Chapter 5

The protagonist, Donovan, is experiencing whispers in his mind as they journey deeper into the kingdom of embrace. They encounter a group of wizards, knights, and wolves, and are confronted by a Collector, a wizard hunting down magi. The Collector reveals that the King demands Donovan's presence, and tensions rise. Neva questions whether they will learn from history, and suddenly, a pair of Flyborn appears. Despite warnings, Donovan decides to go with the group to find out his true identity. Everett warns him that it's dangerous, but Donovan remains confident. Chapter 5 The whispers had come back. He hadn't told anybody, of course, but what was once a slight pressure at the fringes of his temples had steadily begun to grow the deeper they went into the kingdom of embrace. His immediate thought was that Deus had somehow found a foothold back into his mind that was going to take another shot at usurping Donovan's brain, but this pressure was different than it had been on Earth—lighter, gentle even. He wasn't trying to break into his thoughts, but rather felt as if it were waiting politely on the front porch of his mind for an invitation to enter. He wasn't going to get it. "'What do you think, Donny boy?' Skip whispered. "'Good news or bad?' The sound of Watkin's voice brought Donovan back to the present. After a couple of blinks, he focused on the sea of bobbing scarlet plate armor glinting in the morning sun. The now familiar emblem of embrace flew from hundreds of banners that whipped in the wind, as well as a flotilla of other pennants Donovan could only surmise were the various houses and families of the carriers. There was a hum from the trees around them, a crackle in the air Donovan recognized instantly as magic at work, and out of the thick air, thin lines of seared light manifested all around them. "'On guard,' Gavin said, and drew his corn-eye, "'wizards.'" The disembodied slits of light grew brighter, and with the sound of tearing fabric, the air itself bent and parted, and out came the flutter of red robes in the legs of the wizards behind them. Like ominous sculptures, the wizards took positions around the Band of Thirty-One, staves in hand, and waited. Above the sea of approaching columns of armored horsemen were flocks of ravens and crows flapping loudly into the treetops and lower branches surrounding their rest area. Their feathers were edged in scarlet, which gave them a sinister, bloody hue, and their beady eyes were far more watchful than any avian of the natural world. Then came the wolves, great red and black beasts the size of small bears that crashed into the trees, their lupine eyes glinting with hunger and calculation. Instinctively, the company of survivors formed a weary circle, weapons drawn. As the wolves fanned around them, the thunder of hooves got louder. "'They have come to collect you,' came a calm voice within his head from the front porch of his consciousness. "'Who are you?' Donovan demanded. Although the ravens and wolves and the pounding of approaching horses filled his ears, there was silence within Donovan's thoughts. "'And then—' "'We shall be meeting soon, young anti-mage. I promise.' All that did was piss him off. "'I'll deal with you later.' The hundreds of acres of open country beyond the belt of red elm and gorse they'd paused in were now filled with thousands of heavily-armed, mounted chargers in full-plate red armor. Donovan quickly assessed the different types of riders—knights of embrace, also known as blood knights to those they terrorized, auxiliaries and supplemental sergeants and men-at-arms, and another breed altogether—war mages. These horsemen wore blood-red robes with deep hoods over plate armor that seeped. The silvery fumes of magic, in crisp drill, the ocean of red broke into three formations of a thousand each. "'All you, Gabby-boy,' Donovan rasped. "'No, thanks,' Gavin responded. "'The wizards who'd appeared out of the air behind them—motherfucker, the wizards who appeared out of the air around them—said nothing. They simply stared, eyes flat like marbles in a preserved animal. At ten paces, the hundred or so horses halted. With his other sight, Donovan could see hatred and a desire for blood emanating from their auras, especially from the wizards, crows and wolves arrayed around them. It manifested in an ugly swirl of restless crimson. Curiously, it was absent from the wizard-in-command, who looked down from his warhorse. He was the only one who didn't look pristine. His scarlet robes were tattered, blood-stained and frayed in contrast to his dignified air. "'Sir Stavanger,' he said with a cool nod. His voice was rich but oily. A thin mustache flecked with silver matched a neat beard that adorned a prominent, threatening chin. "'Wizard-in-command?' Gavin responded in the same tone. The point of Gavin's unlit coronet was down and to the right, a position that projected both caution and readiness. Damon took a moment to appraise the small company in front of him. "'You seem to have a gift for escaping death,' he said. "'That's the second time I've heard that today,' Gavin said. Damon's thin lips twitched upward, and though it resembled a smile, no mirth reached his eyes. "'Is this all that remains of the Eternal City?' "'I hope not,' Gavin said. "'New Rome's inability to understand properly the depths of what was approaching cost them their very existence and the lives of thousands. "'New Rome is not Mambrace,' another wizard said from Damon's left. "'I know you, motherfucker,' Donovan thought. He was a Collector, the same one who Sternum Donovan had cracked at the New Romean southern outpost. Collectors were a special breed of wizard, bred for the sole purpose of hunting down magi and either capturing them or simply exterminating them, and judging by the flair in Gavin's soul colors, the hatred between the two was quite mutual. The Collector should have been dead after what Donovan had done to him. He should have died slow. "'Mambrace shall deal with this enemy as he has every other,' the Collector said, without mercy. Those last two,' he spoke directly to Donovan. "'Don't you worry, dipshit,' he thought, staring back at the Collector's eyes. "'We'll be meeting up again.' The hot breeze came up and snapped at the pennants and banners of the thousands of mounted knights waiting behind them. It was a sight worthy of taking note of, but even their ominous splendor was dwarfed by the scent of carbon and death pouring off the city they'd left behind. "'With New Rome gone, Mambrace is mankind's only hope,' Gavin said. His words came out as a strangle. "'As it has always been, Magi,' the Collector continued. His robes lacked the flair and elaborate runes embroidered into the cuffs and hems of the others around him. It was deeper in hue, nondescript. His hood hung behind his neck and he wore no armor, just a bald head and a long black beard and mustache that came down to his chest in the shape of a dagger's blade. He held a staff. "'To what avail do we bandy words with these wretches? Silence!' the man said with a raise of his hand. The Collector halted his words, but a glint of something sinister smoldered in the backs of his eyes. Seventeen seconds went by as Damond evaluated each survivor of the company. The only sounds were scraping branches, stirring grass, and the occasional wicker of a horse. Gavin passed his gaze from Olympian to Minotaur to Police Chief. When his eyes at last settled on Donovan, his face made no movement, but there was a surge in his aura, a hum even. "'You are the offlander,' he said to Donovan. The King demands your presence.' "'He's with us,' Gavin said immediately. The hand of every war-mage went to the hilt of their sword, which was then mirrored by the lowering of three thousand lances behind them. Breaths were drawn and spells readied. "'Go with them,' the voice in his head said. "'You dare defy the King?' The Collector's voice was soft, but with a deep intonation. "'The very utterance of the King is the law of the world, and any who would defy such a decree is sentenced to death. Enter a single incantation, Collector, and you will be the first to die,' Latimer said calmly. The Dark Elf stood poised and ready, cracking at the edges. Tension rumbled over them like an approaching thunderstorm. "'The question is simple,' Neva said, walking into the space between both parties. Her calm gaze passed from one to the other. "'Will we, or will we not, learn from history's pages?' The fate of this world, and every living entity within it, depends on that answer." With a blessing or curse, a scream pierced the air as if summoned by Noah's admonishment, and right there, riding the currents of the spring morning, was a pair of Flyborn. Even the Collector looked up. Harsh and guttural, there was no other sound on either world that sounded like the scream of a drin. "'Guess they know where we are,' skipped Mudder under his breath. The drin's presence was unusual in that they rarely ventured from the protection of darkness as seemed to travel with them, like a portable knight. Their altitude was also much higher than he'd seen before. From what Donovan had gleaned of the drin, they could withstand the sun's light but hated it. They seemed to prefer long hops from tree to tree and hilltop to cave, rather than actual flight." "'Go with them,' the voice in his head repeated. "'They will take you to me, and in doing so, I shall tell you your true name, who you really are.'" "'I'll go,' he said. It was the reason he was here, to find out once and for all who he was and where he came from. He sensed, rather than saw, Gavin's eyebrows go up. "'Donovan, you know there's nothing more than I'd like to do to kick you right square in the nuts, and I really mean that,' Skip said. "'But if you go with them, they'll kill your ass.'" "'Your concern is touching, Everett,' he said, without removing his attention from D'mon. "'But unnecessary. I always win.'" "'Yeah, well, there's a big difference between being a badass and a dumbass. You go with them and you're dead. You look like a bunch of Nazis and clansmen all rolled up into one super-asshole.'" It was an apt description. D'mon muttered a quick chant, which was followed by a brief buzzing in Donovan's ears. The film of uncertainty evaporated from D'mon's spirit colors—translation spell, most likely. "'Give my company free passage through your lands, and I'll meet your king,' Donovan said. "'Remove the stained glass from your eyes when addressing a wizard of Ambrace,' the Collector commanded." "'Agreed,' Donovan asked, ignoring the Collector's question, though he did flick him a glare. "'I'm going to take pleasure in breaking you.' Thaddemon stood as he always did, casually, but coiled to spring, his hand resting on the grips of two pistols. "'You dare ignore a wizard of Ambrace? Be silent!' D'mon said, cutting him off with a glance to the sky. Seeing those fly-borne, it smacked some of the confidence from his face. "'That's right. Take a good look, because they're real, and they're coming for you.' "'You cannot possibly, considering the words—' "'I said silence, wizard,' D'mon said with the curl of his lip. "'Speak out of turn another time, and I will burn your tongue from your mouth.' The two glared at each other from across their horses, both of which nickered nervously. But it was the Collector who backed down, outranked and intelligent. Although D'mon appeared somewhat haggard, his colors were deep, vibrant and shiny, like a drop of venom off a snake's fang. "'Your friend is right,' Thaddemon said. "'Ambrace is the land of horrors.' "'He's not my friend,' Thaddemon answered. "'They will not harm you,' the mystery voice inside his mind whispered again. Thaddemon didn't need the voice to tell him that. He could see it by their manner, by the colors swirling in D'mon's soul. They knew who he was, and to acquire that information, Donovan would do whatever was necessary. "'Agreed,' Donovan asked D'mon, ignoring Latimer. D'mon's eyes got sly. "'Sir Wizard Algeris,' he said. One of the armored wizards with the pointy hoods, waiting tensely behind the exchange, moved his horse up and broke from the formation of the ninety-nine others beside him. "'Take a troop from the Fourth Cavalry and escort this company to Castle Pauldron. They are my personal guests and will be treated as such.' This bit of instruction seemed to catch the scarlet-armored wizard off guard, but his colors acquiesced immediately. "'When you reach Castle Pauldron, see to their needs. Food'—there was a stir from the Minotaurs—'wounds and supplies. D'mon turned toward Gavin. They are to be given a full day's rest, where you will then escort them back here to the front line. Understood?' "'Yes, Wizard D'mon,' Sir Wizard Algeris said, and brought his fist in front of his face as if he were holding his sword, and then brought it back sharply. It will be done. Also, bring a courser for the offlander to ride to the city. Do not wish to be delayed. "'Collector,' D'mon said, turning to the simmering, bald-headed wizard behind him who was glaring unabated, "'You will accompany me to the capital. Upon completion of your task, you will return immediately here, and whatever forces King Sagan can spare—' D'mon glanced up at the circling flyborns still riding the currents of the air. "'They will be needed.' The one called Sir Wizard Algeris returned with a full-sized warhorse and handed the reins to Donovan with an ill-concealed sneer. Donovan took them, mounted his new steed as if he had been doing it his whole life, and then looked down at Gavin. He could see envy in the eyes of the Olympians. He had a horse, and they did not. "'Take care of my servant,' Donovan said to Gavin. "'I'll be coming back for her.'"