Therra is host to numerous effective fighting styles, including those consisting of hand-tohand combat without the use of weapons. Trained warriors have so finely tuned their bodies that they can perform feats of strength, alacrity, and endurance that appear almost superhuman. There is talk that some are able to break steel with their bare hands and survive falls of unimaginable distances without scuffing their sleeves.

- Valerion Doregard,

Lieutenant of the Gregorian Armored Legion, Third Platoon

Chapter 9: Step Up

The city of Deiyil was built in a large circle, and numerous boulevards led from the outer walls to the inner sanctum. At the center of the city was a large tower, larger than anything around it—in fact it was too big for its surroundings. The walls of the tower rose higher than anything else in the city. Stranger still, they did not match any architectural styles close by. By all accounts this was a tower of unknown origin that had been here before the city was founded.

The tower was at least four times the height of any other building in Deiyil and was built in roughly the shape of a tree. It was made from an unclassified silver-colored metal that had the outer texture of tree bark. Perfectly circular tree roots were dug into the white stone ground, which came together and spiraled upwards around one another, making up the main trunk of the tower. Each root was as big around as a full-sized house.

The tower had eight separate levels, with three “tree branches” that extended out far enough to accommodate a room and a hallway at every other level of the tower. The branches were made of the same metal material and retained the shape of the roots, pointed at the ends. At the highest level of the tower, the three roots thinned and finally came together in a point, as well.

Azlea and her mentor walked up the boulevard and entered the grounds inside the protective palisades that completely surrounded the tower. She looked up at the structure with an expression that bordered on reverence.

The low stone walls of the palisades, circular and smooth and made of the same white stone as the roads, marked the boundaries of a courtyard that took up twice as much ground as the tower itself. Wide intermittent cracks had opened in the stone ground of the courtyard, and the inhabitants of the city had turned these furrows of soil into small groves and serene, secluded gardens, complete with seats.

"The famed Living Tower of Deiyil and its grounds always amaze me, no matter how many times I have walked by them," she said in a hushed whisper.

The older mage shrugged his stooped shoulders and walked past her without remark. He barely glanced at the magnificent sights before them and headed directly for the main entryway of the tower.

The two of them climbed a staircase built into one passageway, which led to a door that was twice their height and seemed to be a natural part of the walls. When they entered the tower, Azlea found it no less impressive. Rooms were carved into the silvery walls, though they also seemed to be a natural part of its structure. There were stairwells that led to the second floor, and they all seemed to lead to one central stairwell that spiraled up a large, hollow area within the center of the Living Tower.

There were halls at equal intervals along the sloping climb, leading to multiple rooms. The entire tower appeared to be an orderly honeycomb of passageways, and the architecture was such that people could find their way to and from any area in the tower without getting lost.

When Azlea and her mentor walked through the main doors, a guardsman approached them and saluted ceremonially. "Sir and ma’am, I am to lead you to meet with the High Chancellor immediately," he said in a clipped, professional tone.

"Lead on, young pip," the elder mage encouraged him, nodding his wizened head.

The guardsman saluted stiffly. They walked onward and soon arrived at the main stairwell.

"Splendid. Stairs...," the senior magus complained, and they began their climb. "Give me your arm, girl," he added.

Azlea immediately proffered her arm, and her mentor took it and leaned heavily on her as they walked up. After a short climb, the guardsman motioned down one hallway. He then bowed and departed quickly.

Azlea led the way. In the hall was a large set of ornate doors emblazoned with the insignia of Deiyil, a four-sided set of scales.

"Go ahead, girl! Do not keep me waiting," the older conjurer commanded and motioned toward the door with annoyance.

Azlea shrugged her shoulders and pulled the door open.

The office also seemed to be a part of the tree’s structure, and even the furniture within it seemed to have been grown, rather than placed there.

There were two women inside. One stood behind the other, who was a great deal older and was sitting in a chair that was made of wood, not the silver metal of the tower. The seated woman had laugh lines that creased her cheeks, and she smiled openly as the elder magus and his apprentice entered. Her hair was salt and pepper in color and was trimmed at shoulder level. Despite her cheerful appearance, she held herself with an air of authority. She stood up from her chair with youthful vigor and revealed that she was wearing rich, royal-blue robes with a thin black stripe down the center. Then she walked forward and held her hands out in welcome.

The younger woman behind her had short brown hair. She was pretty and, despite her femininity, was built like a warrior. Her shoulders were straight, and her chest was held high. Sinewy muscles stretched taut with every movement as she carefully walked forward behind her elder.

"Kasheen Maizen, it has been too long," said the older woman, putting a name to Azlea's mentor. Then she unabashedly embraced the older mage, who returned the hug and kissed her on the lips, a gesture which she returned in kind.

The old master then turned toward Azlea, who couldn't help but show her surprise. He smiled. "Girl, I was young once, too," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

He turned back and addressed the older woman. "High Chancellor Illianna Mariweather, I would like to introduce to you my apprentice," he said with the same amused expression.

The chancellor leaned forward and grasped Azlea's hand lightly. "Azlea, I presume. It is a pleasure to meet you. Kasheen has said much about you."

The comment caused Azlea to give her master another surprised look.

Kasheen cleared his throat. "Pleasantries aside, we are here on official Pentacle business."

Chancellor Mariweather nodded. "And we are glad to have you. This is going to be a difficult day, my friend, and we need all the help that we can get," the chancellor said with audible relief.

The conjurer put a gnarled hand on her shoulder. "Illianna, you know that we cannot take a side in this disagreement," he said by way of apology.

The chancellor straightened her robes. "As you are aware, today we are hosting a negotiation between the anthras of the Silvraline Forest and the rahliens of the volcanic Incindius

Mountains. They are disputing a plot of land and could well go to war over it," she reminded him. Kasheen motioned to the desk. "Come. We have preparations to make," he said .

Soren saw the four guards form a semicircle around him as he closed the bar door gently behind him. He eyed them all calmly, noting every piece of furniture and every person in the room in order to form a perfect image in his mind.

Jadice watched the beginnings of the fight dispassionately from near the stairs at the back of the bar, along with a robed guardsman who was also watching Soren intently.

Soren carefully edged his foot toward the guards as they closed in around him in a onehundred-eighty-degree arc and cut off his options. The coolness that pervaded Soren's demeanor, along with his balanced stance, caused shivers of anticipation up and down Jadice's spine, a chill that only true warriors felt before a battle, which was a mixture of fear and excitement. Who was this man, Jadice wondered, and where did he come from?

Each of the guards in the semicircle was wearing a shirt of chain mail covered with a white tabard stamped with a silver hammer, the same symbol as the gold hammers on Jadice's and Aedan's tabards. Each wore leather pants studded with metal. None of them was wearing a helmet, and they handled their weapons with the ease of skilled warriors. Some of them had battle scars on their faces, and one was missing an eye, which had been replaced by a garish scar that extended downward through the center of the socket.

Soren observed them all with cold composure. "I will give you one chance to walk away. If you do not, I will finish this," he said serenely as he kept all four within his field of vision.

The guardsmen ignored his warning, and one of them tried to take him down with a less lethal but no less brutal right cross with the haft of his spear. Soren ducked under the swing and left the minimal amount of space under the haft. The spear butt struck the wall behind Soren and reverberated violently, and this left the guard's defenses wide open.

The crimson warrior took advantage of the weakened defenses of the guardsman and with an open palm slammed him across the jaw. The guardsman stumbled away as he tried to clear the vision of stars from his head.

The other three guardsmen closed in quickly and were on Soren an instant after the first strike. Lightning fast, Soren’s gauntlet-armored forearm blocked several thrusts from the three with a stunning display of speed. Then when they came back for another thrust, Soren dodged to the left and front-kicked the middle of the haft of the closest guardsman's spear, propelling it into the other three, which opened that guard's side completely.

Soren spun about and shin-kicked the guardsman in the back of the neck with his left leg and then followed through, pushing him head first into the wooden floorboards with the same leg. A fellow guardsman tried to turn to come to his rescue. Soren, now in a kneeling stance, performed a quick three-sixty sweep with his free leg, taking the next guardsman completely off his feet before coming back to a standing position.

The one-eyed guardsman was the only one left, and he thought he had the upper hand. All notions of non-lethal force went out the window, and he ran forward and attempted to perform a close-range downward stab into Soren's chest.

Quick as a snake, Soren batted the tip of the spear aside, coiled his other fist, and struck the one-eyed guardsman in the crotch, which caused him to buckle in anguish as he gasped for breath. Soren grabbed his head as the guardsman he had just punched curled up to protect his groin and pounded him, face first, into the floorboards for good measure.

The guardsman he had sent reeling at the start of the fight had regained his senses and was approaching again. Meanwhile, the guardsman Soren had slammed into the ground with his shin was slowly levering himself up. Soren reached out to grab that man at the back of the head and drag him down by the hair, easily pulling him over backwards.

The guardsmen tried to struggle against the hold, but to no avail. Soren then stomped down on the face of the guardsman he had punched in the crotch, relieving the one-eyed guard of his senses.

The last remaining guardsman ran toward Soren with his spear ready and was about to stab Soren with it. With a quick movement, Soren pulled the guardsman he had by the hair to a position in front of his body, to act as a shield. The attacking guardsman reacted and halted his stab, with the spear tip barely touching his comrade's chest.

Soren laughed and booted his captive into the attacking guardsman, who only just managed to move his spear out of the way so as not to impale his comrade. They fell down together in a mass of legs and kicking feet.

Keeping his eyes on Jadice and the white-robed man, Soren grabbed the struggling guardsmen by their heads and smashed them together with a resounding crack that caused them both to fall still.

Jadice watched the fight impassively. Then the white-robed man stepped in front of his commander.

"May I act, Your Lordship?" he asked, with his eyes locked on Soren.

Jadice nodded. "Do your worst, Aneurus," the larger twin said in his deep baritone.

"You want to step up?" Soren asked as he stood to face the two of them.

Aneurus began moving his hands in an intricate way to cast a spell. "Pelmanalriakosa faromilosakosaros vasaral," he said in the spidery language of magic. "Wind, fickle lord of the clouds, cut the air and blast my foes away," he finished and slapped his hands on the ground.

The faintest outline of a bird, Anneurus’s kirin, appeared in front of the magus for the briefest moment before diving down to the ground and disappearing. A few runes appeared on the ground where the hawk had disappeared, and four spinning, scythe-like semicircles of wind appeared before Anneurus, visible because they kicked up the residual dust in the air and dirt from the floor.

Soren twisted his neck to adjust the vertebrae with a crackle. "Wonderful," he commented with displeasure. "They have a magus."

Aneurus flung his hands outward, and one of the scythes streaked toward Soren, while another immediately took its place near the conjurer. 

- End of Episode -

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