Everything Burton had once told Montague would occur was happening as they spoke. At least, Burton thought, these terrible events would dissolve any doubt his student might have had.
“This aggression is of no primitive weaponry. Only sorcery could melt stone that fast,” Burton said. He turned to everyone else listening closely. No one recognized his altered face. “I’m not trying to scare you, only tell you the truth of what we are dealing with.”
There was a shocked silence.
“We have to get away from here, quietly, and as fast as we can.” Burton pulled out a stained map with frayed edges and ran his finger north along the parchment, to the high plateau where the new city of Ikarus was still under construction. “We’ll take the tunnels to the forest. The ships on the Origon River should be intact. We will cross there and head to Ikarus to set-up camp until we make contact with the islands. There will be others there; master masons, carpenters, and blacksmiths.”
Illuminating the way with his torch, Montague led the survivors beneath the grounds of the kingdom through the soaked underground chambers. After only a minute, Burton suddenly stopped. “Demitri,” he whispered to himself. Thoughts of his friend had escaped him in the maelstrom. His mind had been victim to an aging body. “Demitri! He is still out there. I must go back for him,” he called out.
Montague grabbed Burton by the shoulder. He spoke softly. “It’s too dangerous; even for you, Sensei. If this attack is what you say it is, and our own army can’t defend itself, then you are simply outnumbered, not to mention the condition you are in.”
Burton morphed his face back to normal—the way Montague knew him.
“I will not leave him to die at the hands of dark magic,” said Burton Lang. He turned to Gretchen and escorted her away from the others. He unlatched his dragon-skin sheath from his belt and held his sword out to her. “If I don’t return, give this to my son. He is on Grale with the Atikan family. He has his mother’s skin. Tell him that his father loves him, and as long as he keeps the sword close, I will keep him safe.” Burton wiped Gretchen’s tear before it could fall from her cheek.
Burton loved his son from the moment he first laid eyes on the baby. The infant had dark, curly hair, just like his father. But over the years, the boy had become a man. Burton’s original plan had been to watch over human affairs and quietly live among them, not to court the female inhabitants. Emotional attachment can enslave the mind, he told himself. But the native women of the planet were hard to ignore. Their physical appearance produced a lust in him that not even his spiritual mastery could resist. If Burton died, his son would be the only bridge between the physical world and the heavenly realm. He was determined to see his son again.
Montague interrupted. “Meet us at the docks to cross the river. Get there by nightfall, and be careful.”
His apprentice’s drive and determination made Burton proud. “You’re finally speaking like a leader.”
“I’m sorry, Sensei,” said Montague, bowing his head.
“Do not apologize. It’s good to hear you delegate. The student must one day become the teacher.”
Burton left the shelter to retrace his steps. The smoke from the exhausted fires thickened. The old wizard veiled himself among toppled pillars, making his way back to where he last saw Demitri. There were tracks leading everywhere and not one was distinguishable from the next.
Drops of blood led behind a pile of debris. Burton feared that they belonged to his friend. He heard the sound of something slick and wet rubbing together, and when he peeked around the corner, Burton saw a man pulling out the intestines of a corpse. The savage wore the bloody mess around his body and danced while whistling a tune.
A few more rabid-looking people joined the celebration. They wore black, ragged robes and chewed on human flesh. Their assembly now blocked the only path to the gardens. Burton kept his distance and calmed himself. He needed to tap into, ‘Source’ as he knew it, or God, as it was defined by Man. This source was connected to all things living and nonliving. Until he could hear every beat of their hearts and every skip in between he concentrated. Once he locked on to the rhythm of their breaths, he was able to shut down their respiratory systems.
All of the mages’ eyes opened wide. They scratched at their throats before their twirling bodies went limp, tumbling to the dirt.
When Burton reached the gardens, Demitri was still there, kneeling motionless. It was still safe from the wrath of fire. “Demitri!” Burton yelled. But the minister was like a doll; stone cold, staring into nothing with hollow black eyes. Burton grabbed him by his maroon robe and dragged him across dust and ash back near the entrance to the underground chambers.
Half way there, Demitri opened his eyes. He looked weak and fragile, his stare aimless as if suddenly awakened from a dream. Burton rested him against an uprooted tree and lightly tapped his cheek a number of times before Demitri seemed able to focus.
“What’s going on?” Demitri finally asked, shivering and scared.
Burton briefed him on the situation and helped his friend to his feet. Struggling to catch his breath Demitri was slow to continue. When they reached the cross section of the underground tunnels, one path led into a darkness that hadn’t seen the light of a single torch for at least thirty years. The minister sat down for a brief rest.
“I must retrieve an ancient artifact in the oubliette. It’s very special to me, my friend, and important for the advancement of our people. You won’t be around forever to
