The Mechanist slipped his hand into the inner folds of his long-coat, tattered as it was, and felt an immense tug of guilt that railed against his need to escape. The sounds grew closer. Grinding and the squeal of metal on metal. He tried to lose his pursuers by turning his hashuan off the Silver Road north of Cardiph’s Gate and into the great forest of Tylos. The Tylosian trees towered above all but their branches hung low like vines as if they were nothing more than a mother’s arms reaching to touch the children of the earth. In here however, darkness reigned, and shadows were in abundance.

The Mechanist groped for an object in his coat. His fingers brushed the cool glass and for a moment he pulled away. The hashuan took a sharp left and leaped across a pile of fallen and decaying logs. The thud of the beast’s heavy hooves pounding into the earth would have been a sound of joy if it were the only sound in the forest. Instead, closer than ever, the screech resounded as it bounced from tree to tree. The hounds would be upon them soon.

The Mechanist pulled forth a small crystalline orb, no larger than a child’s play thing that swirled and crashed with a vibrant green energy against the innards of the jewel like that of someone lost in a dance of madness. He held it, close to his face as his hashuan vaulted and sprinted ever deeper into the shadows of the Tylosian trees. For a moment and only a moment, he saw it. The face in the crystal. It was a woman. Lithe of body and long of hair. She had a pleasant face and when her eyes, deep set and dark, found his own, she smiled. Bringing the orb to his lips, he kissed the cool surface and whispered. “Forgive me…” Then, with a sudden jerking motion he threw the orb behind him.

A light, powerful and bright, erupted amidst the boughs of the Tylosian sending large chunks of the great trees along with grass, dirt and stones high into the air in all directions with enough force to send two dozen men, fully armored, to their backs.

He had no need to look back. The rush of dust and dirt that overtook his back, surrounded his face and left his hashuan snorting but still running was the only confirmation he needed. If nothing else, the chaos should help keep his tracks clear and once he found a source of water he would ditch the beast and let its tracks lure his followers away.

The hounds however did not relent. When the trees shattered in a blast of excruciating light and energy the beasts bore deep into the earth and the ensuing blast rolled over them like a great swell of the Immurrian sea and they were nothing more than unharmed fish. On the far side of the destruction, under the shadows of still standing Tylosian they burst from the soil, fang and claw tearing at the earth and one by one they found their mark, the leathery hide of a hashuan leg.

The beast reared forward and back and kicked its long legs in a vain effort to remove the fangs, sharper than the sharpest Corvegan dark-steel blades, clamped around its lower frame. The beast’s nostrils flared as fear settled in its deep grey eyes as it collapsed sending the Mechanist rolling from his saddle to the earth below. Blood, sticky and hot, sprayed from tears to the beast’s stomach, thighs and legs. The hounds circled the great beast as it thrashed its legs and neck in a vain attempt to stand. Pools of blood wet the earth as the hounds dove in close and ripped another piece of bloody flesh from the hashuan’s body. The hounds had their kill and they undulated a deep vibrating noise from their mechanical throats into the air then dove as a singular pack, their fangs leading the way, and snapped down on the beast’s throat ripping and tearing the life-blood from it, darkening its gray eyes to a terrified shade of milky white mixed with strands of red.

The Mechanist fumbled as he hit the ground and rolled to his knees. He groped at his long-coat and whispered a silent prayer to Balarra the Divine.

A sharp whistle echoed throughout the destruction that was the surrounding Tylosian trees now forever grounded. The hounds, at once, twisted their metal frames and focused their shining blue eyes towards the sound. Turning, they looked to the Mechanist as he struggled to stand then dug their claws into the soft, wet earth soaked with the blood of their latest kill and disappeared into the shadows of the woods.

“Father,” a raspy voice, more accustomed to dark, cold alleyways than the deepest parts of a great forest echoed amongst the trees. “It wasn’t polite to run.”

The Mechanist shook his head and pulled his mask from his face and tossed it to the ground.

“That poor woman,” the voice mocked, still unseen. “What was her name again?”

“Etsie,” the Mechanist whispered coming to his feet.

“Insignificant is what her name should have been,” the voice replied to an answer he didn’t hear. “To think she took you in, a stranger. A criminal on the run. I should have thanked her really, before I gutted her. Without her, I may have missed your trail again.”

The Mechanist scanned the ground, hoping to find a glint, a shimmer of color that didn’t belong along on the forest floor. If the Divine had heard his prayers before he was certain she was no longer listening for he found nothing. He cocked his head from side to side. All around him he saw the destruction left behind by the core he had thrown, and the soul trapped within. The hounds had vanished from sight, but he knew they were near, ready to pounce at their master’s call.

His weapons were gone as well. Lost when his hashuan veered into the forest, carelessly dropped and now buried, somewhere, amidst fallen trees and stones. Then he heard it. A soft thrum, the click of a trigger and then the whistle as a bolt split the air.

The bolt found its target, the soft flesh that was his thigh and the Mechanist dropped to his knees, hands clutching his leg as blood pooled around his fingers as his leg shuttered, his hands trembled, and his arms shook. His grip loosened as a warmth blasted his body forcing him to the forest floor.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” The voice was closer now.

“Brezik….” The Mechanist breathed the name through clenched teeth.

Brezik Daer’eth smiled, a large unsettling smile that didn’t speak of kindness or a good nature but that of a madman lost in ecstasy as he appeared from behind a thick copse of still standing trees and casually strolled among the fallen and decaying trunks to where the Mechanist sat gasping at shallow breaths. “So good to see you again, father.” Brezik said dropping to one knee. “Hmm…that wound,” he said in a calm and easy manner, looking down at the bolt sticking from the Mechanist’s thigh, “looks rather painful. Do you know what’s coursing through your veins right now?”

“Iraa….” The Mechanist began to say but fell short as his body suddenly seized then convulsed in a rack of violent shakes.

“Iraachor,” Brezik finished for him. “Very good. Seems you still remember some of the teachings from your youth. I’m impressed.”

The Mechanist suddenly screamed as Brezik gripped the shaft of the bolt and ripped the blood-soaked shaft free and held it in front of his own eyes.

“Such a little thing,” he whispered. He twisted the bolt in his hands and ran his fingers over the blood mixed with Irrachor.

“What…do you…. want, Brezik?”

“What don’t I want, dear father of mine? Revenge for mother? No, I want something far more than that. You know as well as I that mother cannot sustain her form and the Black Throne sits empty.”

The Mechanist coughed, spitting a glob of blood to the ground. “The Black Throne…. will never be yours, child.”

“I do believe this is where we disagree, father.” Brezik said standing over the Mechanist with a sharp grin on his face.

Another wracking cough sent the Mechanist into a convulsive fit. When his body settled he fixed his eyes on his son. He looked nothing like his mother. She with silver hair that shone with a brilliance whenever the sun shone just so and violet eyes that took a fair measure of everything and left those around her wanting to be better than they were. Brezik had none of this. His hair was the color of the darkest shadows that fell over the side of his face to hide eyes that stewed in malice and contempt. No longer did he bear the styles of Hymbari either but instead wore travelers leathers with a thick green cloak affixed at his throat with a pin fashioned in the shape of the twin serpents. The Mechanist didn’t know the brand, perhaps Brezik meant to form his own. He had always fashioned himself a leader of men. It was simply too bad for Brezik that he wasn’t raised to have known better.

Brezik grinned then shut his eyes and inhaled the deep scent of the woods. The trees, the stones, the grass, the moss, the very essence of what surrounded him and when he exhaled he held his hand out to the Mechanist.

At first there was nothing. Then a shimmer. A shake of the very air around Brezik’s hand then warmth, gentle and soothing and then explosive as Brezik’s hand, from his wrist to the tips of his fingers erupted into a glove of pure flame. He smiled as he watched the fire waver and coax his skin like a mother sheltering her young from the cold. “To have been chosen so.” He whispered.

“A…fancy trick,” the Mechanist said in an almost derisive laugh. “Which Bashalian whore did you have to bed to learn it?”

“Tricks,” Brezik said still staring at the flame as it danced along his skin. “Are nothing more than distractions for the common man while his betters take what’s theirs. This…this is the gift mother has given us.”

“Us?”

Brezik was almost surprised to hear the confusion in the Mechanist’s voice. But that too only brought a thin, wry smile to his lips. With a quick twitch of his wrist he extinguished the flames on his skin and reached into a small pouch hanging loosely on his hip. “Oh yes,” he began as he pulled a circlet, silver and plain, except for a faintly glowing cerulean jewel in the center and held it out as he dropped to a knee in front of his father. “Mother has birthed many children as the host to what was summoned the night of the Fall. And, each time we sleep we hear her voice. She calls to us. She begs for our help and we must answer her call. She can no longer contain what’s inside of her and as such, one of her children will need to take her place upon the Black Throne. That, dear father, is where you come in.” With dizzying speed, Brezik gripped the circlet in two hands and slammed the opening onto his father’s forehead. At once the jewel radiated a blast of vibrant blue light and the Mechanist, his mouth slack as if he meant to scream yet no sound passed beyond his lips, sat frozen, his body seized and then just as quickly he relaxed as his head slumped to his chest.

“My brothers and sisters have heard the call as well and we must put an end to them.”

Next Chapter: Children of the Fall