Paedrin kicked and punched, using every technique of the Uddhava as well as his own violent passion. He wanted to humble this Kishion and teach him a lesson in pain. The Arch-Rike’s treasured protector. Paedrin fought fast and hard and gave it his best. Master Shivu would have been proud. In the Bhikhu temple, he had never met his equal. The duel only lasted a few moments. He was kicked in the chin and then thrown across the room, skidding until he struck the wall and blackness took over.
Kiranrao appeared in a smoke-stain of magic next to Tyrus. “Give me the dagger, and I will face the Kishion next.”
Annon stared at the Vaettir, full of distrust. “No,” he warned Tyrus. “Do not trust him.”
Kiranrao gave Annon a scathing look. “I can defeat him. Give it to me!”
Prince Aran glanced at both men and then confronted the Kishion as Tyrus hesitated. Prince Aran blocked the way, standing still as the Kishion advanced. If he defeated the Kishion then Kiranrao would not need the dagger. The two faced off silently, their visages grim. Annon had seen the Kishion up close once before, and the look of determination and murder in his eyes terrified him. He felt the last of the spirits abandon the room, one by one, their power fading as the stench of the smoke filled the air.
“Kill the others!” the Arch-Rike ordered. “They cannot harm you now. Go!”
The Kishion came forward and struck the prince in the stomach. It was a solid blow, enough to drop anyone, but the prince did not flinch. He struck back. Then the two traded rock-hard blows, meant to maim each other. The prince grimaced at the speed of the other man and deflected the next two. He struck the Kishion in the neck. He struck him again, to no effect. It was like striking rock. The Kishion was unstoppable. Several more blows were exchanged. A strike to the Kishion’s abdomen. A blow to his collarbone. He did not even try to defend himself. He let the other hit him, to show him that he could not be harmed.
The prince’s look filled with shock. “You are Chin-Na!” he breathed in awe and despair. The Kishion gazed at him coldly and struck him down in a single blow to the temple, delivered so quickly it could hardly be seen.
“Give it to me!” Kiranrao raged.
Tyrus’s face went hard with frustration. Would nothing stop the Kishion? What protected him? Annon’s heart raced with fear. He watched as his uncle, the man he had always believed to be his uncle, handed the Iddawc to Kiranrao.
The look on the Romani’s face. The look of surprise and pleasure. “Arch-Rike! You are mine!” he threatened, rushing across the room, leaving the Kishion unchallenged. Was he trying to draw away the Kishion to protect his master?
The Arch-Rike’s expression shifted from fury to terror. He withdrew his cylinder and vanished. Kiranrao laughed in triumph. He looked back at them facing the Kishion, nodded in farewell, and vanished in a puff of inky smoke.
Nizeera! Annon pleaded. To us! We must flee!
I cannot, she replied, struggling to crawl to him. Go, Druidecht!
Annon’s heart was ready to break. There was Hettie, Khiara, Tyrus, and Erasmus left. Their fighters had all been brought down. He searched his memory. Something to help them. Something that would save them. The quest could not end now, not when it had just begun. Dead before even entering the Scourgelands. His stomach shriveled in fear as the last of the spirits darted away. The fireblood could destroy the soldiers, but not the Kishion. He knew that if they left through Tyrus’s device, then Paedrin, Aransetis, and Nizeera would be killed. They were all needed to survive the Scourgelands. It was an impossible choice to make. Annon did not know what to do. He turned to Tyrus in despair.
Tyrus pushed past Annon and lunged for the Kishion. He looked back once, giving Annon a desperate glance. “She’s in Stonehollow,” he said, reminding him. Pleading with him.
Tyrus’s daughter—the missing linchpin.
He was handing the charge of the quest to Annon, and he was filled with despair.
When Tyrus struck the Kishion, they both vanished.
Annon turned to Hettie, raising his hands and facing the remaining Kenatos soldiers and Rikes. Hers turned blue as well.
“I have heard it repeated as an oft-favored quote of the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. One that was spoken a generation ago. He said it thus, ‘Do you wish to rise? Begin by descending. You plan on erecting a tower that will pierce the clouds? Lay first the foundation of humility.’”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Paedrin awoke, his spirits revived and his body healed by the touch from the beautiful Vaettir girl Khiara. He did not know by what power she healed him, only that her hand brought the most deliciously warm feeling. He remembered her scent, the smell of jasmine, as he opened his eyes. She stood, holding the long tapered staff to rest herself.
Kiranrao appeared in a smoke-stain of magic next to Tyrus. “Give me the dagger, and I will face the Kishion next.”
Annon stared at the Vaettir, full of distrust. “No,” he warned Tyrus. “Do not trust him.”
Kiranrao gave Annon a scathing look. “I can defeat him. Give it to me!”
Prince Aran glanced at both men and then confronted the Kishion as Tyrus hesitated. Prince Aran blocked the way, standing still as the Kishion advanced. If he defeated the Kishion then Kiranrao would not need the dagger. The two faced off silently, their visages grim. Annon had seen the Kishion up close once before, and the look of determination and murder in his eyes terrified him. He felt the last of the spirits abandon the room, one by one, their power fading as the stench of the smoke filled the air.
“Kill the others!” the Arch-Rike ordered. “They cannot harm you now. Go!”
The Kishion came forward and struck the prince in the stomach. It was a solid blow, enough to drop anyone, but the prince did not flinch. He struck back. Then the two traded rock-hard blows, meant to maim each other. The prince grimaced at the speed of the other man and deflected the next two. He struck the Kishion in the neck. He struck him again, to no effect. It was like striking rock. The Kishion was unstoppable. Several more blows were exchanged. A strike to the Kishion’s abdomen. A blow to his collarbone. He did not even try to defend himself. He let the other hit him, to show him that he could not be harmed.
The prince’s look filled with shock. “You are Chin-Na!” he breathed in awe and despair. The Kishion gazed at him coldly and struck him down in a single blow to the temple, delivered so quickly it could hardly be seen.
“Give it to me!” Kiranrao raged.
Tyrus’s face went hard with frustration. Would nothing stop the Kishion? What protected him? Annon’s heart raced with fear. He watched as his uncle, the man he had always believed to be his uncle, handed the Iddawc to Kiranrao.
The look on the Romani’s face. The look of surprise and pleasure. “Arch-Rike! You are mine!” he threatened, rushing across the room, leaving the Kishion unchallenged. Was he trying to draw away the Kishion to protect his master?
The Arch-Rike’s expression shifted from fury to terror. He withdrew his cylinder and vanished. Kiranrao laughed in triumph. He looked back at them facing the Kishion, nodded in farewell, and vanished in a puff of inky smoke.
Nizeera! Annon pleaded. To us! We must flee!
I cannot, she replied, struggling to crawl to him. Go, Druidecht!
Annon’s heart was ready to break. There was Hettie, Khiara, Tyrus, and Erasmus left. Their fighters had all been brought down. He searched his memory. Something to help them. Something that would save them. The quest could not end now, not when it had just begun. Dead before even entering the Scourgelands. His stomach shriveled in fear as the last of the spirits darted away. The fireblood could destroy the soldiers, but not the Kishion. He knew that if they left through Tyrus’s device, then Paedrin, Aransetis, and Nizeera would be killed. They were all needed to survive the Scourgelands. It was an impossible choice to make. Annon did not know what to do. He turned to Tyrus in despair.
Tyrus pushed past Annon and lunged for the Kishion. He looked back once, giving Annon a desperate glance. “She’s in Stonehollow,” he said, reminding him. Pleading with him.
Tyrus’s daughter—the missing linchpin.
He was handing the charge of the quest to Annon, and he was filled with despair.
When Tyrus struck the Kishion, they both vanished.
Annon turned to Hettie, raising his hands and facing the remaining Kenatos soldiers and Rikes. Hers turned blue as well.
“I have heard it repeated as an oft-favored quote of the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. One that was spoken a generation ago. He said it thus, ‘Do you wish to rise? Begin by descending. You plan on erecting a tower that will pierce the clouds? Lay first the foundation of humility.’”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Paedrin awoke, his spirits revived and his body healed by the touch from the beautiful Vaettir girl Khiara. He did not know by what power she healed him, only that her hand brought the most deliciously warm feeling. He remembered her scent, the smell of jasmine, as he opened his eyes. She stood, holding the long tapered staff to rest herself.
