The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) (80 page)

He did not place much hope in the surviving deities, their Special Children, or the leaders of the nations facing this great threat. He did not believe they would be able to see past their short lives and grasp the enormity of the danger that engulfed their world. But Jarman did. His friend desperately wanted to believe Amalia would be able to see. So, Lucas followed.

As a wizard, he disliked the prospect of an action without plan, without careful study of all the implications and consequences. It went against everything the Temple of Justice had taught him in the nine decades of his magically prolonged life. Relying on chance, whim, and emotions of people possessing limited knowledge and intelligence was extremely risky.

But he owed his friend that much.

That did not mean he was not planning four steps in advance. What would happen if Amalia did get convinced now that her half brother was dead? What then? What if all the people of the realms did unite? What then? Would they be able to fend off the attack? Or merely stall it for a while? They did not have anything in their arsenal that could match the witch and his magical weapons.

Their best chance was Sirtai assistance, but that would not happen. Thousands of years of forgotten history had not only affected the realms. The Sirtai were just as ignorant and stubborn, even if their attitude stemmed from the exactly opposite circumstances; they had all the power and knowledge, and they refused to let events touch them. They would not interfere, even if the continent burned.

It had all gone wrong the moment they had met James. Jarman should have known right then that his information was flawed, that the lad was not in possession of the bloodstaff.
That left the two of them with a very bleak prospect. What
now
?

Two wizards, one of them with an unpainted face, against a foe who had spent the better part of the last age honing his revenge to perfection. That was what this war would come to.

Unless they found a miracle, but Lucas did not believe in miracles.

Perhaps we are missing something
, he thought. Still, no matter how hard he tried to rationalize possible solutions and options, he could not find an answer.

As a Sirtai, he wanted to leave these primitive folks and their gods and goddesses to their unresolved battles, to let them kill each other until no one was left. That was the sensible thing to do. But he found himself standing, one leg propped and with his elbows leaning against one knee, and watching the soldiers from Naum trample the grass of northern Caytor to death.

We must find a way
, he swore.

On the plains below the rise, the army marched in neat rows, an endless stream of men wearing all-white uniforms and bearing white flags. You might mistake them for missionaries of peace, but they were an army of death, bred and raised for one purpose only.

It had cost Lucas a fair deal of magic to get here fast enough to witness their passage. He would toil his soul some more by traveling back to Athesia. Even now, he was burning his magic in order to keep himself invisible from the enemy. But he had to be here, to see this. The turn of an age.

What are the continental gods up to? Where are their Special Children in this hour of need?
The books claimed they would come forward at the right moment.
Maybe the books were wrong
, Lucas feared,
and this war is already lost
.

His Sirtai upbringing, logic, and knowledge were telling him to go home, to leave this madness behind. Only he had promised Armin Wan’der Markssin that he would avenge his wife, and that pledge still remained. If there were a time when a wizard put aside his heritage, reason, and intellect, it was when it came to his oaths. There was nothing that would stop him there, not the gods, not their children, not the turning of an age.

Jarman was here to punish Calemore for the death of his third mother. Lucas followed. The gods, goddesses, Special Children, they all did not matter. James, Amalia, they did not matter. One day, they might discover unforeseen help in these realms, stumble upon another magic wielder, or find a god who would fight the witch. It did not matter. Until then, Lucas would stand by Jarman, and they would fight in this foreign war made personal.

He stood leaning against the rock and counted the enemy soldiers streaming into the realms, leaving behind a dust cloud of destruction.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Igor Ljubuncic is a physicist by vocation and a Linux geek by profession. He is the founder and operator of the website
www.dedoimedo.com
, where you can learn a lot about a lot. Before dabbling in operating systems, Igor worked in the medical high-tech industry as a scientist. However, he really likes to write, particularly in the fantasy genre, and has been doing so since the tender age of ten summers. You can learn more about Igor’s writing on his book series website,
www.thelostwordsbooks.com
, or you can find him on
facebook.com/thelostwordsbooks
.