Domon

  Soon after Domon took his throne, he named himself Archlord and began pressuring the surrounding city-states of Kystrea to join with him in uniting all of Kystrea. The first few joined thinking that they could get something out of the arrangement themselves, before realizing that he wanted an unequal share of the power. Domon was cunning, and pitted one king against another to eventually force them all into submission. Thus began the Joining Wars.

  — From Secrets of Mani, by Sor the Lark

  (Norvaen 15, 997—Sunset)

  We worked everything out in the end. Mydia came up with the plan, in fact. It involved willing surrender and a bit of cooperation on the part of the very guardsmen who had chased us down and tried to capture us.

  First, we had to escape the Well chamber. We managed to force the door open with the help of the outside guardsmen, who heard us banging on it. Afterward, Harold and his men dragged us through the underbelly of the Hall of Eternity, up the many levels of the palace, and back to their superiors, who then took us straight to the Archlord himself. What better way to see our beloved emperor than to allow ourselves to be captured?

  The guardsmen led us, hands bound and mouths gagged with magic-dampeners, all the way up through the main floors of the Hall of Eternity, until we came to Domon’s personal tower. The doors to his room at the top were of solid stone, and swung inward on magic automation as soon as the guards announced themselves and Domon’s deep voice came from inside, bidding them to bring us in.

  Inside, the circular room was lavish and trimmed with gold all around. Numerous lamps shone, casting light from multiple different angles. Domon himself sat on a gilded seat with a high back embedded with emeralds and amethysts. He sat with back straight and arms crossed, golden hair slicked back to trail down his neck. He was of average weight and just above average height, and yet he cut an imposing figure on his throne. His eyes were hard and unyielding.

  “So, you brought the guests . . .” he muttered, rubbing the well-trimmed facial hair on his chin. He smiled as his eyes lit upon Rhidea, as though she hadn’t been standing front and center already. “Ah, there’s an old face. I wonder, do we know each other, sweetheart?”

  She said nothing, but only glowered with head bowed. I knew it was a glower, even though her expression was not easy to make out at that angle.

  “My Lord, we found them by the well,” Harold explained, “We waited for them to enter and then apprehended them while their magic was down.” There was a strong hint of pride in his voice. He really wasn’t a bad actor.

  “Hmm. Yes, I see.” He waved a hand at the guardsmen. “You may leave us now. I’m not worried about the intruders.”

  “But Milord!”

  “That is an order, corporal. Stand by outside the door with your men.”

  The guardsmen left, led by the corporal.

  “Now.” The Archlord clapped his hands. “What to do with my little intruders . . . ? We’ll start with you, High Mage.” He pointed at Rhidea. “I knew you would be back, yet somehow you managed to slip inside the Hall of Eternity without any of my men knowing. What all did you find down there, hmm? Besides a sudden severance of your Authority?”

  The Wandering Mage looked up at him, still silent, for the magic dampener also prevented our speech.

  Kaen, Mydia and the Queensguard stood to our sides. The tension in the air seemed palpable as Rhidea stared down the ruler of Kystrea, who gazed back imperiously from his high-backed seat. Time seemed to hang in the air as we waited.

  Domon finally sighed. “Speak.” He waved a hand dismissively, and the magic dampener disintegrated and fell from her mouth.

  Rhidea breathed in and said, “We found . . . secrets, which you have been keeping hidden.”

  “Most of which are meant to be kept hidden down there,” Domon said. “Do you think that Well was meant to be revealed to the world?” He spread his hands in a decidedly imperious gesture. A small smile crept to his lips, indicating, You didn’t learn anything anyway.

  “We saw enough that it needs to be revealed,” replied Rhidea. “The corruption, the mural. I ask that you come clean and tell us what you’ve been doing.”

  “Oh? You must have figured me out. Why, you clever little pup.” I couldn’t tell how serious the Archlord was being. “I assume you speak of the Dark Magic I have created. My finest achievement, I must say . . .”

  Surprisingly, he continued, “You really wish to know what I’ve been working on here in Ti’Vaeth? Why, I’ve a plethora of reasons to want the ultimate power, but I am no narrow-sighted fool like Kalceron was. I only worked with him because he was useful to me. Along with a few other tools.

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  “The Umbra Council,” Rhidea said flatly. “I know all about it.”

  Domon raised his eyebrows, sitting up slightly straighter in his throne. “Is that so? We have been quite secretive, but of course the great Wandering Mage would have sniffed out such a thing. We seek a higher goal than you know—higher than you can imagine. We seek a new world. To unite all of Mani with the strength to stand against another, greater force.”

  Rhidea seemed to hesitate. I didn’t say anything either, waiting for him to elaborate more.

  Mydia spoke up now. “You’re talking about Gaea?”

  The Archlord eyed her with a small, lopsided smile. “Perhaps. So you do know a bit.” Then his face grew grim. “I am not the selfish tyrant you think I am. I am not Edrius Kalceron, a ruler consumed by his own lust for money and power. I seek to save this world.”

  “Save it, Domon?” Rhidea asked. “Or break it?”

  The Archlord scowled, and then dipped his head. “I am aware of the cost. I have drawn from the same Wellspring whence comes all the magic in Mani, twisting it into something else, something darker. The black substance in the Well chamber is a by-product of that. The world will not break, but the magic that sustains it . . . who is to say? But you must understand that there is a force out there that wants to crush us, and I will not allow that to happen. They will come, and I will be ready.”

  I frowned. “But—”

  Rhidea cut me off with a raised hand.

  Domon stood up, prompting us to take a step or two backward. “I do not have time for this,” he said. “This talk is pointless. Perhaps if you wish to prove yourselves correct, you should show your determination through a test of strength. Just like heroes in an old tale; I’d be more than happy to play the villain.” He held out his hands, gathering small black clouds between them with electricity like miniature lightning running between both hands. I flinched at the display.

  “Wait,” Rhidea told us, putting out her hands to either side in a warding gesture. “Domon, we really cannot talk this through?”

  “We can. I’m simply bored with that. We shan’t get anywhere.”

  “Then I have a proposition.”

  He frowned. “I am not joking, mage. You cannot defeat me.”

  “No, not a duel of Authority. I’m thinking of a simple test of strength, as you said. But against her.” She pointed to me, and I felt a sinking feeling in my chest. At the same time, it was a feeling of hope—anything was better than getting zapped to dust by the Archlord’s Dark Magic.

  Domon sized me up with a dark but subtly curious look. “What . . . kind of test?”

  “An arm-wrestling match,” Rhidea said brightly.

  The Archlord froze, bewilderment in his eyes. But I could tell he was considering it, processing why someone like Rhidea would ask such a seemingly silly request. He didn’t drop his Authority, but he didn’t act, either.

  “You’re quite serious?” he asked Rhidea, who nodded. Then he turned his gaze on me. “Well, consider me sufficiently intrigued.” He dropped his lightning spell, which sparked and disappeared, and stepped down from where his throne sat, down to our level. He came directly in front of Rhidea, looking her in the eye, and I saw that they were nearly head for head. He was an inch or so taller. “And what if I win?” he asked. “I’m sure you’re willing to bet something on this, no?”

  “If you win, we shall turn around and walk straight out of Ti’Vaeth. We shall leave you alone, and you can commence your attack on Nytaea or whatever you wish.”

  Domon raised his eyebrows again. “Well, well. I believe those things are mine to give or take anyway, but you know what? Just to make things interesting. . . .” He looked at me with a predatory stare. “I accept. And in return, if the girl wins, then . . . I’d do fairly anything you asked. I will call off the attack and draw up an alliance with you.”

  I had to work to keep from gaping. Had he just said what I thought? Was this man bipolar? I glanced at the others, and they seemed just as shocked. Was he really that confidant? Surely he knew that Rhidea had reasons for picking me as our champion. Did he somehow suspect why?

  Within a few minutes, the Archlord had a table readied by his servants, solid and just the right width, and we sat one on each side. He looked a bit more regal—you know, emperor-like—than me, but he didn’t intimidate me. Not this time. We had decided that magic was allowed, so long as it did not directly affect the opponent or anyone else in the room. I didn’t know any Coaction that could help me win an arm-wrestling match, so this basically just meant that he could use whatever he wanted to crush me.

  And yet I didn’t think he wanted to simply crush me and exult in beating a teenaged girl . . . I got the impression that he was testing me. Might Domon actually have an inkling of who I was? I put the thought out of my head. All in time, as Rhidea would say.

  One of Domon’s retainers, who was overseeing the match, said, “Begin,” and we did so. I shoved as hard as my bodily strength would allow, but he already had some . . . earth magic? Yes, earth magic in place to disallow me to push him. Gravity magic, much like Rhidea used. It made sense. This pull from his magic made sure my hand barely moved his, though my squeezing probably hurt his hand. I made sure not to just put all my strength into grip.

  Instead, I twisted my wrist, getting my hand into a higher, more dominant position with more leverage. Simultaneously, I pulled with my biceps, drawing his hand toward my shoulder, also giving myself more leverage. I could see intense concentration on his face, but also a look of shock.

  I smiled slightly, and then I broke the barrier that held my strength and tapped into that superhuman reserve hidden deep inside. With a growl, I forced his hand backward, fighting against the Authority he was using to fight me. And I was winning. His face screwed up in effort, disbelief and rage, but I brought his hand down to the table with a last cry and a burst of strength. I tried not to crush it too much, but he still gasped in pain.

  Domon retracted his hand immediately, shaking it and rubbing at his wrist. “You . . . you beat me. And I was using Authority.” The way he said the word clearly implied that ‘supreme’ should have preceded it. He narrowed his eyes at me, face still a red mask of pain and exertion. Then he turned his gaze on Rhidea. “I knew you were awfully cocky, witch.” His eyes flicked back to me. “You win, girl. How did you do it?”

  I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible. “I’ll tell you that . . .”

  “When you tell us what you did to the Wellspring,” Rhidea finished, triumph clear on her face.

  Domon sat back on his stool with a growl and a glare. He crossed his lordly arms and stared down toward his stomach. His right index finger tapped rapidly on his opposite elbow, until at last he looked up, face having cleared a bit. “Very well; come with me.”