The cruelty of magic, p.28
The Cruelty of Magic, page 28
“It is likely that I will not survive,” Arimeus said. “No, it is necessary that I do not. For if this is true, then I couldn’t live with myself further.”
Arimeus removed his hand from the shoulder of Samiel who watched intently with an unimaginable confusion. The old man grabbed Kyra with both hands and pulled her in close.
“When you must pay a price, let it be me,” he said with a gruff and unforgiving tone.
Kyra glanced back at the storm rolling in and in a brief flash of lightning she saw the dark figure beyond the pale clouds of shadow. She wondered who hid beyond that dark veil and why they brought this fear to Arimeus. Moreover, why would the sight of this figure bring Arimeus to his knees with regret?
“There are many forces at work for entirely opposite and misunderstood goals on this battlefield, Kyra,” Arimeus said. “I was among them. I thought I was bringing an end to the cruelty of magic, and instead, I fear I have brought on a far darker end. Come! We must stop Varin before he completes the summoning ritual!”
“Dremhirra! Gluaring! Dremhirra!” The horde’s chanting continued to fester into a wild and frenzied war calling.
Arimeus darted into the crowd with the other two following as they pushed their way through the seemingly endless soldiers. The vastly different arrangements of shining armor and cloth standing side-by-side created a moment of comfort for Arimeus, though it was short lived. There was unification of separate peoples, but for all of the wrong reasons.
The three companions broke to the front of the line and Arimeus fell to his knees once more at the sight of Varin.
The Lord of Summons was suspended in air and coated in an emerald aura as his acolytes surrounded him with Harigamun standing off to the side, staring at the ritual. The acolytes were linked by an unseen chain branching each syllable of their speech together, connecting their limbs as they moved as one entwined body. Their movements were convulsive and sporadic, resembling a psychotic painter wielding a brush for the first time in years, mimicking the lost and forgotten quill of an eager author. In each random movement there was an undeniable unison bending each of the acolytes to its will. Individual form faded away into an unconscious experience of life being called forth, calling to the bones beneath Near Hearth.
“Harigamun!” Arimeus shouted at the Warlord. “You do not know the destruction that follows Dremhirra! You do not know the age in which you are about to usher! This is not the end of magic. This is the end of Near Hearth and all of its people!”
Harigamun stood unphased with his unimaginable army crying and clamoring with war chants and rain clapping against his adamantite armor.
Arimeus bolted forward in an attempt to attack Varin, but he bounced backwards. It was like some great force had smashed his chest, launching him backwards. The pain was great, but he tried once more. This time, the knocking sent Arimeus even further back, landing him on top of a soldier who immediately pushed the old man off of him and then kicked him in the kidney with some indiscernible slur as the soldier spat on Arimeus.
“Go,” Arimeus said with a strained voice crawling back towards Kyra, who was struggling to understand him. “Tell the warlord he brings about a greater threat than Salaril if he continues.”
Kyra turned her gaze towards Harigamun but before taking off to stop him, every soldier and citizen of Runefall felt a rising quake splitting up through the core of Near Hearth. The impending doom felt with each spine-shattering tremor broke the confidence of all the soldiers on the battlefield, except Harigamun. No, the warlord was not scared of what was to come; he was eager, and impatient to the surmounting end. He was calling forth the end of magic, the end of Runefall.
“The splintering of the god’s whip is nigh,” Harigamun said under his breath, where only he could hear. “The oppressed become the oppressor in order to defeat our oppressors.”
Beyond the northern veil of rolling hillsides, now drenched with mud from the trodding footfall of battle, the cracking of Near Hearth began as Harigamun continued speaking to himself, as though he were taking notes in his journal while the world opened up to rebirth a titan.
“At my final culmination, when the curtain falls and Kaiya stands as a free world; no gods, no magic, no otherworldly oppressor. I will diminish. Be it by death or surrender, I will have no further place in the world. I can only hope to bury this age of cataclysm so deep that its markings and scars will dissuade any from returning to the blindness of piety and the ludicrousness of religiosity.” Harigamun stared at everyone who could see him, daring them to challenge him.
Kyra watched stunned with fear as dirt rose to the heights of the night sky and shifted her stare from the warlord to the rising Titan of old standing up from the darkest reaches, beneath Near Hearth. There was no stopping this fearsome power. There was no telling what would come next. And there was no knowing how to stop it from happening.
Harigamun eyed the rising Titan from afar, anxious but ready. “A dragon rises from the ashes of a divine war! It wields the power of godly destruction and places the god’s whip into the hands of man, mine own hands! As the world crumbles beneath this Titan’s feet, the bane of the gods, Dremhirra, will serve my calling and lay waste to a broken city! Give rest to a broken magic and save a broken world,” the warlord said, staring at the unburied behemoth’s flashing red eyes peering through a rising tornado of dirt and dust.
Kyra saw Harigamun’s creeping smile taking over his features and she came to the understanding that there was no stopping him. No warning could have swayed him from this decision. The warlord had decided long ago that the end of magic and the destruction of Runefall was worth any price.
“Bury me beneath the sands of my forefathers,” Harigamun whispered. “Hold me beneath the Scorched Desert. Lay me down under the hot sands once I have fulfilled my oath and returned Kaiya, Near Hearth, to its people!”
The warlord stretched his arms outward as if he was enjoying a cool breeze and a peaceful smile struck him while a violent gale of the dust swirled around his entire army with a screeching howl,which was terrifying to hear.
“Give me the old power of the Titan,” Harigamun said to Varin, using their reformed connection. “Let me bring fire down on this city!”
“He needs time, Lord. He has been dead for a lost count of ages, for none truly knows when the gods laid the Titans to rest,” the Lord of Summons answered. “Dremhirra’s part in this war still has a moment to wait. For now, it seems the army of Runefall is preparing a full assault!”
Kyra watched Harigamun turn towards the front gate of Runefall and the two of them noticed the same thing. An emerging army rippled out from the city gates readying themselves to march on Harigamun’s army, which clearly outnumbered that of Runefall.
“Let them try,” Harigamun scoffed. “They’ve neither the numbers nor the skill. This is my brother trying to keep his honor, and I shall give it to him.”
The warlord spat on the ground as Kyra still struggled to make out his words. However, whether she could hear the words or not, it had become clear that there was no stopping the incoming assault. Nor could she likely prevent the end of the army of Runefall.
“Why?” Kyra asked herself. “Why would they willingly walk into death?”
Harigamun stepped forward, seeing the looming giant that was his brothers, Barigund and Turmin, leading the assault.
Barigund, turned away from the mountainous Titan emerging from the depths of the battlefield and looked at Turmin as the two of them eyed the foreboding force of Harigamun.
“You’re sure?” Barigund asked Turmin.
“There is but one way to slay the beast, as there was but one way to slay him the first time the dragon fell,” Turmin said.
“The first time the gods had a weapon which allowed them to kill a titan,” Barigund added. “You’ve heard the stories, the same as me.”
“Yes,” the half-dwarven builder said. “The God’s Quill. But now we are forced to a different method. The God's Quill is lost to us, but Dremhirra’s life is not as it once was. He was once a being of natural occurrence, a life form which did not defy the natural order. The God’s Quill weaponized storytelling, the art of creation. In its capacity to create, it could also destroy. Thus, the one who held Dremhirra’s creation, or the weapon which enabled his creation, also held Dremhirra’s destruction.”
“That’s why this plan will work?” Barigund asked.
“That’s why it has to,” Turmin answered. “He who is Dremhirra’s creation is also his destruction. We must kill the summoner before it is too late.”
Horns ringing from the top of the Runewall called forth a united forward stance from Runefall’s army. THe army became a single unit. The war calling of horns under the chants of ferocious and fearful soldiers triumphed over the cataclysm beyond the northern reaches of the battlefield, even surpassing the whirling defiance of Dremhirra’s coming. A glistening army, one battalion linked to another in a shining marble-like garb cracked against the rising sun as rain continued pouring down.
Harigamun’s army soaked in the rain watching as the water glided off the army of Runefall. Under the maelstrom of Dremhirra and gathering rain, the warlord watched as his army continuously wiped their eyes and fixed their vision on the Rune Guard. In that moment, the army of Harigamun felt a fear facing this menacing vanguard of soldiers seemingly unaffected by the weather, nor by their clear disadvantage. This realization made many of Harigamun’s forces question whether or not Runefall truly did face a disadvantage.
“Kyra,” Arimeus said, limping over towards her after being kicked and spat on. “We cannot break the forcefield protecting Varin. If we do not have a chance in stopping the coming of Dremhirra, we must stop Salaril’s coming.”
“How? Why? How do you even know that’s the right thing to do?” Samiel’s patience waned and his silence broke under the growing threats. “You blindly followed Harigamun and only recently realized something may have gone wrong, and have yet to share what that something is! You think by offering yourself as a sacrifice, to something we don’t even yet know is necessary, somehow absolves you from your fault in this? You lied to us and brought us to the enemy’s camp, who now seeks to destroy everything we’ve ever known. Now you say the answer is to stop Salaril. Shall we stop Salaril, Harigamun, or the dark figure beyond the skies? Who is the real threat and how can we trust you actually know what the answer is?”
Kyra’s shock became a shattering chill climbing up her spine and stretching out toward her fingers. Samiel rarely had moments of outburst, but he was right. There was so much confusion and there was little to no way of knowing who the true enemy was. The only player on the field whose intentions were absolutely clear…was Harigamun.
“Tell us why the answer is to defeat Salaril?” Kyra asked with a divisive anger and monotonous tone.
The surrounding army started rushing forward, screaming under the staggering rainfall against the rising sun’s breaking horizon. Soldier after soldier brushed and pushed against the three companions as they fought to hear one another and they all realized the battle was starting, at least, the end of the battle was starting.
At once, Arimeus yelled over the thundering herd of soldiers to Kyra and Samiel, “Grab me!”
Kyra and Samiel did as he said under the commotion of clamoring soldiers who were launching themselves into war, and within seconds of touching Arimeus, Kyra and Samiel found themselves twisting into a vortex of a strange pale blue light with streaks of bleached white. The odd sight lasted only for seconds, but it felt much longer to them before all three of the companions felt spat out onto the ground.
As Kyra regained her vision and stability, she rose to find herself back inside the temple where she had left Grendle and gathered her garbs from the closet before following Arimeus.
“Why have we come here?” Kyra shouted as she searched the room for Arimeus.
She found him, bleeding out behind her with Samiel rushing towards the old man. The battle-hardened runic had lost his left hand. It was cut off entirely in what looked to be a singular, clean slice from a sharp blade. Quickly, Samiel’s blood began to boil and his temperature rose calling forth the flames resting within him and his right hand became like a glimmering torch in the dimly lit temple. Samiel grabbed Arimeus’ stub, searing the wound and causing the old runic to scream in great pain, knocking him unconscious for a moment.
Kyra, unforgiving in this moment, rushed towards the unconscious elder of Runefall and smacked him in the face as hard as she could, waking him from his pain-riddled rest.
“What happened to your hand?” she asked him.
“You know there is a cost to magic. Not everything could come with us. Something had to be left behind.”
Kyra considered Arimeus may really have intended to sacrifice himself. Kyra started wondering if the old man now wanted to die. Was the pain of what he thought might come too terrifying to face? Would this desperate plea to regain whatever honor he’d thought he lost be enough for him to die with pride? Kyra couldn’t tell if he wanted to die, or if he was seeking redemption at any cost. She found it likely that it was an unnecessary designation so long as Arimeus was willing to sacrifice himself to win, that was all she needed. However, she still had no clue how to win, or who the greater threat was.
“How do we stop him, and will we save Runefall?” Kyra demanded.
“It is likely that this is the end of Runefall, no matter the outcome,” Arimeus answered. “But if we can stop Salaril from entering Near Hearth, we can focus all of our efforts on the Lord of Summons, who holds the command of Dremhirra.”
“Then how do we stop him?” Kyra’s shout made it clear she was no longer asking. The young runic had become impatient and scared, causing Samiel to reach out and wrap her up in his arms as tears broke from her eyes.
“Salaril is held captive in another realm. So long as his captivity remains, if you break the seal connecting our realm to his, we can kill him. We can use the connection for ourselves and kill him within his prison.”
“How do you know?” Samiel asked.
“Tir has told me,” Arimeus answered. “Much like TIr has told me a great many things. She has only meant to protect Runefall, as we do now.”
“And what will we use to kill him?” Samiel asked with ferocity.
“A weapon on his person, a quill.” said Arimeus. “A very large quill, resembling more of a scythe than a quill.”
“How do I break the seal?” Kyra asked.
Arimeus pointed behind Kyra towards the great adamantite statue of Salaril.
“I must break the Shrine of Salaril? I must destroy adamantite?”
“You must break the unbreakable. The more potent the blood, the more potent the amplification of the spell,” Arimeus reached his arm out towards Kyra with his palms facing towards the ceiling. “Mine is quite potent.”
“Do it,” Samiel said to Kyra with haste. “We don’t have time to quibble over the morals of it. There’s an army of soldiers on both ends losing their lives to an unnecessary battle. Take his blood, break the seal. We can end Salaril, and hopefully use the weapon to either defeat Dremhirra, the Lord of Summons, or both.”
“There is likely a battle to come after,” Arimeus interjected. “One that goes beyond Kaiya’s use of magic, and beyond the sins of Runefall. Do me one favor, Kyra?”
She looked at him with a questioning and doubtful gaze, still unsure of anyone’s intentions, except Samiel. Kyra saw the remorse draped over Arimeus’s features and his eyes sank with a heavy failure, though that still could not guarantee he was leading her in the right direction. By his own admission, the Chief Runic had led her incorrectly up until the most recent moments.
“What would you ask?” Kyra’s voice became a wide disparity between empathy and distrust.
“Have me remembered as one who meant to rid the world of the cruelty of magic, one who hoped to end the senseless kidnappings, one who hoped for a world without the pressures of forces greater than we can truly know.”
“You really thought you could end magic without destroying Runefall?” Samiel said.
“I knew the risk was worth the reward. I knew that the only way for us to truly exist in our own peace in Kaiya was to separate ourselves from the world of magic. I’ve done wrong and I know this. I seek to do right. Break the seal with my blood, and ready yourselves for what is to come.”
“How much do I need to use?” Kyra said.
Arimeus’ eyes broke a tear as his lips began to quiver in an almost unnoticeable fashion as the fear and knowing of imminent death crept into his heart for the first time.
“Goodbye friends,” Arimeus said, whipping a dagger out from a sheathe and slitting his remaining wrist.
The blood of the old runic slithered down his wrist as light faded from his eyes and darkness wrapped around him like a comforting serpent. A smile washed over him as he felt a final release from his ageless responsibilities, as though his remorseful heart drained into a feeling of contentment …which he had never known.
Arimeus watched in his final moments of life as Kyra and Samiel both panicked at the shocking sight of the runic spilling his own blood. Kyra’s cries demanded more information from him and Samiel’s rage burned with the ferocity of the fire within his core. In his final fleeting moment of sight, Arimeus smiled as the two demanded answers to questions that did not need to be answered, at least, not in that moment.
After battling panic and shock for a short moment, Kyra became enraged at Arimeus’s decision. She didn’t even know what spell to use to break the seal. Why would he leave both of them without answers they clearly needed in order to stop this from happening?
