from entering. Giles the Prideful, as far as the stories went, had not died. But all the same, he did not perform the ritual any longer.


    The Fifth City had never performed its ritual since Drake of the Emerald Flame had taken reign. Kilian had tried numerous times to convince the man to perform the duty he had been elevated to, but failed. The city had not seemed to particularly suffer without the ritual''s performance, though the city was already a shambles under Drake''s rule.


    Kilian was left alone, the only Guardian performing his nightly duty. He had a list of candidates that he would consider sending to the other cities as new Guardians, though careful consideration was needed. He had once replaced one Guardian with Drake, in order to gain the use of his army, but Drake did not entirely give himself up to Kilian''s authority. He would have to ensure that more obedient underlings were chosen, and they would have to be chosen soon, to restore the other cities to normality.


    The quiet Guardian shuddered to think what would happen if the Fourth City lost him. How would his people suffer? How would the world suffer if all five cities fell? The outcome was unknown, the reason for the Guardian''s Ritual was unknown, but Kilian was finding reason to fear a total loss. With each city''s downfall, the world edged towards darkness. The other cities must be restored.


    No amount of investigation had helped Kilian understand where Emrick and Giles had gone, or if they were dead or not. He did learn about Drake''s death by the hands of his own people. They had rebelled against the Mage and his military, taking up a new leader who in only a few days defeated one of the most deadly armies known. This new leader had left the city behind however, allowing it to fall into chaos.


    Kilian did consider whether this other man had removed Emrick and Giles from power, though his methods of waging war were not apparent within the First and Third Cities, as they were in the Fifth. It was a weak theory, but the only one he had.


    This day Kilian was holding court, the library was empty apart from the first floor. The large hall was filled with three levels of bookcases on the walls, and tables and chairs for studying at were dotted around the perimeter. A stair lead up and down the tower at one end of the room, and a large door stood on the other, the main entrance to The Great Library. Kilian sat at a high seat in front of the stair, two scribes sat at desks in front of him with quills and bound parchment, taking note of the proceedings. The Guardian wore a blue-grey suit with a white ruffled shirt, under a deep blue coat with deep cuffs. The coat was lined with silver and gold trim. His skin was tanned, hair black, with deep purple or blue eyes depending on the quality of light. Across the opposite wall, at the door, waited a large number of people, some as an audience, others as petitioners. On call the petitioners would take the floor and speak before Kilian, seeking his advice and help.


    There was chatter in the room, but it soon fell silent when a the herald opened court. A red suited man standing at the side of Kilian. ''All silent for Kilian the Learned, Guardian of the Fourth City!''


    ''Thank you.'' Kilian spoke softly, his voice a rasp. The people at the far side of the room had to strain to hear him. ''Send forth the first petitioner.''


    ''Clidas Merryweather, step forth!'' The herald commanded.


    A tall man, dressed in black leathers and a red cloak clasped over his shoulders using a silver star, stepped forward out of the audience. He was old, perhaps close to sixty years, maybe more, but his head of black hair with only a spattering a grey above the ears did well to hide his age. He spoke strongly, in contrast to Kilian''s weak voice. ''My Lord Guardian.'' He began. ''I come baring ill news.'' He paused as if waiting for a reply, though none came, so he quickly continued. ''I trade textiles to the farming towns and villages outside of the First City in exchange for food to bring back to our great home the Fourth City. This has always posed a dangerous journey to caravans that must pass the Fifth City, but it has become somewhat more... troubling, as of late.'' Clidas swallowed deep and spoke on. The seated men in front of him scribbled into their books, recording every word he spoke. ''We have come across abandoned dead, those left on battlefields that have spread out onto the trade routes past the Fifth City. We have seen men... Eating the dead.''


    ''Not men, demons!'' A gruff voice echoed from the audience.


    The herald barked in reply. ''Silence! Your turn will come.''


    Clidas Merryweather looked back into the crowd, annoyed. ''Some say demons, yes, but my employees say men. Either way, men eat the flesh of other men, dead soldiers, and when the flesh is bitten into, the dead come alive again.'' Sounds of disbelief came from the crowd, even a laugh or two. ''They live again and die a second time, in agony until eaten.'' The tall trader wiped his brow with his sleeve. ''My men now refuse to travel those roads any more, refusing to pass the Fifth City. Some have not returned from previous journeys at all. They have kept my supplies, my carriages and my horses. My Lord Guardian, can nothing be done?''


    Kilian sucked in a breath. ''It would be prudent to first investigate these claims.'' His voice was difficult to hear, the audience listened intently. ''However, I believe we have a witness to this disturbing claim of events in the audience. Speak.''


    ''Harry the...'' The herald cleared his throat in distaste. ''...the Goat Strangler, step forth!''


    A large man, bald but bearded, wearing worn brown leather and ring mail, stepped forward from the audience and stood next to Clidas, who soon retreated back into the crowd. ''M''Lord Guardian, I''m ''Arry, if it please.''


    ''Yes yes, have your say.'' Kilian returned.


    ''Well y''see M''Lord, we''s been fighting in the Fifth City, after the rebellion. Nasty business, lots o'' killing. Only where the dead lay, these creatures come along and start eatin'' at the corpses. Not men as that skinny one says. It''s true enough, they look like men. They have two legs and two arms, I''s even seen a cock swinging between their legs now and then, though I wasn''t looking on purpose, M''Lord. At the cocks that is.'' Kilian sighed and rolled his eyes. ''Anyway M''Lord, they''s naked as a whore and they look human, but me and my boys has been close enough to see what they really are.


    ''Their eyes is red as blood, their skin''s as white as bone, not just pale, but deathly white M''Lord. Their fingers is too long to be a man''s, and they has black claws. They''re as bald as I am, but all over, not just their head. And when they eat the dead, the dead come back to life screamin'' bloody murder! That''s up until they been eatin'' altogether, M''Lord. We''s tried killing one or two of ''em, but they''s as ''ard as stone. I even broke an axe over one of ''em. They don''t seem to want to eat the living, so most just run off. But sometimes one will take a swipe at you, and those claws can rip through armour and flesh as if they was the same.''


    ''Clidas Merryweather says his men are too frightened to travel those roads, yet you seem rather less disturbed by these demons''. Kilian stated.


    Harry answered. ''Well M''Lord, when you''ve witnessed the emerald flame, it''s hard to be shocked by much.''


    ''Quite.'' Kilian quietly regarded the man and his story, then spoke. ''There are many books in this library, some detailing the likes of monsters and demons, though we are told that these things no longer exist in the world. I will have my researchers study this issue, and then send a party to investigate the matter at the Fifth City.''


    ''Thank you M''Lord.'' Harry replied.


    ''You say you are from the Fifth City, yes?'' Kilian asked, awaiting no answer. ''Who was it that overthrew Drake, the Guardian?''


    Harry answered quickly and proudly. ''The one the boys has been calling the Lightning Lord, M''Lord. We''s fought along side ''im, a strong man, a good leader. I''m sure you would like ''im, he''s the new Guardian too, he won that seat from old Drake, as the rules of the game permit.''


    ''Where is this Lightning Lord now?''


    ''Well M''Lord, the boys don''t think he''ll keep ''is place as the new Guardian. Instead he came ''ere with me and my band to the Fourth City.''


    Kilian was shocked, but kept himself calm. ''He is here, now, in the Fourth City?''


    ''Yes M''Lord.''


    He has come. Perhaps my worries were well founded. ''What is he planning to do here?''


    ''If it please M''Lord, he says he''s conducting family business is all. Though none o'' the boys know what family business he runs. Seems a queer thing for a warrior like ''im to be doing.''


    ''You may go.'' Kilian commanded, coldly.


    ''Aye M''Lord, thank you M''Lord.'' Harry the Goat Strangler bowed stiffly and returned to the audience.


    The session ended after several small issues within the City were brought forward, all would be easily remedied. Kilian returned to his regular work, but with a nervousness sitting on his stomach. He was unsure of who this Lightning Lord was, and if he posed a threat. He would have had Harry bring the man to the Tower of the Guardian, but feared that it would be a mistake. Instead, he bided his time and waited.


    Two days passed by before the Guardian of the Fourth City became at ease. He focused his time toward reading, allowing his assistants to deal with visitors to the library. He sat at a desk quietly studying an old tome, a book describing the qualities of crystals and their use in magic. It was an interesting read, so engrossing that time flew by quickly. When Kilian finally broke away from the pages, it was near time to perform the ritual.


    Kilian walked to the top floor of the tower, up varnished wooden steps illuminated by the orange glow of candlelight from a candle holder in his hand. The top floor was a chamber housing cages full of white doves, racks of white robes and numerous tools, all associated with the Guardian''s Ritual. The Guardian donned a white robe, took a single dove and placed it into a small carry cage, and with a satchel over his shoulder and the cage in hand, made his way to the rooftop.


    The tower top was flat, white and seamless. Around the edge was a small white stoned wall of only two foot in height. At the centre was painted a black ring. Kilian opened the satchel and took out a red cloth, a small knife and a dark green chalk. The satchel, cloth and cage were left on the outside of the ring. Kilian used the chalk to write his name within the black ring and then replaced it into the satchel. He then took up the dove from its cage in his left hand and the knife in his right.


    The sun was setting, the last of the light was golden and red. Kilian held the dove up, drowning it in the sunlight, and with a smooth motion he deftly stabbed and sliced through the bird. Its wings tried to flutter, but the lifeblood of the animal drained quickly, and all movement ceased in death. The blood poured from the creature and dripped onto the chalked name. Kilian wiped his foot across the floor and wiped the name away. The ritual was complete.


    He paused to look across the city as it gave birth to twinkling firelight from its residents, wondering what would happen here if the ritual was never performed again. The reasons for the ritual may have been lost over time, but the affects of its halting were being seen in the other four cities. Kilian felt dread, he felt as if he was the last stand against something terrible.


    The cloth was used to clean his hands and the blade, and then wipe up the blood from the white surface. Once done, Kilian returned to the lower tower to end his day with a drink and a book to read.


    A new day, a new court, although there were very few people in need this day. Library duties proceeded as normal after only a morning of interruption, and Kilian was left to go about his work day as usual. Today a lecture had been planned, a reading and then discussion on the book Fredche''s History.


    An audience had gathered, fifty students sat on chairs arranged in front of Kilian, who stood behind a podium whilst reading. His eyes were on the book. ''...The magic died when shadow was cast over Mari''in. King Odaryn III''s push against the enemy was halted when his fire could no longer bring light against the foe. The front lines of the King''s army were broken by the horde, who sent Screamers to wash over the good King''s forces. Only through the use of messenger bird was the King able to win the day. Emrick of the First City received the call for help, and unhindered by the shadow was able to call a fire storm that all but wiped clean the battlefield of that dark enemy.''


    Kilian looked up from the book and spoke to his audience. ''Fredche''s History does not elaborate on the cause of Odaryn''s loss of magic, only that the shadow was the reason. Near one hundred years later did an acceptable theory arise in the scroll written by the Guardian of the Second City of the time, Ferion of the Storm, in collaboration with Emrick of the First City.


    ''It was said that we as men are able to use magic through our connection to the natural world that surrounds us, the greatest source of power being the sun. The foe gained power through something darker, different, still unknown to us. Their power allowed them to cast the shadow and somehow block the King''s connection to our sun. Some may ask how this is possible, considering that magic can be used out of sight of the sun, the dark never stopping its use before.


    ''Ferion also considered this, and concluded that the shadow was merely a visual representation of a magic that would go otherwise unseen. It in itself is meaningless, the true power was deeper than a simple blockage of light. This is yet unproven, but remains the stronger theory out of the few that exist. I am one who strongly disagrees with this, as I am a proponent of the theory of the Magical Soul.'' The Guardian scanned over the silent crowd. None dare speak for fear that they may miss a piece of information spoken by the soft tongued Kilian. A fat man leant onto his own belly, breathing heavily; a short thin man was busy writing notes in a small book using a sharpened piece of charcoal; many others simply sat still and quiet, awaiting Kilian to continue. In the distance, not a part of the audience, was another man browsing the bookshelves at one side of the hall. There was a familiarity about him that Kilian could not place, and could not dwell on, as those before him had suffered enough silence.


    ''The Mari''in Shadow exists to this day, a black cloud blocking the sun. The once green land has been turned black. It will be the responsibility of this Library to uncover a means to remove the dark magic and restore old King Odaryn''s lands to one of plenty.


    ''This is the end of today''s lecture, but please feel free to explore the subject more, I have a list of reading material for consumption, including Ferion''s original scroll. Those interested in the problem can join the project by contacting one of my scribes.''


    The chairs where cleared, the lectured went away. Kilian took up the book and made to return it to its place on the second floor, which was dedicated to the history of the five cities. As he approached the stair, the familiar face was ahead of him. The Guardian followed.


    The dark haired man, bristling with a shadow of facial hair, wore cloth and leather, coloured like nature, brown and green. Pouches hung from the leather belt around his waist and his well worn boots squeaked at the heel with each step. Kilian pursued quietly until the second floor, where the man continued up, but Kilian was obliged to return the book.


    After replacing Fredche''s History, Kilian made the effort to find the familiar man, searching each floor. It was at the fifth floor that the man was found looking at a glass display case in the centre of the room, a steel plate set of armour was within. Apart from the square space for the display, rows upon rows of bookcases lined the floor, with very little readers browsing. Kilian approached from the man''s side, striking up conversation. ''A plane piece, not an interesting design, and never used by a warrior of any known renown. But special all the same, as it is one of only three complete sets of armour to survive the Green Sky Battle, when Drake of the Emerald Flame brought down his fire against the savages outside of this very city. The armour comes from his vanguard, who were caught in the devastation along with the enemy.''


    The man nodded. ''I''ve seen this before. I''ve seen all three.'' He did not take his eye from the display, which was illuminated by an iron chandelier above.


    ''Oh? The other three are also kept here, although one is currently on loan at the museum of this city''s eastern gate.'' Kilian faced the man. ''You appear familiar to me, though I have no recollection of seeing you in the library. Where have you seen these sets of armour?''


    ''After the battle, after Drake was relieved of his duties. I was a scout of the new forces sent from the Second City. I could not help but count all of the things that survived the fire. There were only three, the armour you now keep. Only when I last saw them, the soldiers that wore them were boiled alive inside...''


    ''Indeed...'' Kilian replied in a rasp. ''Have we met, Sir?''


    ''Never.'' Said the familiar other.


    ''I am the curator of this library, and Guardian of the Fourth City, Kilian Imoche. Some call me Kilian the Learned.'' Kilian held out his hand.


    The man took it and shook. ''Addison.''


    ''Well met, Addison.''


    ''Aye.'' Said Addison.


    ''Would you care to see the others?''


    ''No.'' Addison replied. ''Thank you.''


    ''May I ask what you have come here for?''


    ''No.''


    Kilian was taken unaware by that answer. ''No?''


    ''No.'' The man replied coldly.


    ''Very well. I will leave you to your thoughts, if you require help, please ask one of the other librarians.'' Kilian left the man to his solitude, still staring at the case of armour. He headed for the stair through the rows of bookcases, contemplating the previous exchange. Addison''s coldness was both rude and troubling. Addison... Kilian thought about that name. It is not familiar to me, but that face is. Addison... Kilian stepped through the doorway to the stair and then suddenly stopped, gripped by a new understanding. He is from the Second City, and his name means...


    Kilian stormed back onto the floor, heading to the display case. His footsteps echoed loudly and his rasping breath was heavy with nerves. He found the man in the same place, peering through the glass at the steel armour. The Guardian raised one hand, as if gripping something intangible, his fingers clenched and Kilian raised his fist.


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    The familiar man began to choke and sputter, his feet left the hard wood floor and his entire being was lifted into the air, as if hung by the neck. Kilian''s power wrapped around Addison, entangling him, holding him off the ground. The Guardian approached and looked up at the other. ''Addison.'' He relaxed the invisible grip around the other man''s throat, so he could speak.


    ''Yes.'' Addison replied, compelled to do so.


    ''This name has meaning.''


    ''Y... Yes!'' The hung man tried as he might to control the words that came out of his mouth, but Kilian''s magic took control.


    ''What does it mean?'' Kilian''s face was dark.


    ''It means...'' Addison struggled, his face was red and sweating. ''It means... The son of Adam.''


    Kilian pulsed with anger, and his magic responded, tightening around Addison. The captive moaned in pain and discomfort. ''The son of Adam. Adam of the Storm.'' He laughed a breathless laugh. Adam hid this boy from me. ''You are this Lightning Lord?''


    ''Yes.''


    ''You defeated Drake.'' It was not a question.


    ''I killed Drake.''


    ''I have you in my power, Addison, son of Adam, of the Storm. You can not escape me, and you can not lie to me.'' Kilian pointed a finger up into Addison''s face. ''Did you also murder the Guardians of the First City and the Third City, Emrick the Immortal and Giles the Prideful?''


    ''No.''


    Kilian had to believe him, no man could lie once under his spell. He turned away to think, talking to himself. ''So you were not involved with their disappearance?''


    The answer came unexpectedly. ''I was.''


    ''What?'' He faced Addison again.


    ''I was involved.''


    ''What has happened to them?'' Kilian was concerned.


    ''I took away everything that they loved.'' He coughed. ''Everything that was important to them.''


    Kilian rubbed his temples, chewing on what had been said. ''Tell me everything, from the beginning.''


    ''I was born-''


    Kilian interrupted quickly. ''No no no!'' Sometimes his magic was too precise. ''Tell me about your acts against the Guardians!''


    ''I was ranging beyond the Fourth City, sent out alongside nine others, our mission was to hound enemy forces, destroy supplies, tackle enemy scouts and outriders, assassinate any officers who may have strayed too far from the enemy force or who were easily targeted. We made no camps, entered no villages or towns, made no contact with anyone, otherwise our mission was a failure. Stealth was everything, and this meant there could be no fires.'' Addison took a breath, swallowed in pain because of the invisible constriction and then continued. ''After a day of tracking a supply train through a fresh snow, and ultimately destroying it, we found ourselves sheltered in a deep cave. It was a relief, as the night grew colder and the snow fell harder, it was the first night that we considered it safe to make fire. We had gone months without a truly warm night, and now no one would be able to witness our light because of the cover of the cave.


    ''That was when the letter came.'' He grimaced. ''As soon as the fire sparked and a flame came to life, it shed its colour and burned blue. The paper was ash at first, floating up above the heat. The pieces came together and their colour returned from black to white. Blue runes glowed across it and the fire below whispered my name. I plucked the letter from the heat and unfolded it. It was sent to me from my father, using his magic. The other men were in shock, afraid, but I had been schooled in such things as a boy, it was not new to me.''


    ''Yes yes yes!'' Kilian interrupted. ''What did the letter say?''


    ''It was a final goodbye. It said that my father was to be slain, by you and the other Guardians. That it was for the good of the city and the world, that I should not fret or feel sad, and that I should return to the Second City and take up my rightful place as Guardian.''


    ''But you did not follow that advice, you did not return. Why?''


    ''I read the letter out to the others, I trusted them, and they me, at least to perform our mission together. We were all Second City soldiers, and understood that Adam''s word was law. They agreed to take me home after our mission was ended, never suspecting that I would have left during the night. Rightfully so, I would not have. Not until I placed the letter into the flames, to destroy any evidence of our being there.


    ''The paper burnt quickly, the fire rose and the flames were no longer flames at all. They were people. They were my father. They were Emrick, Giles, Drake. And they were you. The flames were murder. The death of my father.'' Addison spat. ''Adam''s last act was to send me the truth, somehow. When the others saw what I saw, saw the look on my face, they knew that I would not linger. I had to kill them all.''


    ''Kill them? What? Why?'' Kilian was confused. ''Why would you kill them?''


    ''Men on a ranging are the very first line of attack against an enemy, it meant that soon a major force would follow. If any Rangers were discovered, our army''s secret attack would be revealed. Deserters were a risk, my leaving could potentially bring ruin to our mission. The usual response to this is to kill the deserter and destroy or hide the evidence, the body. The others were already at arms, but I had magic.''


    ''I see.''


    ''I made my way home, unseen. Returned to the tower of the Second City and recovered what I could.'' Addison coughed. ''The message in the flames held no sound, so certain details were never revealed to me. Only upon my return did I discover the meaning of the murder. An assistant to my father still occupied the tower, he was there when the four of you attacked. He told me everything.


    ''I knew that Emrick alone was aware of my existence, so I chose him first. My revenge was sweet. That immortal child was so... Intelligent. Yet he lost something important once he found eternal life. He lost his adulthood, and with it a natural scepticism. He should have known from the start why I was there, yet he trusted me too easily. His guilt would not allow him to work against me.'' Addison choked out a laugh. ''He feared death, loved life and all its possibilities, so I took away his ability to experience any more than he already had. He is alive, but does not live.


    ''Giles was next. I entered the Third City and stayed for weeks. I had no means of approaching the prideful Guardian, his tower was locked to anyone but he and his servants. Though monthly he would leave the tower and walk the streets, experiencing all he had built and maintained and contributed to. But something was amiss, he kept armoured guards with him. The people of the city told me that this was a new development, something that had occurred only over the past year or two. Giles feared for himself, and it was you he feared.''


    ''Me?''


    Addison laughed again. ''Yes, but the fool was far wrong. He never knew that someone more dangerous would appear. Four guards were nothing. First I took the woman he loved away from him. All it took was the truth, the truth of how he helped kill my father. She was already aware of Giles'' paranoia, his fear, everything pieced together for her immediately.


    ''Next I used her to turn the city folk against him, they attacked him and his retinue during his next outing. I was able to slay the guards and acquire a full suit of their armour while Giles escaped. One of the men was still alive and fought fiercely to make it back to Giles, to protect him. So I beat him to death with his own gauntlet. When I found him, Giles thought me one of his men and I was allowed to enter the tower with him. Soon after, I was able to use his paranoia to further my goals. I turned his servants against him, with a whisper here and there, and some coin. People are easily manipulated. Giles did the rest, he attacked a woman and everyone else thought him mad and evil. They fled the tower that very night. I was left with him for days while he slept or laid down motionless, void of any conscious thought. When he finally awoke from his sorry state, all it took was some bewitched alcohol and a familiar face to push him over the edge. Even without me, I think it was only a matter of time before he broke. His guilt was too strong, his shame a stain on his heart. But I deserved to be the one to break him, so I did. The last I saw of Giles, he was tearing off his own skin.''


    This is inhuman... Kilian''s shock was apparent. He would never have believed this story, if it were not for his magic.


    ''I sought out Drake next. It was a simple thing. I turned his city against him, using the rules of some game he had created. In defeating several champions, the people soon came to admire my strength and supported my claim to become the new Guardian of the Fifth City. I caused an uprising and forced Drake''s hand. He was very strong, as expected of Dior''kin.''


    ''Ah, unfortunately for Drake, he was not Dragonkin.'' Kilian interrupted. ''He once killed such a man. Ate his heart and drank his blood, I hear, thus absorbing the Dragon''s magic.''


    ''Still, he was powerful. His emerald flame, the dragon flame, was well known to those who fought during the time of the Green Sky Battle. I needed to force him to expend his energy, and luckily Emrick was of use. I learnt of the tower of the Fifth City, about its use of piped water. All of this knowledge was contained in the immortal''s archives. This allowed me to force Drake to use his power until exhausted, to fight his flames, and cause him to rely on his blade. I suppose if he was actually Dragonkin, my plan would have failed, luckily his stolen power was not as strong as I was led to believe. Even so, I took the risk and won. When he faced me with sword in hand, he lost. He has been the only one I have killed. I did it not just for my father, but for all of those who suffered below the green sky.''


    ''And now you come to me.''


    ''And now I come to you.''


    ''You''re a foolish man. No, a foolish boy!'' Kilian snarled. ''Do you not know what you have done? You have destroyed the great cities, brought plague and madness and death. The rituals can not be performed. As the darkness rises our sun pushes it back, and now the sun''s power is being channelled no longer. I am the last who can conduct the ritual, and I fear what may happen if I am lost. You are a fool! A Fool! A Fool!''


    Addison''s face was one of amusement, although pained. ''You blame me? You say the ritual is important, yet you murdered my father. You started all of this. You! You were the first to halt a ritual. You took away my father, took away the time we had left. You forced my revenge. You destroyed the cities, killed Drake, maddened Giles, entombed Emrick in his own body. You tempted fate, and fate answered.''


    ''Fool!'' Kilian returned, angry. He turned away in thought, pacing back and forth while Addison hung. The boy is mad. He knows the affects of his actions, yet continues. He is mad! The Guardian''s thoughts carried on. The cities must be restored, the new Guardians appointed and the rituals restarted. But how do I cure disease and madness, how do I stop wars and drive out demons? I do not have such a power. He stopped moving, froze in thought. Power. That is it! I need more power! Kilian turned to Addison. ''You said that this assistant of your father told you everything?''


    ''Everything, yes.''


    ''Then he told you of the magic?''


    ''Ah, yes. What this all started from, the spell. I know of it, of its power.''


    ''I need that power, Addison. I must save the cities!''


    Addison cringed and laughed and winced. ''You want to save the cities? But you destroyed them!''


    Mad! ''Give me the spell!'' Addison struggled and fought, he did not wish to speak. Kilian pushed. ''Have you seen it? Read it? Do you know how to perform it?''


    Addison tried to hold his tongue, but Kilian''s manipulative magic was too strong. ''Y-yes!''


    ''Tell me how!'' Kilian demanded, but the constricted man fought and fought, his body convulsed, the whites of his eyes went red, his neck was veined and bulging. He screamed and thrashed and fought and fought. ''Bah! I will take what I want!'' Kilian reached up and placed his hand on Addison''s forehead. He reached out with his power, his magic spread throughout Addison''s mind and searched for what he wanted. The ability to retrieve knowledge from another''s mind was his.


    Power. Power. Power... Where..? Unloved. Battle. Traitor. Immortal. Red Moon. Blooded Hand. Child. Son. Father. Wife. Mother. Lover. Lost. War. Sword and Shield and Bow and Spear. Wolves in the Night. Wolves on the Streets. Wolves and Lightning. Bitten and Shocked. Green Flame and Green Sky. White Bird. White Skin. White Teeth. Black Claws. Revenge. Revenge. Revenge. Father. Father. Forbidden. Forbidden... Found!


    Kilian released his grip on Addison. He smiled. ''I have it.'' I finally have it. ''I know the spell that your father has created. I know Adam''s new power, his new magic. I know the words, I know this language.'' He paused. An ancient tongue spoke on his mind, the language ripped from Addison''s memory. ''How did Adam ever hide this from me? How did you come to find it? I searched the tower.''


    ''The assistant held the spell, he hid, and it with him.''


    ''Why did the assistant not take this power for himself? This language is powerful.''


    ''The words were not committed to the page, they were inscribed.''


    Kilian was impatient. ''Inscribed where?'' He was curious too.


    ''Bone.''


    ''Bone?''


    ''The assistant''s.''


    Kilian reeled. ''The assistant''s... bones?''


    ''Yes.''


    ''Your father was as mad as you!'' His curiosity knew no bounds. ''How did you retrieve the words?'' Addison simply smiled, and Kilian knew. ''Unimaginable. The things you have done.''


    ''He knew the sacrifice.''


    ''Perhaps he did. This magic is powerful. The words from your mind, they are of the Dragon. No... Similar. They are older still. But only one language pre-dates the Dragon''s own.''


    ''Yes.''


    ''The first men and their God... Mother Nature herself.''


    ''Yes.''


    ''How did Addison find this lost language?''


    ''Time was no obstacle to him.''


    ''Indeed. He foresaw his own death, the future. Why not the past? What has already passed must have been easier for him to see than what has yet to pass.'' Kilian smiled. ''Your father is truly great.''


    ''Was truly great.'' Addison corrected, painfully.


    Kilian paced once more, thinking, considering. The words are not unlike the Dragon''s language, though they are different enough for me to struggle with a translation. I must study this. I must... Wait. He stared at Addison thoughtfully. ''Do you know the language? Can you speak the words?''


    ''Yes.''


    ''Good.'' Kilian approached Addison, placed his hand upon his brow and used his magic to search. He knew the other man''s mind now, this time it was simpler, easier. He heard the words spoken, and was sure that he could successfully repeat them. ''Amazing.'' He took his hand away. ''You understand what this spell is?''


    ''Yes.''


    ''Immunity.'' He gasped. ''The language is less of grammar and structure, and more of understanding, of concepts. It is a language of the heart, not the tongue... The spell is for immunity against magic, I know it.'' How this would help restore the cities was beyond him, but it meant that no other magical being could oppose him. ''Why did Adam not use this magic himself?''


    ''I do not know.''


    ''Why not you?''


    ''I do not need it.''


    ''Then you really are a fool.'' Kilian stepped away. ''Adam''s death finally has meaning. I know the spell, I have his magic.'' He took a long drawn breath and began to recite the spell, but instead of words, only the sound of a gentle breeze came from his mouth. It was like the rustling of trees. This was the language of nature, which could not be learned as other languages could, it must be understood magically, as a part of the spirit, and only then can the sounds of nature be spoken.


    Addison was released from the intangible restraints as Kilian finished reciting the spell. He gasped for breath and nursed his aches. Kilian looked down at him. ''It is done.''


    ''Yes, it is.'' Addison curled his hands into fists, his arms shook and from his fingers a blue electricity sparked. He punched his arms out towards Kilian and opened his hands, his palms projecting the electric power. It reached out to touch the Guardian of the Fourth City, only when it washed over the other man''s body, it had no affect.


    Kilian flinched at first, a natural reaction, but soon realised that the magic was useless against him. He could not even feel the heat of the lightning, never mind the electric shock. He laughed. ''It worked!'' His voice was a rasp, that had not changed. ''It really worked!''


    Addison continued on with bolts of electricity, with unseen powers that would be able to lift a man from his feet and throw him across a room, with balls of golden fire. The electricity died, the telekinesis was of no use, the flames burnt out. All were no use against Kilian. His clothes were half destroyed, but his body was unaffected. ''It worked.'' Said Addison, finally sure that Kilian had performed the spell successfully.


    ''Thank you, Addison. I have possibly the most powerful ability that would be known to Mages across the land.'' He licked his lips. ''I have become more powerful than anyone could imagine, I have beaten your father. Finally. My wisdom is unmatched, my magic is unmatched, my city is now unmatched! And though I will restore them all, not one of the other four will have this power!'' He raised a hand toward Addison, and although several metres apart, made like he was grasping at the other''s throat, crushing it beneath his fingers. ''Go with your father.''


    Addison''s throat should have been crushed, his life should have been taken. Only it was not. Kilian was confused. He focused and attempted the kill again, but his power did not come to him. ''How?''


    ''And you say I am the fool.'' Said Addison.


    ''I don''t understand.'' Kilian tried again and again and again and again. He could not constrict Addison. ''Tell me why!'' He demanded, but he could not force an answer as he could before.


    ''Your wisdom is unmatched you say?'' Addison laughed. ''It seems I know a lot that you do not, Kilian. I know that magic is not the internal force that you may think it to be, no, what you feel inside of yourself is the Spirit. You falsely call it magic.


    ''Magic is in fact a power that exists in things outside of our bodies. The sun, the stars, the wind, the water. Life. Our Spirit acts as a conduit, allowing us to channel magic from nature and manipulate it in however way we can or need.'' He took a step forward. ''You are immune to magic, Kilian. You have closed off your conduit. This means that magic can not be directly used against you... Nor by you.''


    Kilian was incredulous. He shook his head while backing away. ''No.''


    ''Try again, if you do not believe me.''


    He knew it to be true, he had been fooled into using a spell that was a double edged sword. Kilian had grown to be a selfish man, though he did help others, it was all to aid himself and his hold over his city. But even this selfish man''s first thought was of something greater than he. ''The ritual. The cities.''


    ''Will fall thanks to you.'' Addison replied.


    ''No, you don''t understand. The ritual protects, but now it can not.''


    ''Then you should not have been so power hungry. The spell was meant for a person with the ability to live and fight without magic, in a world of magic. It was meant for a warrior, a soldier. It was meant for me!'' Addison stepped up to Kilian and took him by his singed collar. ''You and you alone started this. You caused the fall of the Second City. You tempted a vicious and spiteful person, tempted me, into acting against all of the remaining Guardians. You should have been aware of the consequences, but your foresight is weak at best.


    ''The cities suffer because I removed their traitorous hearts, all because you destroyed the only one that was just and good and loyal.'' Addison yelled and threw Kilian at the glass display case. ''This is what happens when good men are killed!''


    The glass shattered under Kilian''s weight. The Guardian passed through and into the steel armour, ending up on the floor on the other side with a thud and a metal clangour. He was hurt and bloody, but still his concern was for the cities. ''You must do it. You must perform the ritual, you are the only one left of the Blood. Until others can be found.'' He cried. Even though it was not known why, he knew, he could feel that the rituals must be performed, otherwise some great catastrophe would happen. ''You must!''


    Addison looked down at Kilian, his face expressionless. ''Maybe.'' He said, sincerely.


    That was the last Kilian ever saw of Addison, of the Storm, and what a storm he brought. The man left the floor, the tower and then the city. Kilian was left, powerless. He could not explain to the other librarians what had happened, it was too much to handle. He did make a search for information on Nature''s language, within his great library, but there was nothing. His hopes of reversing the spell were ended early on. The only hope the Guardian had left was when the time for the ritual came, he hoped that it would still work.


    Kilian climbed the steps with cage and satchel at hand, feeling laboured as he did so. It was the first time since he became Guardian that this climb felt difficult. Once through the trapdoor and on to the flat tower top, he felt much worse. Kilian had never feared the height of the tower, but now he did. His legs seemed unstable beneath him, yet he persisted.


    The last of the sunlight was slowly melting away. Kilian took the chalk and wrote his name, took the knife and the bird and raised them up into the golden rays of light, then plunged the blade into the struggling creature. The blood flowed, the warmth trickled down the Guardian''s hands and on to the floor. With his foot he wiped away the name, and the ritual was complete.


    But not successful.


    He turned to the west as lightning lit the sky, then the thunder cracked and Kilian could feel it in his body. The regions that were encircled by the five cities were alive with fire and smoke, the sky was reflected orange with the intensity of light. Then the screams came, crossing the land like a wave. So loud that the thunder was lost to the dread chorus. Oh no. He thought to himself. I have been selfish, I did not act when I should have. I left it too late.


    Kilian felt fear in him, but not a fear like one of death, or a fear of one''s own inadequacies, nor the fear of being weak or losing. Kilian felt a fear that the ancient ritual had protected all living men from. It was a dreadful pain in his heart and his gut, a terror that even his closed off soul shuddered to experience. The Guardians had failed, the gate was open and evil stirred.


    The tower tumbled beneath his feet, and the end of all things came.