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Chapter 5
The morning air was crisp as I woke within my tent. I stepped out, and saw the vast army I lead arrayed around me. The attack was expected to
come at dawn.
Doom! Doom! Doom! War drums split the air with their
shockwaves. The attack had arrived before the dawn hour.
I watched as the army mobilized around me. Wizards began preparing their spells, warriors began sharpening their blades. The tension in
the air was thickening. The men here knew they were going to die. A
horde of demons had trapped us in this valley. I turned to other
matters.
I pulled a hard biscuit out of my pack and began to nibble on it. I came to this world a few years ago, after the destruction of my home on
Deirkreth. I needed a new world to live on, a sanctuary. The world I
came to, Andoral, just happened to be involved in a planet-wide war. I
took it upon myself to learn how to heal as well as to destroy...
I set the pig down and it squealed as it ran off. Its broken leg was as perfect as it had been before it suffered the injury. I looked up at
Romwell, my teacher. He nodded approval.
"You are quite adept at your art, Jarel. Are you sure you need my help, my teaching? From the looks of it, you're better than I am."
"Father, I know how to heal people and animals, to tend their physical wounds. This means nothing when it comes to the mental hurt that is
inevitable, especially in times of war. There are other aspects of
healing that I wish to pursue."
"What would these other aspects be, Jarel? I have been a planeswalker for much longer than you, and now you know all that I do. Trust me,
there are no other aspects. You know, you should leave this world. The
fight here is not your fight."
The old man was calm, but almost pleading with me to leave. I had learned much in the last few years. Surely I had not learned all, had
I? I had learned the anatomy of races, learned their weaknesses and
strengths. I had memorized various poisons, their effects, and their
cures. I had performed complex surgeries, as well as simple bandagings.
Treatments of all known afflictions came easily to my mind. Then came
the spells.
I needed a background in healing to understand how the spells worked. With the understanding came skills. As I learned how the body's
defenses worked, I learned how to weave enchantments of protection, and
spells of accelerated healing. Conversely, I learned how to weaken
defenses of any type, not just of the body but of the armor and mind.
As my learning grew, it wound its way beyond merely healing but grew to
encompass the very foundations of white magic.
Old, unused mana links made themselves useful once again. Most of the white spells I learned were easily summoned. They didn't drain much to
be of use to me. I learned that white spells were among the most valued
by militias, for they kept the armies alive and active, when normal
medicines wouldn't. Since war raged, why shouldn't I fight in a war not
my own? After all, I HAD chosen to make this world my own, and its
problems were now my problems. I related this last to Romwell.
"I live here now, and, for better or worse, its problems are my
problems. I will fight against the demon hordes. You need my skills,
do not deny it."
"This war is... not one you would like to become entangled in. We are for the World Spell. Our purpose is... loftier." He was delicately
choosing the words he used. Again, I heard of the World Spell. My
curiosity got the better of me, and I asked Romwell.
"Just what is the World Spell? I've heard it before, on two other worlds. So far, I have no clues about it, but most planeswalkers
seem to know what it is except me. I would prefer to know what
"involves" me, before it gets that far, if you don't mind." Romwell
didn't expect the question.
"Well, it's, umm... important. You don't need to know anything else about it."
I lost my temper and slammed my hand on a nearby table. "You
will tell me what the world spell is!" I yelled at him. He
shrank backward from me. I began to cast spells, tearing into his mind
to find out. "Help me, Romwell, and you won't be harmed." He screamed.
"Just tell me what the spell is!"
"Damn you! Very well, I will tell you. The World Spell is designed to draw all the planes of the Multiverse into one singular Universe. Does
that answer your question?"
I never got to answer. Romwell collapsed to the ground as the face of "Elrohir" appeared in the air. "You were told more than was even
necessary, Jarel. Too bad you are critical to my plans, or else I would
kill you now." This was not the calm, in-control person I had met on
the plane of Aeroon. It was a madman, bent on the complete destruction
of all life.
Naturally, I was afraid. Elrohir's face disappeared. Romwell awoke.
"Romwell, please, you must tell me everything you know about the World Spell. I have had friends die because of this spell, and others have
disappeared. I want to stop it."
"You cannot stop it, Jarel. It is already in motion, has been in
motion, since before you were born. It has almost reached fruition.
The war... the war is being fought to protect the last few
planeswalkers, who have all invariably made their way here. I cast a
spell restricting the abilities of all planeswalkers, so that if they
‘walked, they would come here. Believe me, I want the spell stopped as
much as you do, but I can't do that. What we must do is keep as much
life as we can from dying out. It's all we can hope for."
I was stunned. Romwell was on my side! But why was he still hiding information from me?
"Why are planeswalkers being captured or killed?" I asked. "Who created the sleeth? What is the Ark of Fire?"
"The spell requires large amounts of power, of course. We are
harnessing the mana links of every known planeswalker, living or dead."
WE? No, it can't be...Romwell is in collaboration with Elrohir???
The small hut we were in exploded violently. Romwell was no longer the kindly wizard I had chosen to be my tutor. He grew thin and gaunt. His
skin clung to his bones. The anger in his eyes was replaced by growing
fear. He stared down at his now-skeletal hands, and he wept. Again, I
heard Elrohir's voice.
"You failed me as an observer, Romwell. Feel what I do to traitors. Jarel, I suggest you pay attention. The same happened to your Jaek,
after you left him." What? I had incinerated his body; Elrohir
couldn't have taken him. "You seem surprised, Jarel. The conflagration
you summoned merely served the purpose of giving me a shield. You
didn't see me teleport him away." He was lying. I would have felt the
use of magic even then, and Jaek was already dead by the time I summoned
the inferno. He wouldn't, couldn't, have been harmed by Elrohir.
Romwell screamed a hollow cry, and collapsed again. His body turned to dust.
I will never forget Elrohir's haunting last words: "This isn't the last time you see me, Brother." The word, ‘brother', hated though it was,
was filled with truth. I did not know how I knew, or why I knew, I just
knew. I would meet him again. Then, I would either hinder him in his
quest, or help him.
Chapter 6
The first wave of demons crashed into my army with frightening power
and ferocity. Casualties were heavy, but the enemy turned back.
Wizards, normal ones, not planeswalkers, launched volleys of fire into
the ranks of the demons, while other wizards summoned strange beasts for
aid.
As it turned out, I was the last "good" planeswalker on Andoral.
Elrohir had gotten to the others. The entrapment spell was to keep all
the planeswalkers within reach, not to protect them, as Romwell had led
me to believe. This left us as easy prey for Elrohir and his minions.
The sleeth obeyed his control. They were the second wave of assault, coming out of the northern plain. At their head, was a planeswalker of
amazing power. Elrohir's personal mercenary. He knew I was here, and I
knew the same. We both knew who the target was: me.
I could literally feel the waves of power emanating from the other planeswalker. It was obvious what the power was coming from: the mana
links of thousands of slain planeswalkers. And I was the only one left
to stop him.
The assassin left his army, and wandered off to a hill isolated from the rest of the battle. There, I chose to meet his apparent challenge.
I left the nearest wizard in charge, and left my army behind.
I had taken my first step on the longest road of my life. As I marched to the hill, I kept my eyes on the assassin. Step after inexorable
step, I could feel his eyes boring their way into my skull. This man
was by far my superior. He had already cast several strong spells on
his army, and he was standing there, awaiting my approach calmly. I
estimated his height to be around six feet. His skin and hair were
black, but his eyes were a deep, calming blue. He wore the garb of a
common soldier, and what weapons he wore, and the manner he wore them
in, assured me that I would lose to him in even non-magical battle.
When I reached the bottom of the hill, the man held up his hand,
signaling me to stop. I put up every ward I could think of. He strode
down to speak to me face-to-face. He spoke.
"You are Jarel, correct?" I nodded. "I was sent to give you a message: Do not interfere with the plan." He raised his hand, and the
battlefield exploded, killing all men in my army, as well as destroying
all the beasts in his own. That one man could wield such power
terrified me.
I drew upon all my power, and let loose with the most enormous fireball I could muster, hoping to bring down this man of danger. He shrugged it
off. I collapsed to the ground. I had left myself open to attack.
STUPID! No planeswalker in his right mind would use all his power in
one blast. Better to pick away at the enemy, for weakness exposes more
weakness.
He sent a wave of energy into me, paralyzing me. He pulled out his sword.
"For your second mistake," (what was the first?) "I will teach you a...small lesson." He brought the sword down on my right arm, severing
it at the elbow. Though I was paralyzed, I could still feel the blow
rock my system. I would have screamed, but I could not move. Only
tears poured down my face. He then began to break my fingers, one by
one, until all five of the remaining ones were useless. Finally, he
brought his sword hilt down forcefully on my right eye. Then there was
a flash of energy, and he was gone. I lay there bleeding on the ground,
unable to move, bleeding from several wounds.
Both armies had been destroyed; not a soul remained to rescue me. Soon the paralysis wore off. My mana links would not work properly after the
severe trauma to my system. I screamed in terror at being in the middle
of literally nowhere, in amazing pain, and in realization that I could
have been killed instead of being left alive. Soon, I became
unconscious.
I awoke in what appeared to be a palace, for there were elaborate
tapestries adorning the walls of my room. My right arm was bandaged,
but my left hand was completely healed. It was extremely painful to
move my fingers, but at least they worked. I turned my head to the
door, and a doctor walked in.
"How are you feeling? You were quite a mess when the army found you and brought you back. You're the only survivor," he said.
"For that we can all be thankful. Where am I?"
"You are in the house of Shah Rakhib. We have tended you for the last two days. Our healers are very proficient at their art." I could tell.
Other than stiffness and pain, my fingers worked, contrary to the
uselessness my training told me would be. "You would have bled to death
had we not gotten to you sooner. You are a planeswalker." A statement.
"Yes, I am a planeswalker."
"You are the last then. You met with Altor, did you? He has a
penchant for such...things." He motioned to my missing right arm. "I
spoke incorrectly, for Altor still remains." Just as I thought.
"Where can I find this Altor?"
"Surely you don't mean to find him, in your present condition?"
"I do, and I will confront him, and I will defeat him. An eye for an eye, they say. I'm missing mine, as well as my arm. Nothing I do much
matters now, anyway."
The doctor was taken aback by my speech.
"Your choice is not a wise one..."
"Is it? Or is it the act of a desperate man trying to save the rest of existence? I cannot stop what is coming with my powers, so I must try
to make the upcoming...occurrence...palatable for those who survive it."
"To what do you refer, Jarel?"
"How do you know my name?"
"You are like in build and temperament to the man leading one of the armies. You have admitted to being a planeswalker. Since the others
are dead or missing, you must be Jarel."
"Nice story. Where is Altor?"
"You don't give up, do you?"
"Not when my life and the lives of others depends on my action or
inaction."
"Even when you cannot stand up to such a powerful planeswalker?"
"Especially so."
My almost legendary impatience was beginning to catch up to me.
"Very well, Jarel. Altor lives in a castle two days' ride north of here. If you are so inclined, I will provide you with the necessary
equipment, as well as a horse.
Two weeks later, I set out to meet Altor for the second time. The journey was not long or arduous. Soon I stood in front of what I
assumed was his castle. I went to greet my crippler.
To Be Continued.
Elrohir, God of Wisdom
General of the 1st and 2nd Atog Wars.