Boundary's Fall - Path Of Glory Preview Part 2

Tyre shrugged his ma.s.sive shoulders. "Suit yourself, High Wizard," he said with a smile before turning around and walking back to the camp. Aemon watched him walk away, his tall form silhouetted in the bright sunshine. When Tyre's form disappeared in the distance, Aemon turned his horse north, heeling the mount to a walk.

He pa.s.sed the foundations of the Wall, which would eventually become the highest and thickest fortification in Alrendria. In the whole of Madryn.

Masons were hard at work preparing the foundation. They hauled the huge stone to their final location, using the nearly-limitless supply of refugees as laborers.

As Aemon pa.s.sed the Wall, he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his mind, which he knew was the first indication that he drew near the Boundary.

He would no longer be able to sense anyone using magic around him, though he did not consider it much of a threat. Very few would risk using magic, even this far from the Boundary.

Aemon spurred his horse to a gallop, eager to get this ch.o.r.e done with as quickly as possible. The Wall behind him, he continued north. He watched as the mountains flowed closer together, towering thousands of hands into the sky. When it was complete, the Wall would form a half-circle around this area, completely enclosing and restricting all movement through the portal.

Aemon rode into the portal, the only connection between what remained of Alrendria and Ael Shataq - the Prison.

That was what the Magi called the lands enclosed by the Boundary. Aemon could not think of a better name.

To his left and right, approximately seventy-five hands to either side of him, the mountains came to an abrupt stop.

They did not dwindle to nothingness, as do most mountain ranges, but simply stopped. Sheer cliffs of rock stretched into the heavens; high enough no man could climb, smooth enough to minimize the danger of avalanche or rock-slide. The Portal would force an attacking army from Ael Shataq together, making them an easy target from the battlements of Portal Keep.

Aemon continued through the Portal and the tingling in his head gradually grew to a buzzing. The buzzing, he knew, would soon become pain. A way to stop the pain existed, but Aemon was hesitant to use it. He wanted to study the effects of the Boundary on Magi, particularly how proximity to the magical barrier affected a Mage's ability. Besides, he admitted to himself, the remedy is little better than the pain.

Aemon sighed, knowing he needed all his wits about him, and focused his Will.

The buzzing immediately receded to a mild tingling, almost nonexistent. The rest of the world became brighter. Colors were sharper, details finer, sounds louder, smells more fragrant.

Aemon felt each muscle in the horse beneath him, saw eagles circling high overhead, felt the weariness and worry melt from within. Under normal circ.u.mstances, Aemon would relish this feeling.

Few things were more pleasant to a Mage than focusing his Will. Focusing made normal life seem bland. If the dangers were not so great, Aemon suspected most Magi would walk the world in a constant state of focus.

Yet this time the feeling brought with it a tightness to his chest. To let go of his Will now would cause unimaginable pain, compliments of the Boundary.

He could not use his Gift, could not use magic. Releasing his Will might cause pain, but any attempt to use magic this close to the Boundary caused a greater pain, though one of the spirit, not the body. Attempts to use magic this close to the Boundary did not go wrong, the magic was neither deflected nor destroyed. One simply could not use magic close to the Boundary, as if it did not exist. Yet another unforseen consequence of his actions.

These unexpected consequences put the Magi in a very unusual, and uncomfortable, position. They suffered great pain if they did not focus their Will near the Boundary. Focusing relieved the pain, but brought with it the realization that magic could not be used.

Aemon could think of no worse punishment for a Mage. Taking magic from a Mage is the most frightening thing imaginable to them, he thought. It's like telling a smith he could live in his forge, so long as he never struck hammer to anvil.

In other words, it was eternal agony.

Aemon understood why the Magi hated and feared the Boundary, why the Elves were in such a hurry to leave. He sympathized with their feelings. He shared them. Yet he knew what must be done, must be done. There was no escaping duty. That was why every day since the Raising he rode to within arms reach of the dreaded Boundary and sent his perceptions along it as far as he was able. All along the border of Ael Shataq other Magi did the same. They needed to be sure the Boundary had no holes. No weaknesses.

Aemon reined in his horse and dismounted. He stood, arms outstretched, and closed his eyes. He extended his perceptions until he felt - nothing. That was the only way to describe it. Though he could open his eyes and see objects before him, as far as his perceptions were concerned, the universe ended at the Boundary. When a Mage extended his perceptions, he reached a point where he could no longer sense anything accurately, but he always felt something.

The emptiness Aemon had come to a.s.sociate with the Boundary was something new. Something unexpected.

He extended his perceptions up the wall, high into the heavens. He reached deep into the ground. To the east and west, as far through the mountains as he could penetrate. In front of him he felt nothing. Which was exactly what he hoped to feel. It meant the Boundary had no breaches; their armor had no c.h.i.n.ks. Aemon smiled as he remembered the fear on the faces of the Magi when they learned they could not sense the Boundary with their magic.

Sometimes they can be so childish, he thought, so convinced that without magic they are worthless!

A voice called to him, snapping Aemon back from his musings. "I am impressed, High Wizard," the cynical voice said. "I never thought you had the courage to do something like this."

The voice sounded pleasant, yet hearing it nearly caused Aemon to lose his focus. To lose his grip on magic this close to the Boundary would be dangerous, perhaps fatal. Struggling to maintain control over his Will, Aemon opened his eyes.

Before him stood a man in long, white robes. He was tall and thin, almost emaciated. Bones and tendons were clearly visible on his hands and face, the only parts of his body exposed to the elements. His hair was white, nearly a match in shading for his robes, and it hung over his shoulders in long curls.

His skin was pale, not quite pure white, but with little pigmentation. Yet it was his eyes that attracted attention, the eyes that have always attracted attention. They were not the pink of the common albino. These eyes glowed red. Burned red. All in all, the figure appeared more an apparition than a man.

"Lorthas," spat Aemon, the name coming out a curse. The vehemence surprised even Aemon. "I would not think you had the courage the come this close to me."

"Why not, High Wizard?" replied Lorthas. "You are as dangerous to me as I am to you. As it is, this is my first visit to your - what do you call it? Oh yes, your Boundary. I have been taking care of things on this side, but the reports I received fascinated me, and I just had to experience this for myself. I a.s.sure you, it is pure luck that brings me here at the same time as you."

Aemon stood silently. He had no desire to banter with this demon. Lorthas took a step toward the Boundary, hand outstretched. Then he took another. As he neared, small blue sparks began jumping from the air, arching toward the Darklord's fingers. When the first one touched, Lorthas flinched, but he took another step forward.

Lorthas' actions both intrigued and confused Aemon. He wondered what the Darklord hoped to accomplish. With one final step, Lorthas' hand contacted the Boundary. Blue lightning arched up and down his arm. His head snapped up; his eyes bulged in pain, their color now a deeper red, like molten iron. With a final flash, Lorthas was thrown nearly thirty hands from the Boundary, landing in a crumpled ball. He lay motionless, and Aemon found himself wishing Lorthas dead.

He felt disappointed when he heard the Darklord groan. Struggling back to his feet, Lorthas offered Aemon a bow of his head as he brushed dust from his robes. "Most impressive, High Wizard," he said with an evil grin. "An interesting experience, though not one I care to repeat."

Convinced Lorthas was not a threat to Madryn from that side of the Boundary, Aemon turned to walk away. He only got a step or two before Lorthas called, "Aemon!"

The High Wizard turned around slowly, furious that this man dared to call him by name, a right reserved for only his friends. When he was sure he had the High Wizard's attention, Lorthas said, "You realize your mountains have caused a surprising change in the weather on this side of the Boundary. I'm sure you're experiencing similar events."

Aemon shrugged, well aware that weather patterns were going to change. That was one consequence of this project he had been aware of from the start.

In the days since the Raising, increased rainfall had caused new streams to form on this side of the Boundary. In a few seasons, a new river would exist in this part of Alrendria.

Aemon began to turn again, but Lorthas' next question stopped him cold. "You are familiar with the Jemallin Sea, are you not?" Lorthas asked, his face adopting an amused expression.

Aemon faced the Darklord, his look one of confusion. "You mean the Great Plains of Jemallin?" Lorthas did not answer, shaking his head sadly. The Darklord did not have to wait long before understanding dawned on the High Wizard. Understanding and guilt.

Lorthas pursed his lips in the semblance of a pout, his face tilted to one side. An attempt at sympathy, Aemon a.s.sumed. "Unfortunately, no," Lorthas replied with an evil grin. "Raising your mountains ruptured a rather large aquifer. The resulting flood completely covered the plains. Sadly, I was otherwise engaged at the time, and could not spare anyone to save the nomads of the plains. I believe a handful on the edges managed to escape, though I hear they run screaming whenever they see even a gla.s.s of water." Lorthas laughed wickedly at the thought.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped and the Darklord's face became more contemplative. "Though I must admit, Jemallin makes a beautiful inland ocean. I am considering building a castle there." When Aemon did not take the bait, Lorthas' smile faded. He spoke in a colder, more formidable tone. "How many are going to die, High Wizard?" he asked. "How many lives condemned just to see me imprisoned?"

Aemon squared his shoulders. He spoke with all the authority of the High Wizard. Lorthas found himself stepping back from the thunder in Aemon's voice, a thunder that came from his heart, not from his magic. ". . . How many would have died had we left you free?" Aemon replied angrily. "When I declared war on you Lorthas, it was complete. When I said that I would use whatever means were necessary to destroy you, I did not lie. 'Though it may cost the world, I will see him defeated.' Those were my words exactly. I would not change any of my decisions, and I have but one regret. I wish I had never accepted you as my apprentice."

Aemon turned and walked to his horse. As he mounted, he added, "I would have torn this continent apart piece by piece - executed every living soul on it personally - before giving you free reign. I will never bow to another Darklord." With that Aemon turned his horse and began to walk back through the Portal with a casual, unconcerned dignity.

From behind, Aemon heard Lorthas call to him. Though he still spoke pleasantly, Aemon heard the undertones of anger and hatred. Aemon heard the threat. "You have not won, High Wizard!" laughed the Darklord. "Your Boundary is nothing but an obstacle for me to pa.s.s. Though it may take a thousand winters, or even two, it will not stand forever. I will not be idle in the meantime. When your Boundary falls, I will be ready, with a formidable force and a desire for vengeance.

"Will you be equally prepared? I doubt you can keep your pitiful alliance alive for a season, let alone millennia! Time is not an issue to me, Aemon! I am more eternal than even you, old man! Better for you if you had bowed to me today. I will not be so merciful when next we meet."

Aemon continued to ride away, refusing to defend himself. To do so would show weakness, and above all else, Aemon could never show weakness. Not to him! Not ever!

Lorthas' taunts echoed through the pa.s.s. "Your Boundary will fall," he yelled after the retreating Mage. "Alrendria will not be ready for me. They will have forgotten me, or think me only a legend. You know how short a memory they have! You have done nothing but prolong the inevitable. We are meant to rule these creatures, not serve them!"

When Aemon did not respond, Lorthas could no longer control his rage. His words thundered down the Portal. "You know this Boundary will not last forever! I know you do. We will meet again, High Wizard! Only death can save you from me now!" Lorthas' laughter followed Aemon down the Portal.

Aemon suppressed a shudder. He wished Lorthas were wrong.